Barrels

(Short Story- Part One)

There were eight of them, all lined up against the barn attached to the aging, unkept house. They were dark blue, I believe. Small enough for two people to carry, but too heavy for one person by themself. The barrels varied in weight, making some easier to move than others. For the most part, they stayed pressed up against the barn, collecting rainwater and snow throughout the year. But during the summertime, both my grandpa’s and my favorite season, he would like to race me on them down his long front yard, claiming there was no better use for them.

He was a reserved man, lonely too. After my grandma’s sudden passing a few years ago, he had no desire to live by himself and enlisted my help to keep him company during the long summers. He didn’t have any other grandchildren, so my father insisted that I keep him company and shipped me off for weeks on end to a place with slow internet and barely any neighbors.

In many ways, I was a lot like him. When I’d arrive each summer, he would constantly reiterate how much I resembled him, like I hadn’t heard it a thousand times before. After being named after the man, I assumed that I must’ve shared a few similarities with him. Both dark brown hair, facial stubble, lanky, quiet, not wanting to make a fuss. By now, it should be clear that I share quite a few distinctive features with him. Although he has since shrunk a few inches and his once-brown hair is now finally greying, but that’s beside the point. Anyway, each night after long monologues of comparisons and a few drinks he would grow depressed and tell me that we’ve both gone through too much hardship in our lives. Retelling the story over and over about how he lost his wife, and I lost my mother all in a span of a few weeks.

This time, thankfully, I wasn’t forced into listening to his dragged-on nightly speech. Instead, I am going through the useless junk piled in his house, seeing as he moved into a nursing home less than two weeks ago. While sitting on his couch and doing the occasional yard work wasn’t something I looked forward to doing every day, it was much better than watching him go stir-crazy while cooped up in that small room.

He liked his independence. Either he was cutting wood for his little wood stove burner in his living room or using his tractor and four-wheeler to clear any dead trees in his backyard. Or during the summers, he would get his crops ready to harvest on his 70-acre land. But those tasks seemed to be the only few things he did to keep himself occupied year long. Much to my grandma’s displeasure he would spend every waking moment outside, no matter how exhausted or sore he was. She worried about him all the time, to the point where she gave him a flip phone to keep track of him, although the phone hardly seemed to make it into his pocket. But with her not there, I could see why he was so quick to leave his independence behind.

I realized I would need more than a few days to go through his stuff, so I walked on his long gravel driveway with boxes and tape in one hand, and trash bags in another. The house definitely needs some fixing up after getting rid of all his stuff, seeing as a lot of the yellow paint has chipped off after years of harsh weather. Illinois weather wasn’t predictable, and anyone could see that based on the siding of his house. First, I set aside a few of the things my grandpa wanted to keep but didn’t have space for in his room there. I had just come from talking to him for a few hours, where he rattled on so much about what he wanted saved that I wasn’t sure there would be anything to get rid of. From keeping the majority of my grandma’s old clothes, scrapbooks, tablecloths, and the decaying barrels that rested on the side of his barn, he was more sentimental than I gave him credit for.

After setting those items aside, I went to my father’s room. It had stayed the same after he graduated high school. Baseball cards and old magazines still laid on the desk, old clothes falling off the hanger, and about an inch of dust coating every surface, it was all left untouched. My dad never liked me in here. This has been the longest I’ve stood in this room without him storming in and yelling at me to get out. But now, looking at the thick layer of dust and random items strewn across the room, I wasn’t really sure why I wanted to be in here in the first place. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair, a bit overwhelmed with how I was going to declutter the rest of his house. I’d pull something out of a closet and more shit would fall on me, and I hadn’t even finished a room yet. So, needing some sun exposure and to escape from the cold air conditioning, I moved over to his barn that was close by.

