Voice of Innocence: A Coming-Of-Age Sweet Romance

by Lindsay Detwiler

  Yes, a year had changed us. The “I love you’s” became more frequent and confident. In fact, they became common knowledge. It was no longer a question but an admission to something bigger happening than just two kids looking into each other’s eyes. We had both felt it in the past year. This relationship that had begun at an art table over a simple project had gradually grown into a greater force, dictating where our lives were headed and who we were. Suddenly, my life seemed broader, more worthwhile simply because Corbin was in it. It had gained meaning I didn’t think could be found so early in life.

  So we trudged on into the winter evening, heading toward one of the few festivities our dinky town had to offer. The annual tree lighting in the town’s square was perhaps the highlight of the year, offering small festivities that drew out most of the town’s residents. Corbin had heard about this celebration of the season and begged me to go with him. I, of course, retorted with sarcasm about the “social event of the year” being a lame Christmas tree lighting. But I saw how much the child within Corbin wanted to go, so I relented.

  As we neared the town, the sounds of the season echoed through the streets. The local alumni band tooted out carols, haloing the area in holiday reverie. People were everywhere, crawling the streets like a flock of birds heading south for the winter, waiting around until the final call by the leader. I didn’t even know so many people lived in our town, let alone wanted to come to such a minute event. But come they did, as the streets buzzed with laughter and yelling as children and adults alike guffawed.

  “Wow, look at this place! This is awesome,” Corbin unabashedly reckoned, lighting up from the essence of the streets. “Let’s check that out,” he ordered, pulling me toward a tiny petting zoo set up for the kids.

  “Really, Corbin? How old are you?” I smiled, watching him lunge toward the gate with a line of five-year-olds. I humored him and joined in his sense of awe at a bleating goat and a tiny calf as we watched children jam hay in their faces.

  Neighbors, friends, teachers, they all crowded the area. I felt like “Hi” and “How are you” were flying out of my mouth at least five times a minute. Despite the superficial small talk, it felt nice to be surrounded by a community of familiar faces, of people I had known all my life. There was something magical in a gathered group of people in the midst of the snow, all awaiting an even more magical time of year. With Christmas so close, I couldn’t help but appreciate the beauty of the scene, the warmth of the sounds coming from those streets. This was the definition of elation, experienced by an entire crowd of people.

  Corbin and I traveled the booths of activities at the event. In reality, the tree-lighting festivities were somewhat lame. With the size of the crowd, you would think that an entire carnival or Barnum & Bailey’s had just pulled up to town. In the streets were a hot dog vendor, a hot chocolate cart, the petting zoo, a few ice sculptures, and a tent peddling kettle corn. At the other end of the street sat the alumni band on a slipshod stage, caressing us with seasonal music. A carnival tent also sat in the middle, giving out soup samples from local vendors for the soup-tasting contest that happened every year. And that was it. Simple, boring even, but nonetheless, everyone gathered around these tents, basking in the glory of the town and of the surroundings. Despite its minimalism, you couldn’t help but feel that Christmas was coming. You couldn’t help but smile at the genuine excitement of the crowd and the close-knit feeling of this community.

  So we continued to stroll the streets, buying hot chocolate, stopping to talk to a few friends from school. Corbin was simply beaming the entire time, stopping only to take a bite of the hot dog he had purchased. I had scrunched my nose at his offer to buy me one, too, proclaiming I would rather eat snow than a gristly hot dog from the little cart.

  “This is great, we should come every year,” Corbin observed.

  “It’s kind of lame, but it’s also sort of festive in a strange way,” I noted.

  Corbin leaned over to kiss my cheek, rubbing his nose on me afterward.

  “It is pretty cold, though, I’ll admit,” he slyly remarked, shivering at his own admission.

  “Do you want to head back?” I asked, cupping the hot chocolate between my mittens and relishing in the bits of steam that were hitting my face.

  Corbin squinted at me like I was crazy. “Really? You think that after all of this, we’re going to just leave before the main event? Pu-lease.”

  I sighed before finally muttering an “Okay, okay.” Corbin looked at his watch.

  “We only have about fifteen more minutes. Let’s head toward the tree,” he ordered as I followed him through the crowd, weaving to avoid spilling my cocoa.

  Many others in the crowd had the same idea, ushering screaming toddlers and even dogs to the other end of the square. The big moment was about to happen, marking the start of the holiday season. It was a simple tradition, started fifty years ago. I tried to imagine what this square would have looked like then, what life would have been like. I smiled at the idea of our busy, self-centered generation stopping to observe such a humble tradition as a tree lighting. It was a nice prospect, and I was glad, after all, that we had decided to participate. It was nice to stop for a minute and appreciate the simple joys of the season.

  As we edged closer to the tree and found a satisfactory view, Corbin reached into his pocket.

  “I almost forgot,” he beamed, pulling out his camera.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Stop pretending to be such a downer. I know you’re having fun, even if you won’t admit it. Your eyes are giving you away. Now smile,” Corbin demanded, holding the camera out with one arm while pulling my face into his with the other.

  “Say ‘Christmas Tree’,” he commanded.

  I pulled away to look at him with skeptical eyes, but he just looked right back.

  It was no use. So on the count of three, I yelled “Christmas Tree” with Corbin as those around us grinned. As he leaned out of the picture and I looked away, he snapped another picture of me from the side.

  “Really?” I glowered. He gave me a shoulder shrug and then grinned. I gave him an intense glare until he agreed to put the camera away, pulling me into his arms and against his chest.

  “I love you, Emma,” he whispered into my hair as he pulled closer to me from behind. “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

  I smiled, both inside and out, leaning back to look up into his face. “I love you, too, Corbin. I’m still freezing, but this is nice. I like being here with you.”

