Our Heart (2 page)

Grandpa used to love to tell me, “Back when I was courting your grandma, I used to have to jump from rock to rock to get across. I only ever fell in once,” and we’d laugh about it. When my father was still around, he’d even join in and soon the three of us would get to laughing so hard
to the point of side-splitting pain
. I’d be rolling on the floor gasping for breath. Grandma and Mom would put their hands on their hips and give us that “stare.” They’d do it the same way and always at about the same time. When we looked at them it would just make us laugh even more. My Mom would get red faced, knowing we were laughing at her, but Grandma Sarah would just smile and come over and give Grandpa Jake a big kiss on his nearly, bald head. Grandpa would grab her around the waist and try to tickle her with his nose. She’d swat him lightly and then start laughing along with the rest of us. Usually my Mom would concede and join in; sometimes she’d head for the kitchen to take some imaginary pie out of the oven. What I remember most is that, when all the laughter would finally die away, my mom and dad would end up hugging each other. After a kiss, they would come over to me and pull me into the center of their hug, doing their best to squash me between them. Those were the moments I’ve never forgotten. It was when I knew love and security and the feeling of family.

Grandpa could always make my grandma blush; he’d whisper something in her ear and then Grandma Sarah’s face would turn scarlet red. I never knew what it was that he said to her. I used to ask Grandma, but she would only smile at me and say, “some things are better kept a secret.” At that time in my life, I always figured it was something on the mushy, adult side and way too much information for my “sweet little ears,” as Grandma called them.

After Mom died, and long after my dad had left, Grandpa would still talk about the tree. There were times when it seemed to make him sad rather than happy, like it usually did. I’m sure it had to do with my parents and their own stories involving the old oak tree. Once you crossed the creek, you followed a beaten-down path through dense timber until you emerged into open air, at the bottom of a hill. This was Murphy’s meadow and the place of stories. During the summer, the meadow would be full of tall grass and wild flowers. The grand old tree, part of so many of those stories, sat perched at the top of the hill. It stood out just like a king holding court over all of his loyal subjects.

With my friends Matt Taylor and Nick Anderson, we would canvas Murphy’s meadow from one side to the other, collecting all kinds of bugs and butterflies in jars. Occasionally, we were even lucky enough to corner a Garter snake or two. A snake and three boys always meant the possibility of trouble. As kids, we knew where the best place was to keep a snake, in someone’s mailbox. On one rather interesting July day, when we were eleven, we hid behind shrubs along the side of Tom McCann’s house. We were lying there, on our stomachs, waiting for our chosen patsy to open her mailbox. We were sure that kids had been pulling the same prank for ages, but I’m betting no one, other than the three of us, have ever seen a snake fly through the air as far as Mrs. Wilson threw the one she found in her mailbox.

It was a glorious Tuesday morning to behold, when Patricia Wilson taught Ralph, the snake, how to fly. Pat Wilson was talking across her yard to her next-door neighbor, Sylvia Johnson, who was standing on her front porch. She was still talking to her as she opened her mailbox and reached inside. Instead of pulling out a package, she withdrew Ralph. She suddenly stopped talking to Sylvia Johnson so she could concentrate on
why
the mail
was
moving in her hand. Pat Wilson and the snake didn’t quite know how to begin a proper introduction so they both just looked at each other.

Nick said later that he though Ralph tried to ask her what she was going to do with him, and when he had to repeat his question, that’s when she finally lost it. Matt, Nick, and I had great seats to watch the events unfold, hiding behind some bushes just across the street. Pat Wilson had a hold of Ralph just behind his head. His body unwound and whipped back and forth across her arm. At first, she seemed impervious to his questions. She studied him the same way a person does when they see the face of someone they know, but can’t quite remember their name. She stood transfixed for a few seconds, until Ralph tried to get her attention by asking a personal question. He did it all
in proper snake etiquette as he darted out his tongue, flicking it in the air in front of Pat Wilson’s face. We all knew he was just trying to make conversation, but Mrs. Wilson took it as a sure sign of hostility. Pat Wilson was a little on the beefy side and, to this day, there is no doubt in my mind she could have played right field for the Chicago Cubs. She wound up and threw Ralph like she was trying to throw the winning run out at home plate before they could score.

As it was, Ralph just happened to fly over our heads. I could see his tongue still darting in and out as he soared by. I suppose he might have been trying to get a take on wind conditions and air currents, so he could have a safe flight and smooth landing. As she wound up and let him fly, Mrs. Wilson let out a bellow that could be heard all over town and brought several neighbors out of their houses to see what the commotion was all about. Ralph was totally oblivious to any spectators, being more concerned with his flight path. I don’t know how he managed it, but he went through the branches of a big elm tree. He never hit one branch, sailing out the other side and landing softly in the front yard of Tom McCann’s house. Luckily for Ralph, Mr. McCann wasn’t home. After Ralph checked himself over for missing parts and got his bearings, he swiftly left the area before anyone could ask him to do an encore.

When Patricia Wilson had regained her composure, she started scouring the area for possible suspects. As soon as she turned her back on us, looking the other way, we broke into a sprint. We made it around the side of the house, out of her line of sight, and down the block before she could spy us. We didn’t see anyone as we ran, not stopping until we had put sufficient distance between us and Pat Wilson. In a small town, you learn not to share too many secrets or brag about great adventures; they always have a way of coming back to haunt you. We made it back to the creek, and when the bouts of laughter finally quit the three of us, we made a solemn pact to keep each other protected by staying quiet. To this day, I don’t know if Mrs. Wilson ever found out we were the ones who did it. A couple of days later, I overheard her in the grocery store telling Amber at the checkout counter how that danged snake flew straight as an arrow through the air. Now that it was over and done with, even Pat Wilson was enjoying the story. She and Amber started chuckling, as Pat, using a dramatic flair, shared her story. I even heard the story from my Grandpa Jake. I think if anybody had an idea of who did it, he probably did, but he never
let on
.

Great Aunt Vicky slowly sloshed the ice around in her glass of Pepsi. The sound of ice clinking around in a glass could lead me down the path of lost memories, but this time it brought me back to the present. The happier times of my youth were going to have to wait. I could always tell when she was getting ready to give me one of those, “this is the way life is,” speeches. My Great Aunt Vicky was the type of person who tried to be a mother to everyone, at least anyone who would listen. When she had me cornered, the best thing to do to avoid prolonging the one-way discussion was to nod in complete agreement and say, “you’re absolutely right,” a few dozen times. This wouldn’t ease the pain of enduring her fierce blue eyes, but it would shorten the amount of time she would stare deep inside of me. My great aunt was truly a kind soul; she missed the boat, however, when she didn’t become a minister or a used car salesman. It never failed during one of her talks to have me going both ways. After enduring one of her speeches, I either felt the need to repent or I’d be willing to buy anything she was selling just to end the torment.

I had no idea what I was in store for, but my best guess was it had something to do with Dad. She didn’t disappoint me. Great Aunt Vicky got right to the heart of the matter.

Fixing me with those intense eyes and the crunch of the last ice cube from her drink, she asked, “Have you thought about what you and your father are going to do?”

It really was the one question where a lifetime might pass by, waiting for an answer. It wasn’t only about what to do if and when Grandpa passed on, but how we were going to face each other. I knew she and others were hopeful that Dad and I could work through our issues. Great Aunt Vicky may seem demure to the newly acquainted stranger, but to those who knew her she was larger than life. If I happened to sit on the other side of the table from her I answered truthfully and respectfully when she addressed me. This time, I was at a total loss and had no idea what to say. She waited patiently for my response, and when I saw her push her hair back behind her ear, I realized that the unseen answer clock was nearly out of time. I had done a lot of thinking on the flight home from California, and I figured I was going to have to face my father, no other way around it. I just didn’t want to think about the encounter, especially at this moment.