The barn was almost as big as his house. One side housed his four-wheelers, tractors, and dirt bikes, while the other side held random junk like spare parts, flat tires, tools, and finally a few fishing poles that have collected dust over the years. I remember when we used to fish outside most mornings. Our hair slicked back from sweat while mosquitoes pricked at our salty skin as we’d wait for hours, our skin becoming tight from staying out in the sun too long. Even though these poles were old and broken, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. I set the poles to the side and spent the next few hours trashing the majority of the things he had in there. I was setting some of the trash outside and was about to walk back to the house when the barrels caught my eye. Looking at them now, chipped, with rust growing on the sides of them, the insignificance of them felt stronger. It amazed me that he kept them all these years, as he was a man who didn’t “believe” in holding onto useless things. I didn’t really understand why he kept them, as he always complained they were a bitch to move and store. But yet they laid there year after year, never moving from the side of the barn.

I checked my watch and saw that several hours had passed already, so I decided that bouncing back from room to room wasn’t going to be the best method anymore. I didn’t like working on one thing too long, I’d get bored and not be able to finish it until I did something else. But if I’m going to be doing this for several days, I needed to change my approach. So, I went to his office first, it seemed like it would be the easiest room to go through, and it was the smallest in the house. Baby steps.

I plopped down on the old office chair and started pulling out some of the old papers and photo albums shoved into the messy drawers. Seeing as my dad was an only child, the albums mainly contained photos of him. I flipped through the pages quickly, they were just some faded pictures that I’d seen countless times before. My dad was never an open man, but he closed off even more after my mom passed away. So, I decided to do some snooping. I flipped through the photo albums for a few minutes, a little disappointed when it didn’t contain anything interesting. I set the photo album down and noticed a cream manila folder shoved under a few other notebooks and folders. I pulled it out carefully, flipping the folder open. My eyes scanned the crumbled, faded paper, noticing it was an old news clipping from what appeared to be from the 70s. I almost set it aside when I noticed it was a compilation of unsolved murders in the town. My grandpa always said it was a quiet town, with not a lot of action, which is one of the reasons why they decided to move there in the first place. I leaned forward and tried to smoothen out the paper to get a better look, curious to see why he’d failed to mention this. The news clipping was from 1972, where it detailed the boy’s name was Ken.

I narrowed my eyes, he looked familiar. I set the folder to the side and grabbed one of Dad’s old photo albums. I scrolled through several pages before landing on a picture of my dad and that boy. I shook my head and kept looking, more and more pictures of them popped up in the book. I diverted back to the clipping, reading on to see that the boy was never found, and after several months of not finding his body, he was presumed dead. I looked closer and saw my dad in the background of the picture, standing by the casket in his suit on the day that I presumed to be his funeral.

I stood up quickly, almost knocking into the piano behind me as I stared at the next few pages. Crumbled up like the other pages were the obituaries of some of my dad’s friends from high school and college. All unexplained deaths, all with my dad in the background of the pictures. It couldn’t be more than a coincidence, right? My grandpa has always mentioned that my dad had a difficult childhood, but I didn’t think he meant it in this sense. I continued flipping the pages to where I ultimately landed on the last page that made my heart stop. I found the final two obituaries, one for my grandma and one for my mother. Why would grandpa store my grandma’s and mom’s obituaries in this folder? I slammed the folder shut and set it back on the desk, my mind reeling as I took a few deep breaths. I strode over towards the door and closed it, deciding to sort through another room, needing an escape from this one. I tried to do anything and everything to distract myself from what I just saw, but nothing seemed to stop the nagging questions bouncing around in my head.

I decided to go visit him the next day, my previous plan to visit him shot as my eyes were too tired and bloodshot to focus on driving over there. When I woke up this morning, I originally wanted to ask him, but I decided against it for now. I wanted to keep what I found to myself in case I found anything else.

His face lit up when I walked through the door and he stood up and patted me on the back.

“Already done? I knew you were the man to get this job done.” He winked and motioned for me to sit down.

I took a seat and blew out a loud breath. “Far from it. I didn’t realize all the shit you guys had in your house until going through it all. Dad’s room seems like it hasn’t been touched since he left for college.”