  We stood then, in silent reflection of the past year and of the year to come. I glanced around us at the sights and sounds of the hyper crowd, appreciating all the love that was standing with us. All around, girlfriends and boyfriends stood embracing, husbands and wives stood in each other’s arms, children flailing about at their feet. I looked around at the town, our town, and appreciated for once the simple, genuine feel of it and its people. It was a place to embrace a family life, maybe not a life of thrills and excitement, but a life of purity and truth. For the first time since Corbin had uttered I love you a year ago, I realized that this would be our town, the place where we would settle with a family. I could picture myself at this dinky festival year after year, first with Corbin as my fiancé and then eventually as my husband. We would come here, years down the road, with my belly bulging underneath my winter coat, awaiting our first child. Eventually, we would be in the petting zoo with our own brood, watching them run at our feet in excitement of the season. Looking back at Corbin, I realized that he was my future, that a life with him would bring a life full of the serenity and comfort I was feeling at this gathering. His were the only arms I could ever picture myself in.

  As the crowd began to count down to the lighting of the tree, I basked in the warm feeling of his arms around me, realizing that despite the bitter cold chilling my nose and my toes even through the winter gear, I was content. There was nowhere else I would rather be. Corbin joined in the countdown, and
when we got to zero, we froze in anticipation. We awaited the mystical, fuzzy vision of hundreds of lights announcing the grand entrance of the time of year. But instead, the crowd stood silent in a sea of disappointment. Nothing had happened. The announcer on the tiny stage fretted as the electrical crew began arguing over cords and lights. So much for a magical moment.

  Corbin just laughed, turning to me. “Well, so much for the tree lighting,” he said, not disappointed.

  “Yeah, some festival,” I sighed.

  “It doesn’t matter. We still had fun, right?”

  This time, I abandoned my sarcasm, looking up into his eyes. “Yeah, we did.”

  And with that, the crowd chorused in glee as the tree’s lighting malfunction was fixed. The glow of the season finally lit up the town, and the band began honking out “Oh, Christmas Tree.”

  We took in the sight for a moment, Corbin’s arms still around me. I smiled, realizing that all was not lost. Sometimes it took a little bit of work, but the lights would eventually fill the darkness.

  A philosophical mood apparently taking hold of me, I glanced at a family near me, smiling at the tree. A little girl jumped up and down with glee as a baby sat in the stroller babbling to himself. It seemed overdramatic, even to myself, but I began thinking about life and how sometimes, like the tree, things didn’t always work out exactly the way we hoped. Sometimes malfunctions happened, bulbs blew out, and mistakes were made. Sometimes we felt like saying “Oh well,” and moving on to the next thing. But sometimes it was worth hanging in there. Look at the joy a simple thing like the lights had brought to so many.

  Turning to Corbin, I again thought about our future. I thought about how there would probably be many malfunctions in our lives, too. Like the lighting crew, we would face burnouts and faulty wiring on our journey together. We would face bitter cold that threatened to overturn the warmth of our relationship. But it was at that moment, staring at the tree and the crowd cornily roaring at the sight, I realized there was always hope—even when things got tough, you had to keep trying, because in the end it was worth it. It was at that seemingly meaningless festival I realized Corbin and I could make it last if we just didn’t give up.

  Corbin, too, seemed lost in the atmosphere, deep in thought. We turned to head back to my house before the entire crowd dispersed, walking hand in hand slowly.

  “That was fun,” Corbin announced again, truly meaning it.

  “Yeah. I have to admit, it’s pretty neat seeing everyone around that single tree,” I begrudgingly conceded.

  “We should make this our tradition,” Corbin proclaimed. I looked up into his eyes.

  “Yeah, I’d like that,” I grinned.

  “Just think, a few years down the road, we could be like those families, chasing kids at the petting zoo and listening to them whine about their hot chocolate,” he laughed.

  “A few years?”

  “Okay, maybe not a few. But eventually?”

  “Eventually. Let’s just enjoy a few years to ourselves, though, okay? I don’t want to have to share my hot chocolate, not yet anyway.”

  “Deal,” Corbin grinned, squeezing my hand.

  It had been a long year and a half, but we still had a long way to go. We were young and carefree. We hadn’t been tested yet. But on that night, huddled in the warmth of his hand and his heart, I felt like the Christmas spirit would carry on for years and years to come. I felt like the peace we felt standing with our community around the tree lived within our relationship. I felt like I wanted to live there, too. For the first time since I met him, I entertained the possibility that this could be it, this could be what people search for all of their lives. How lucky I am, I thought, to have found it so young. I have so much time to appreciate it now.

  * * * *

  If only I had been right, I think, rolling over under the covers. If only I had time to appreciate the peace I found in Corbin. If only we could have had our own miracles to work out the broken connections and dilapidated bulbs. If only we could have found a sense of that Christmas spirit to carry us through the bad times, to help us stay strong.

  If only we could have kept the tradition alive, returning with our own family to celebrate at that silly festival.

  If only time had been on our side.

  I think about time and drift into the netherworld between sleep and alertness, seeing Corbin’s face against that winter backdrop as I fall into a gentle reprieve.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine: Hello Again

  Emma

  My heart pounds as my mind brings me back to the present. For a split second, my mind trudges to an unreachable, impossible place. I lift the icy fog of the winter air from my brain, shaking off the sluggishness that accompanies the winter months. Hank’s barking at the front door snaps me back to reality. Get real, Emma, I scold myself. There’s no way. Stop it. It’s probably your annoying mother returning for the rest of her bottle of wine.

  Glancing at the clock, I realize it is nearly midnight. