Page 26 of We Redeemed the Rain

I tried whispering one more time. “Do you need help? Are you okay?”

I looked up, and the feet shifted, sending hay fluttering down around me.

The adrenaline still pumping through my veins emboldened me. I snatched up the warm boot, marched into the big, dark barn and stumbled to the hayloft ladder.

Whoever lost it needed to get it back in order to come down, right?

The aroma of hay, pungent and irritating to my sinuses, hit me before I’d even stepped onto the bottom rung. With the boot clasped in one hand and my child-sized guitar slung over my shoulder, I took the rungs one at a time, careful not to lose my footing.

A jarringbonkreverberated through the silent night as the bottom of my uncased guitar slammed into the ceiling. It vibrated with an obnoxious sound. I’d have to retune it, no doubt. The loft opening was too small to fit me and my extra appendage. So I shrugged out of the strap and gently lifted Glory through and laid her on a pile of soft hay. Followed by the boot.

I finished the climb, adjusted Glory back over my shoulder, and crawled into what looked like a valley amid the Rockies. Except these mountains were made of tightly packed hay bales. I stood, brushingthe flakes from my comic book t-shirt, and began to weave through the valley toward the open loft windows.

When I rounded the last mountain, I found the person I was looking for. A boy. Pale moonlight streamed in, washing his body chest-down. He laid flat on his back, staring at the support beams way above us. He had a faraway look in his eye, like maybe he was searching for something beyond them.

His cheeks were tear-streaked, and his clothes were visibly damp and clinging to his lanky frame. His lips moved with unspoken whispers, and his soft gasping filled my consciousness with the urgency of a heavy downpour.

I knelt close to his face, pieces of hay scratching and poking my legs. When I touched him, I grimaced. His skin was slick with sweat. But I wrapped my fingers around his bony shoulder and shook.

“Hey, hey!” Shook him harder and his head lulled side to side. “Hey!”

He mumbled something unintelligible and his eyes fluttered closed. Despite the moon, the shadows were angled, intense. Only allowing me to see basics—shirt, pants, boots, shade of skin and hair.

I could see he was tall and thin, much closer to adult than me. His mess of hair was curly, long, and…I couldn’t decide exactly on color. Maybe multicolored. It fanned out around his face in the hay pile cradling his head.

I leaned over him, grabbing his other shoulder and shaking again. “What’s wrong with you?!”

I tapped his damp cheeks, the tears transferring to my fingers, as I toyed with the idea of bolting back down the stairs to the main house and calling the old lady who lived there or maybe 9-1-1. But that plan would reveal I’d been sneaking around. Surely, I could help him on my own. Right as I had the thought, he spoke.

A gentle murmur escaped his taut lips. “I’m—I’m alright.”

I swiped my wet fingers over my left breast bone, the tears soaking into the fabric over my heart—a thoughtless action at the time.

I whisper-yelled into his face. “Can you see me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do I need to call 9-1-1? You’re freaking me out!”

“No—puh.” He stopped and his eyes rolled open, focusing a little on my face. He tried again. “Please d-don’t.”

At his weak please I eased up, prying my fingers off. I launched myself backward, putting plenty of space between us. I swiveled Glory across my lap, allowing my hands to reattach to something they could understand—frets.

I strummed without a pick. Must’ve dropped it on the walk somewhere. Glory was a little out of tune from knocking her around, but I didn’t bother to fix her. I just let the tips of my Windex blue painted nails pinch at the metal strings. A few simple chords to fill the silence. My gaze was riveted to him the whole time as I sat in a semi-crouched position, a constant battle raging between my ears.

Should I run for help?

The moment was begging for a gentle classic. My fingers, almost all on their own, plucked outCavatina. I played it twice. Halfway through the repeat, his body stopped trembling and he lay, stock still, on the bed of hay. Before, he gasped at the air like he’d just ran a fast mile. But now, his chest rhythmically moved—a slow up, a relaxed down.

I played through a few more gentle classics. Debussy’sLa fille aux Cheveux de Linthen Bach’sMinuet in G Major.My fingers ached, but I never stopped. I did the toughest runs without ever taking my eyes off the boy.

Up, down.

Finally, I leaned back against the hay, reassured that he would be fine. Resting against a mountain behind me, I started something new in G# minor. Made it up as I went.

I felt my own heartbeat returning to baseline, my breath slowing. But I still never looked away.

Up, down.

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