“Well, that’s because it is the same. Your grandma had a hard time with him leaving for college, so she wanted to keep it the way it was. In a way, it helped her cope with her only child growing up.”

I nodded, running my hands on my cargo shorts before standing up. “Well, a lot of your stuff is in good condition, if you’d like I could hold a garage sale to get rid of some of it.”

“Did you take what you wanted for yourself first?”

“Yeah, I grabbed a few of yours and Dad’s old hats, some old jerseys, and records.” I replied.

He stood up as well, his legs restless like he was itching to leave but stayed silent about it, and instead responded with, “A garage sale might be a good idea then. Donate whatever is left over, I don’t need that junk anymore.”

 I nodded and left a few minutes later. I rushed back home and set up a quick garage sale at the end of his driveway. Within the first few hours, I sold a couple of things, to my surprise as a majority of his shit didn’t seem like stuff others would want. But the main thing I accomplished was getting a weird tan from my tank top. I almost gave up and was going to close up shop before Henry, one of my grandpa’s neighbors from down the street, slowly limped up.

“Didn’t take your grandfather as a garage sale man.” Henry took a large pull of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke to the side before stomping it on the ground.

“Normally he’s not, but he said he didn’t want all this anymore, doesn’t have much room in the nursing home.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. Henry was always slow to words, his southern drawl was prominent in each word, even though he’s lived in northern Illinois most of his life.

“I’m still surprised that he checked himself in, a few days before he was talking on and on about how he’d never live in a place like that, swore on his last breath.” Henry changed the subject, and grabbed onto a lamp, looking at it intently before setting it down and grabbing some of my dad’s old onesies. “Your grandmother really liked to hold onto stuff, didn’t she?” Henry chuckled. Despite the incessant wrinkles and faded blue color of the onesie, it was still in good shape much like the other onesies he had already set aside. “It used to bother your grandpa something fierce before he just decided to go along with it. Helps me out though, now I won’t have to buy my new grandbaby some expensive onesies he’ll grow out of in a few months anyway.” He added.

 “I’m not surprised, I’ve been going through my dad’s room and it still looks the same as it did when he was in high school.” I rubbed some of the sweat from the back of my neck as Henry focused his attention back on the old clothes. He grabbed a couple more and threw them on his shoulder as he reached into his pocket and pulled some cash out.

“How’s your grandpa doing? I haven’t been able to go over there yet.”

“Not too bad, still getting used to it over there.” He nodded while I shifted on the heels of my feet, getting a little tired of this conversation before he asked something that sparked my interest. “Your dad around?”

I shook my head. “He’s back home, why?”

“Just wondering. I saw him and your grandfather fighting a few days before he got into the nursing home, looked pretty heated if you ask me.” He picked up his hat and placed it on his bald sweaty head. He paused for a few seconds, and I sighed, talking to him was like waiting for paint to dry, he could never get a sentence out quickly. “Wondered if he had something to do with it. John seemed as able as he’d always been. Just last week he was messing around on his four-wheeler and I waved at him from my porch. I was surprised to hear he moved over there.” He finally added.

I narrowed my eyes and said, “I’ll have to ask him tomorrow about that. Thanks for coming Henry and buying some of those clothes.”

He waved me off before saying, “No, thank your grandpa for me. This new grandbaby’s been growing so fast he was in need of some new clothes.”

Henry left a few minutes later and I remained outside for nearly four hours after, hovering over this little plastic table roasting in the heat. Thankfully, the majority of the items were bought leaving only a few items to donate. I packed up the table and placed it in the garage, my skin hot from the burning sun before I rejoiced at the cool air conditioning that chilled the house. Even though every muscle in my body ached from standing and going through boxes all day, I decided to keep sorting, knowing I wouldn’t get through everything if I didn’t spend more time sifting through everything. It was a little after midnight when I finished. While I should’ve been sorting, I found myself preoccupied with going through my father’s room, the folder, and the photo album in hopes of digging something else up. And when I couldn’t find anything else, I laid awake most of the night, trying to decide whether it was worth bringing it up to my grandpa or not.