Our Heart (3 page)

I have never encountered anyone else, since I’ve been on my own, who even came close to displaying the same aura both my parents and grandparents seemed to have. Somewhere deep inside of me, I knew I once too had the very core, deep feelings of love, like they shared. The summer before my senior year, a family bought the house next to my grandparents. The Dittmers, who moved here from southern Illinois, brought with them a distraction that would reshape my life forever. Whenever someone new moves into a small town, all the gossipers, watchers, and prognosticators gather together to hypostatize their story. “Who are they? Where do they come from? Why are they here?” To the younger watchers, the only question is…are there any kids my age?

Larry and Stacy Dittmer moved in on June tenth, nineteen ninety-eight and my life was never going to be the same, ever! From the moment she got out of the Chevy Blazer, I knew I was in trouble. I was really looking forward to my senior year in
H
igh
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School and my mind was focused. I played on most of the sport teams and even had a fair shot to be the starting quarterback this year. Being the starting quarterback usually came with increased popularity and other rewards, like the added attention of the female persuasion.

Matt, my best friend, was my biggest challenge to winning the starting spot. We’d already made an agreement between us. Whatever happened, we would leave it on the field, and whoever got the starting nod, the other would be cool with it. We realized our friendship meant more than one year of football; besides, at a small school, everyone had plenty of opportunity to play. We were both genuinely looking forward to the competition during summer drills for the quarterback spot. We were already giving each other jabs about it. I couldn’t have imagined a day when anything other than football would dominate my thoughts. All of the intense focus on the upcoming football season disappeared, without even a whimper, the moment I first saw Allison Dittmer emerge from her family’s car.

What can I say? I was sitting on the front porch with Grandma Sarah. It was early in the afternoon, and the weather was perfect, at least that’s how I remember it. I believe you could even catch the fragrance of roses stirring in the air. I was sitting on the porch swing reading one of the latest books by Dean Koontz, and Grandma Sarah was in her glider, of course; it had been moved to give her the best view of the action next door. There weren’t any obstructions between our place and the old Harden place, as most of us called it. Chuck Harden, the long-time owner, had been put into a rest home several years back, somewhere down in Missouri, where his only daughter lived. She came up every so often to check on the house. She and Grandpa had an understanding when it came to her father’s home. Grandpa Jake and Chuck Harden went back a long way. They had been neighbors since nineteen fifty-four, when Grandpa and Grandma bought their house. In the summer, I had the responsibility of mowing the yard, and Grandma would check inside once a week to make sure everything was okay. Last spring, Tracy, Chuck’s daughter, finally didn’t have any choice but to sell the place to help pay for her Dad’s care. It was a sad day when we all pitched in and helped her load up the things she had decided to keep. Later that month, the rest of the furniture and everything else went up for bid at an estate auction. My grandparents were conflicted, but they attended the auction anyway. It was hard to purchase items of a dear friend, who was surely never coming back, and it was even harder not to buy, to show support of that same friendship.

It was a sad time for Tracy. You can’t help but feel an immense sense of regret when the time comes to say a goodbye to your past. Tracy took it pretty hard selling the house she grew up in. Allowing others to purchase so many of the things that were familiar to her and stored with
her own
personal memories, may have been the most difficult
thing she ever had to do
. I didn’t understand all of the feelings back then, but after Grandma Sarah passed away six months ago, I remember my own feelings as I walked around inside the house. Everything I touched or looked at brought back memories to me. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have someone else owning those memories. That May, Tracy called Grandpa and let him know she had sold the house to a couple from Illinois. They would be taking possession sometime in June. She didn’t know anything about them, other than they had contacted the realtor and paid the asking price, without even looking at the house. Now, you can imagine that this type of news set off a bunch of speculation, so when the moving van pulled up, the questions around town had been building for quite awhile.

I didn’t care much one way or the other for the town gossip. I was more interested in whether or not there were any kids. With football on my mind, I worried that there might be new competition for me. I visualized the new neighbors having a couple of boys, both fantastic athletes. Matt and I would both find ourselves out of the starting quarterback job and sitting on the bench. I never would have believed, when I first looked upon Allison, that football would be the least of my concerns.

When she first stepped out of the blazer, I didn’t think much about it. The first thought that came to mind was that the person emerging was a skinny boy. I smiled to myself, knowing that my quarterback dreams were definitely safe. The petite looking boy had on a baseball cap and a windbreaker. When he took off the hat he was wearing, and shook out the ponytail, I had completely failed to notice, the most beautiful auburn colored hair softly cascaded down around her shoulders. Grandma Sarah must have heard me suck in my breath, because she turned to look at me and I caught her full gaze. I could tell she was giving me the once over, but my eyes quickly resumed watching the girl next door.

I’m not sure that it was anything special about seeing it was a girl, but more in the manner in which it played out. I went from worrying about losing a position on the football team to wondering who the pretty girl next door might be. It didn’t dawn on me then, but I had already determined that she was, indeed, very pretty. With my eyes still watching her, and before my brain began to function again, she looked my way, raised her hand in a friendly wave and smiled straight into my heart. I was hooked, pole, line, and sinker, and I would have even thrown in the boat and motor too. She caught me totally by surprise and my heart was beating with feelings I didn’t have a clue to understanding, at least not then.

