Our Heart (38 page)

I knew deep in my heart I wanted Allison to forever be a part of my life. The feelings that were continually jostled around inside of me confirmed that I had fallen madly in love with her. Now that Grandpa had read my mind and gave me a fatherly nod of approval, I began to make plans to place my heart on the tree in the meadow. It was something I had thought about most of my life. I just never thought it would be happening quite so soon. I hoped I was actually ready to place my living heart on the tree. When I was in junior high school, it was Amelia Larson. In my dreams at night, it was a famous singer or movie star who had magically fallen in love with me. The heart would always materialize with a sweep of my hand. Thinking about what it might look like, with
Allison’s and
my names
engraved there, caused my heart to beat faster and my pulse to race. I couldn’t wait to start on it and, at the same time, I felt the fear of inadequacy should I not be able to do a job worthy of what my grandfather and father had done before me.

I don’t know if Grandpa had seen me take a walk up towards the meadow this past week or if he too was blessed with the same ESP gene that Allison had. I was beginning to wonder if my life was mine at all, or if I was merely a player in a much larger pre-determined destiny. I was struggling with what words to use within our heart. This had kept me up a more than a few nights, when my thoughts had turned to the tree and Allison. What I put there would be a statement to the love I felt for her, but nothing suitable came to my mind. It was starting to make me nervous and doubtful. The prom was only six weeks away, and I felt that I needed to have the heart done before that. It was important, but I couldn’t say why. I needed to have the basic outline done soon, so I could seal it before the tree fully sprang to life inside. This was what Grandpa was reminding me of or prodding me with.

Allison and her parents were going to visit her mom’s sister in Emmetsburg, Ohio, the week of spring break and Easter. Two weeks later, it would be the prom. That gave me roughly three weeks to design, plan, and carve the basic heart. I somehow felt I might need six months just to do the design. I couldn’t imagine how my dad and grandpa had done theirs. If the emotions were as deep with them as they ran in me, then what they had accomplished was even more spectacular. I now understood why others relished what my grandfather and father had done. In every way, it was a committed undertaking and was not something that could easily be done without great thought and patience. In its own way, the hearts on the old tree were a lasting testament of enduring love.

During the next couple of weeks, I had done little more than tread water. Every idea that came to me either ended up in the garbage can, by way of my Nerf basketball hoop, or stacked on my small desk in the maybe pile. None of the ideas in the maybe pile were anything I was overly excited about. I was beginning to feel the pressure. I was certain Allison could tell something was up with me. She started asking on a regular basis if everything was okay, or if my mind was somewhere else. One afternoon I almost got caught, as she beat me home and stopped over at the house before I got there. If I had been one minute later, she would have seen the drawings scattered on top of my desk. Both of my grandparents were out, and she popped in the backdoor like she always did. Thinking I might be home and in my room, she was already at the top of the stairs, when I came in the front door. She turned around at the top landing to look down at me. Instantly, a feeling of dread overcame me. I believed that she had already been in my room and the cat was out of the bag. But I didn’t need to worry. She called out to me, as she headed back down the stairs, letting me know she had just gotten here and was on her way to my room to look for me. I did my utmost to play it cool, but I was certain she could sense the nervous emotions emanating from every pore of my body. To my relief, she seemed not to notice my unease and was instead lost in her own thoughts. She was excited about something and couldn’t wait to share the news with me.

I wrapped my arms around her the instant she reached the bottom step and swung her around in a circle, holding on to her tightly. She laughed and I kissed her playfully. She tried to talk to me through each brief pause before I would attack her mouth once again. Finally, she pushed me away and stood with her hands on her hips, asking me if I wanted to hear her news or not. “Sure,” I said, “Give it to me.”

