Not long ago I wrote about the clown in the barn. Shortly afterward I realized I'd forgotten something important.
The fear didn't set in right away.
You see, until I was five years old I'd go to the barn every chance I got to gaze at the drawing on the wall. I'd forgotten this part until after the blog post was published.
I suppose it was a clown then, too, but I didn't fear it. The grease pencil figure on the boards was comforting.
For those moments when I stared at it I was with the visitor again.
What did I remember?
The feelings of warmth and comfort, love and belonging.
But the most important and compelling thing I remembered was who I was.
I am not sure what that means.
I still remembered the thing that the clown drawing was supposed to help me recall.
In those days I had yet to forget it. I thought I never would.
I also never used to avoid the unused chop bin in the barn.
In fact I liked to go in the room and often did so while dad did chores.
But one late winter afternoon that all changed. I went in the room as I commonly did. I asked dad to close and lock the door which he did.
(Side note: the lock was a wooden handle that one simply twisted leaving one end in front of the door and the other by the wall.)
The room was bare. The light stayed off. There was no possible way for me to get into any trouble.
I was there only seconds.
The clown from the wall jumped me from behind. One arm went around my neck, the other went around my waist.
Dad let me out.
Years ago mom, dad, my sister and I went back to the farm to look. I took photos of the wall. I took photos of the room.
Of course there's nothing.
I have no idea what actually happened
My dad was a few steps away about to do the chores. I think my sister was in the barn. In my mind I see someone about her size, wearing red.
It was after this incident the fear kicked in.
I never went back in to gaze at the drawing on the wall. All comfort from it was gone.
I forgot who really put it there. I forgot what I said I'd remember.
I suspect that was the point of the chop bin incident.
I had to forget all of that and simply be a human child. Visitations would cloud that life.
The cord had to be cut.
It hurts, but I get it.
I continue to look into this chiefly through self-hypnosis. Yesterday morning I tried to take a closer look at it. I had a mental image of a white door with a round handle closing. I know there's something on the other side I need to see.
But I guess that's for another day.