Grandma looked over her glasses at me, scrunched her eyes, and then turned her attention back to the new neighbors. Grandma Sarah was a crafty old bird. She started humming to herself. I knew that hum very well indeed; I had been fixed firmly in her sights. It would only be a matter of time before she took a shot and hit the target I was now wearing. I’d seen the same look on her face, many times over, and not just with me, but with Grandpa too. It was the “I’m keeping my eye on you!” look, and the song she was humming was a sly warning to mind my manners. We sat for a little while longer, watching the movers carrying in furniture from the van into the house. After a break in the movement next door, Grandma said I should go over and introduce myself, ask them if I could help them with anything. It would be the neighborly thing to do. If my face hadn’t been bright red before, it surely had to be now. Grandma just went right on humming. I wasn’t normally taken aback by girls, but for some reason, on this particular day and at this specific moment, time seemed to slow down and my vision became dimmer. Only the beautiful, auburn haired girl next door, stood out in bright contrast to the dimness I saw everywhere else. The first sight I had of her became a striking picture that would forever be a part of my memories. I didn’t even know her name yet, but I was never going to be the same. From that day forward, my life started on a rollercoaster ride full of emotions. Years later, and thousands of miles away, my last year in Cedar Junction still haunts me. For me, it was the beginning and the end of hope, all because a girl named Allison took hold of my heart.

Sitting in this pew, it’s hard to face all the memories and feelings surrounding me. I continue to analyze the last few days and feel the tug of the past whipping around inside of my skull, showing me no mercy. I know mistakes can sometimes be corrected and past faults forgiven. Six months ago, when I came home for Grandma Sarah’s funeral, I dreaded the chance I might meet up with Allison again. I wanted it so badly and yet I was deathly afraid of it. I had never gotten over her and I wondered if I ever would. I felt miserable for the way I had left town, nearly six years earlier. She deserved better than I had given her, and I would never be able to undo what I did. The day that I first saw her, and from then after, we clicked together as naturally as two people could. I had great aspirations to leave the small town behind and prove myself to the world. I let that draw me away, instead of believing in a girl who had come to mean the world to me. I put all the doubts out there for her to see and, when the time came to make the right decision, I left her without hesitation. If I saw her again, how could I ever face her? I no longer deserved her and, since I couldn’t even forgive myself, how could I even hope that she would be able to? I did see Allison’s parents, Larry and Stacy Dittmer, at the funeral. I needn’t have worried; Allison was away at college when Grandma died and didn’t or couldn’t make it back. Her parents made all the appropriate apologies, and I took it as a sign that she no longer wanted anything to do with me. How could I blame her? I didn’t want anything to do with myself either.

During the time Allison and I were together, the Dittmer’s became a second set of parents to me. When they saw me at Grandma’s funeral, Mrs. Dittmer didn’t hesitate and came over to offer her condolences. She gave me a hug, and I felt even worse for knowing I had hurt them as well when I had left. It was the first time in a long time that I cried. She held onto me even tighter, until I got myself under control. Having her hug me and tell me I’d be okay just made the guilt I felt even worse. I managed to choke out a question and ask her about Allison. She told me Allison was praying for me and Grandpa. It didn’t make me feel any better to know Allison might be speaking to the Lord on my behalf. Stacy Dittmer also said Allison was very sorry that she couldn’t make it home for the funeral and to convey to me her sympathy for my loss. I knew Mrs. Dittmer was only saying it for my benefit. The realization of what I truly lost dug deeper into the pit of my soul.

Larry Dittmer shook my hand, and then he hugged me too. It was all I could do to maintain what composure I had left. When he took one last look at me, his big hands on my shoulders, and said, “We’ve really missed you around here, son,” I did lose it.

All I could manage to respond with was a weak and choked, “Thank you, I’ve missed seeing you, too.” It was still enough as Mr. Dittmer’s face took on a woeful look. We both hugged again, until he moved away to be with his wife. I could see the compassion in their eyes and feel their warmth, as they gave one last glance my way. When they turned their backs on me and headed across the room to talk to Grandpa, I felt the enormity of what my past decisions had meant to everyone. It was painful to come face-to-face with the pain I had caused them as well as Allison. It was all too clear to me; the past still carved a deep cut on them emotionally, and that knowledge ripped open the remaining stitches from the wound inside me, which had never completely healed. I watched as Mrs. Dittmer had a hard time walking. Her husband had to put an arm around her to steady her. I didn’t think I could feel any worse, but I did.

Mr. and Mrs. Dittmer had left their life in Champaign, Illinois, to start a carpentry business in our little town of Cedar Junction. On the side, Larry Dittmer helped people with construction projects, while he built his true love into a viable business. He was a whiz at making furniture, and he had a passion deep inside of him to chase his dreams. He made the most incredible Grandfather Clocks, one of which is proudly displayed in my grandparents’ house. He decided he wanted to live somewhere quiet, where he could pursue his, “calling,” as he was fond of saying. They were looking for a place where the costs were more reasonable than they were in the big city. He knew right away that Cedar Junction was the place. Mrs. Dittmer had shown him a picture of the house on the Internet. When he saw the beautiful timberland running behind the house and the small-town feel to the picture, he didn’t hesitate to announce that Cedar Junction was the perfect place.

Stacy
Dittmer
wasn’t quite as sure as her husband was. After the first day, and several casseroles and pies later, she was equally hooked. I don’t remember our town ever taking in new neighbors as fast as they did the Dittmers. It was almost like they were long-lost friends, finally coming home at last. During my senior year, Larry Dittmer’s furniture business grew faster than he could keep up with. His wife was the marketing expert and had him selling and shipping completed pieces all over the world by using the Internet. He also had ongoing requests for his custom furniture from many of the people throughout town. Grandpa and I would spend nearly every free moment we had helping Larry with his backlog of projects; of course, by then, I had other reasons to be over at the Dittmers.

Now, I sit here, facing the inevitable, both wanting and dreading it with my whole heart. It stung, not seeing Allison six months ago. It was doubly sad going back to California with all the heavy thoughts weighing on my mind. All the old feelings and transgressions had burned fresh wounds on my soul. Now, with my grandfather across the street, mourned by a community that called him their own, I could taste the loneliness of the last six years and what it had really done to my life.