She began talking so fast that I had a hard time keeping up with her. As she recanted the entire history of what had transpired, I was quickly lost and without an opportunity to interrupt and ask her any questions. Just when I thought she couldn’t go any faster, the pace picked up, and her hands and arms became part of the conversation, waving in the air as precisely as any karate move. I had no choice but to wait her out and try to piece together what she was telling me with the bits and parts I managed to understand. When she stopped and looked at me, I knew it was my turn to respond. She waited and my mouth opened and closed, but I couldn’t make myself talk. I was afraid of sounding like a fool, saying something totally off topic or making myself appear unintelligent. Finally, as my face grew red, I asked her to tell me again in English this time. Her reaction was swift, as she balled up her hand into a fist and pelted me on my shoulder. I took it like a man and bit back the “ouch” that fought to explode from within me.

She burst into laughter and then started chastising me for not being able to hold up my end of the conversation. She strongly suggested I should consider take a speed listening course and then smiled to let me know she was kidding. A sheepish grin was all I had to offer, and it must have been good enough as she gave me a hug. She took a deep breath before retelling me her news. This time, I heard it in a language I could understand. Allison had earned a spot on the school choir’s madrigal group. There had been tryouts earlier in the week and she was one of four girls to be accepted. What made it even more exciting was the week before my graduation, the group would be traveling to Chicago for a major competition. After I spent the next ten minutes congratulating her and calling her a choir nerd, she suddenly got quiet.

When I asked her why she just shook her head, I persisted and finally, after several prodding attempts, she kissed me tenderly and uttered, “I wish you were going too.”

Sometimes in life it isn’t the big things that catch you off guard, but the simple ones that grab at your insides. It was another tender insight into what loving someone is all about. The sincerity of her voice and the look in her eyes when she made her comment grabbed me, tugged on those inner heartstrings. I was too choked up to reply and pulled her close to me in a tight hug. As I held her in the moment, in that place, it came to me, the quote I would place in the heart on the old oak tree to bind our lives forever.

Allison and I spent the rest of the night together talking about the madrigal group, prom, and graduation. She knew I was hoping to pursue my music and that I also wanted to go to college, but our conversations always seemed to get stuck when we tried to take it past graduation. I think we both realized the seriousness of our relationship was also an obstacle we had to face when I graduated. So much of me wanted to run away and be the singing sensation and envy of adorning fans, but I wanted to have Allison by my side. The year difference between us was making it more complicated than I ever imagined. How do you separate the dreams from reality, and what is reality, anyway? People were always telling me I could do anything I dreamed of, that I should follow my dreams, yet reality was giving me a dose of its own making, pulling at my heart and soul and leading me toward Allison at the forefront.

There would be no easy road for me to follow and, for certain, I knew the road I wanted to travel was the one in which Allison stood by my side. In the last couple of months, I had made inquiries into a couple of the community colleges nearest Cedar Junction. My ACT scores were well above average. I could have been accepted at most colleges I might have applied to. I was, instead, looking at the local community college in Cedar Rapids. I figured I would be close enough to home and still be in a large enough city, where I would have a decent opportunity to join a band. I could pursue my singing career and still work on taking classes, in case I needed a fall-back plan. I was certain I wouldn’t ever use it, but Grandpa taught me to be a realistic optimist. It was the idea of the local college that Allison pushed, sometimes in the most non-subtle ways. She was also a singer and understood my love for music. She didn’t try to hinder my desire to give it a try, but as our relationship continued to progress, more and more she took the side of practicality. I couldn’t blame her, and I wondered many times what I would do if our roles were reversed.

I hadn’t heard anything new from Jesper Donavan, the man I had met at
Tuckerman’s Dance Club in Cedar Rapids, about the band in California. It had been well over a month since we last talked. I had begun to get the feeling he was backing off from his offer for me to be a part of his band. I might be a dreamer, but I’m also a realist. I hadn’t started packing my bags for the coast, at least not yet. So for now, I was working on plan B, going to a small college, working on my music, and staying close to Allison.