Great Aunt Vicky had a way of asking the same question for a second time that made me feel like a suspect in an interrogation room. Answer it correctly and I might get a glass of water; answer wrong and they’d put me in a room with Bruno. I didn’t want her to repeat the question, so I answered with the first thing that came to mind. “Nope, don’t have a clue.” This was a truth in itself and I could see Aunt Vicky intently studying my face and body language for any signs of irregularities.

I must have satisfied her, because she just nodded and began the meat of her little talk. I don’t really know if there is a precise and appropriate time when we finally achieve the ability to let go of our grudges in life. I wasn’t ready. She did her best to explain to me how my father had changed. He wanted nothing more than to make amends for the wrongs he had committed and all of his past shortcomings. I wasn’t buying it and she could tell.

She then said the one thing that cut me to the quick, “for the sake of your Grandfather, you need to reconcile with your father!” How did I respond to a directive like that? I love my grandfather, and I also hold on tight to the memories of the father I once had, but to tell me that I’d be letting my grandfather down if I didn’t offer forgiveness to the man who walked out of my life was above reproach. I got angry and Aunt Vicky could tell. She clearly sensed, rightly so, that she had severely hit a nerve. She did her best to back peddle. It was too late, and I got up and left the table. I headed back upstairs to spend time with Grandpa Jake.

I stopped dead in my tracks when Aunt Vicky spoke out to me in a voice I wasn’t familiar with. Speaking in a low and broken
tone
, Aunt Vicky said with much difficulty and with tears running down her cheeks, “Your mother loved your dad like he was the only one who could make the sun rise every morning. He’d have done anything for her and he returned her love, two-fold. I don’t excuse what he did to you, and I know you don’t understand, but someday I pray you are given the opportunity to know the incredible kind of love that both your grandfather and father were able to find. Their love was pure and genuine, a love that made those around them feel it and want to be near it. It’s just that….you don’t know…how much they…”

Aunt Vicky raised her hand, which had begun to shake, and tried to catch the tears racing down her cheeks. I stood speechless. In all of my years, I don’t know if I’ve ever heard Aunt Vicky speak with such difficulty. My anger abated, and I even nearly let myself get caught up in the emotion of the moment. Somehow, I grabbed on to all of those inner feelings of loneliness I had felt when Dad left and turned my back on Great Aunt Vicky. Today, it was about my Grandpa Jake and I headed back to his room.

Great Aunt Vicky made one last comment as she watched me walk away. “Your Dad will be here soon; he stayed away when you first came so you could spend time with your grandpa. He loves that old man in there as much as you do, remember that!”

I only had one thought in my mind, as I made my way back to Grandpa Jake’s room. My Great Aunt Vicky had been right about one thing; both Grandpa and my father were totally and deeply in love with my mother and grandmother. She was wrong on the most important point. I’d had a love like theirs once and I allowed it to fall apart. I would never get the chance again. Love like that only happens, if we’re lucky, once in a lifetime. My chance came early, and I would be facing the rest of my life without much
hope
for lightening to strike twice.

Chapter 2

I can’t help but look for solace, in the depiction of Christ on the cross, at the back of the altar. In the last four days, I’ve dealt with more emotion and feelings than I ever thought it was possible to bear. Looking back on that conversation with Aunt Vicky in the cafeteria and her comment about my father’s undying love for Mom has haunted me for the last three nights. I’ve spent these past six years trying to erase the unhappy thoughts of my father and forget about anything positive that he once stood for. But I couldn’t deny what my Aunt Vicky had said. When I was around Mom and Dad it was uplifting and comfortable. I’m wondering today if those lost feelings aren’t the reason for my anger at my father. Someone had to take the blame when everything good was suddenly taken away. I needed the love of both of my parents and now I had emptiness. Grandpa Jake and Grandma Sarah did their best to make me feel loved, in their own special way. I clung to them when I needed those feelings, but it was still different from what I had lost. I desperately wanted to be comforted in their presence, and they never let me down, always freely giving me their love and support.