I glance around the room and note that Mercy is out. She must be in class. Either way, it doesn't matter because I don't plan on staying. I'm desperate to get away. I don't want to see anyone or speak to anyone. I need to clear my head and mend my heart.

Most people have a special rock, a cliff overlooking the city, a quiet place in the forest, or a waterfall that they go to be alone and think. I, on the other hand, have none of this. But, I'm determined to find one. I grab my violin out from under my bed, put on a pair of tennis shoes and shorts, and head out.

I make my way out of town, scanning the scenery for a quiet place. As I get further from town, and out into the open spaces, I feel more and more defeated. Silent tears skim my cheeks as I press my foot deeper into the gas pedal. There's nothing out here but fields that once held corn and wheat.

I'm just about to give up when I spy a barn a few miles ahead. It's standing completely alone. No homes surround it, and it appears to be pretty worn down. The sun is setting behind it, illuminating the edges and pouring through the cracks of the decaying structure. It looks worn and abused, and yet so magnificent -- like it's wearing a halo.

This is the place. My place. Because it resembles me in many ways. Broken. Beaten. Dying. And yet sturdy... fighting. Maybe I can absorb some of its strength; take a piece of this sunshine with me.

As I pull up outside the barn, I feel an instant warming connection. I slide out of the driver's seat, pulling my violin with me. I tentatively make my way to the large barn doors. They sit completely ajar revealing the empty abandonment of its insides.

I step through the entrance and inhale the musty scent of hay and dirt. No doubt this place has been left untouched for years. It's so vacant. Lonely... sad. It's as if I can feel the faint thump of its delicate heart permeating through the soil and into the soles of my shoes. It vibrates through my bones to meld with the thump-thump thump-thump of my own muffled energy. I take a few more steps, finding myself in the middle of the deserted space.

The brokenness of this old structure causes something to clench inside my chest. A bond. Both of us falling apart but refusing to collapse. I smile hesitantly as I push a large, wild tress of hair behind my ear with my free hand.

I recognize a wooden ladder attached to a loft hanging above my head and slowly make my way towards it. I set down my violin and grasp the rails, giving them a good shake to assess the sturdiness of its frame. Satisfied, I grab my violin and make a careful climb up to the floor above me.

I notice a few abandoned bales of hay in the corner of the room, and I bypass them to reach a large window centered at the furthest end. I wiggle the latch until it loosens - and fling the door open. I assume that, by the size of it, this opening is where they had once loaded and unloaded the bales of hay. 

I sit down on the ledge, allowing my feet to dangle over the side of the barn. I close my eyes, feeling the heat of the sun penetrating my skin. A sigh releases the tension from my core, and I allow myself a moment of peace. I try not to think about the events from earlier with Trevor. I don't want to remember his words, but it's inevitable. I can't bring myself to think of anything else.

It's crazy how wrong I was. I had assumed we had crossed the line from enemies to friendship. He had treated me different lately. There was no hostility in his actions anymore. We even shared a moment at the lake yesterday. He had looked at me. Really looked at me. If it had been anyone else, I would have assumed they were trying to make a move. It could have been that moment where he would have leaned in closer and brushed his lips against mine. If only.

But with Trevor it was different. I got the feeling that he had just discovered something. An emotion that he didn't necessarily want to associate with me, but in that moment it exposed itself. It may have been attraction... or desire. Or it simply could have been the realization that he didn't despise me anymore. Either way, the moment had come and gone without any recognition from either of us. We had let it float on by like a precious whisper in a gust of denial; neither of us willing to admit what we'd felt in that moment.

I move to set my violin down next to me, flicking open the latches and pulling out the cherished instrument. I take a moment to tune it and rosin the bow before placing it gently under my chin as I test out the sound. The bow caresses the delicate strings with practiced ease. I slide the ribbon against the twisted strands of steel that run along the neck of the instrument.

Closing my eyes, my body vibrates with the soothing blend of acoustics that pulsate throughout the old structure as the simple melody builds. It's a hollow, yet wholesome sound that's like honey to my ears. I feel a layer of hurt fall away from my aching chest, and I breath deeper.

My fingers easily find the progression of chords for a familiar tune. It's one I remember my father humming to himself often, and I imagine the lyrics floating across the endless fields below me as I play.

Oh no I see

A spider web it's tangled up with me

And I lost my head

The thought of all the stupid things I said

And oh I never meant to cause you trouble

And oh I never meant to do you wrong

And oh well if I ever caused you trouble

Oh no I never meant to do you harm

I've got tears streaming down my cheeks as I'm taken back to another time. A place darker than the shadowy corners of despair. I rewind past the pain to clutch at the warmth of what used to be.

The belly of the barn swells with the passionate murmur of a one-woman symphony. My fingers tingle as they graze the strings under them. When the song comes to an end, I release the violin from my chin, loosening my grip on the neck and allowing it to slide into my lap.

I listen as the last remnants of the reverberating melody echo faintly throughout the cavernous frail walls of the delicate structure before disappearing completely. I stare across the acreage around me without really seeing. My eyes are puffy and on fire from the release of pent-up misery.

Not a day passes that I don't miss the man my father once was. The man who helped me build forts in the living room so we could watch scary movies together in a canopy of blankets. The man who would knock on my door after mom went to bed to see if I wanted popcorn. The man who spent three painstaking hours prying splinters from my palm when I fell from the treehouse—after he'd already told me not to play in it when it's raining.

I remember his words clearly in my memory. I'm wrapped in his arms on my bed. He's rocking me back and forth soothingly. I'd just gotten my thirteen-year-old heart broken by a stupid boy, and I was crying my little eyes out. Normally my mom would be the one offering words of comfort, but on this cherished, rare occasion she'd been held up at work and wasn't home yet. I relish the feel of my father's comforting fingers as they push the wet strands of hair away from my face.

"It's okay, baby," he murmured against my ear. My head was nestled tightly under his chin. "You'll get over this and move on. Someday it will just be a silly memory," he told me, and he's right. I see that now, but at the time I was angry because I felt like he didn't get it.

"I'll never be able to forget what he did to me." I was being a dramatic child. The boy hadn't really done anything wrong, except admit to not liking me anymore.

The words my father whispered in response are words I'll always remember. He took my face in his hands, looking at me with sorrow and affection, and said, "Do you know why we cry?"

I shook my head as I wiped at my damp face. His thumbs skimmed the skin under my eyes before he answered his own question. "We cry to make room for forgiveness."

There was a pause as I'd looked back at him, hiccuping as I fought back more tears.

"Once you forgive," he goes on, "you start to forget the pain." Taking my chin between his fingers and thumb, he looked directly into my eyes. "You're already on your way to forgiving." Then, to prove his point, he wiped away a fat tear from my face.

I welcome my thoughts back into the present, as I slide my violin back into its case. By now the sun is dipping lower into the sky, creating an infinite array of oranges, reds, and dark blue across the vast space.

If there's any truth to my dad's words from years ago, then I guess I'm already a teardrop closer to forgiving Trevor. As they say, 'Time will heal.' I know this to be true, but at the moment it doesn't feel like I'll ever know what true healing feels like.

I never even got the opportunity to be forgiven, because my father never gave himself the chance to cry.

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This has been my favorite chapter to write so far. Where do you think the story is headed?

Song: Trouble - Coldplay

How are you enjoying the story? Anything you're not liking?