Sometimes, magic happens or maybe divine influence, if you like. That night, long after Allison had left me for the comfort of her bed at home, I was slaving away at my desk, adding the finishing touches to the blueprint of the heart. It would soon be etched forever on the old oak tree, and I was growing more nervous by the day. It was nearly four a.m. by the time I felt completely satisfied with what I had drawn. I heard a familiar creak outside in the hallway by my door and knew in an instant my Grandma Sarah had gotten up. I listened intently to hear the distant squeak of the steps, as she made her way downstairs. After a few seconds of hearing nothing but the late-night silence, I wondered if I had imagined the noise after all. My senses hadn’t been lying and I heard the familiar rattle of my doorknob and the gentle swooshing sound of my door as it slowly opened.

My grandma stood silhouetted in the lone light of my desk and the gentle cascading moonlight trickling down the hall outside of my door. She had her robe pulled tight around her, and I could see the look of concern on her face, even in the shadows from where she stood. The frown was soon replaced by a look of bewilderment, as she first looked me over and then focused her attention on the paper tossed haphazardly about my room. From where she stood, she could not easily see what was on my desk and she was too polite to come into my room without my invitation.

I smiled at her and then said in a hushed voice, “Come on in Grandma, I got something that I’d like to show you.” In my heart and mind I was ready to share my creation and there was no one better suited to be the first to see it than Grandma. I wanted her opinion and it was one that I respected for its honesty.

The air in the room swirled with Grandma Sarah’s entrance, as she made her way to my bed and sat down by the side of my desk. I was both nervous and excited to show her what I had sketched. I could tell she felt the same nervous tension in the air. Always proper, she made no attempt to talk first, but to wait for me to begin. She had her hands folded in her lap and I found comfort breathing in the familiar scent of Grandma’s soap. I gently grasped the final drawing of the heart and held it out for my grandma to take. I think she knew right away what it was before she even glimpsed the outline of the heart on the paper. She reached for it in a slow, cautionary extension of her arms, almost afraid to touch it. I smiled and nodded that it was ok. She looked in my eyes and drew in her breath as she took the drawing from my hands.

I leaned back in my chair and watched my grandma examine my handiwork. It didn’t take long to see what Grandma Sarah thought of my artwork. Her stoic face could not hold its composure any longer and her eyes filled with tears. As they overflowed and spilled on to her cheeks they made a glistening trek down, in the soft light of the desk lamp. Her hands began to quiver and she inhaled her breath in several short, broken gasps. Her eyes never left the drawing in front of her, and the tears continued to flow, thoroughly moistening her face.

At last, and with great effort, she raised her eyes to me and more mouthed the words than said them. “It’s beautiful…perfect.”

I smiled from ear to ear and got down on my knees in front of Grandma and gave her the hug of all hugs. She laid the drawing aside and held me tight. We didn’t have to say anything and held on to each other for several minutes. Finally, Grandma let go and told me it was time to go to bed.

As she left the room, but before she closed the door, she sought out my eyes with hers and said gently, “Allison is going to be touched beyond imagination. If what you have drawn there is half as good on the tree, it is going to be amazing, and I’m extremely proud of you.”

During the next couple of days, it turned colder and rained non-stop. Grandpa just walked by me with a smile on his face. I knew Grandma Sarah must have said something to him, but he never asked to see the drawing. Instead, one morning, as I got up and made my way to the kitchen for breakfast before school, Grandpa hollered up the basement stairs to me, asking me to come down as he had something to show me. I made my way down the steps, then followed him through the stacks of boxes and old magazines to his work bench in the back corner of the basement. On it was a large section of a cut tree. I could tell that it was very heavy, and I couldn’t help but wonder how Grandpa had managed to get it downstairs, into the
basement
and up on his workbench. I’m guessing he needed help and speculated on who might have helped him. The tree section stood nearly three feet tall. I knew without even trying, I would have a hard time wrapping my arms around it and getting my hands to touch.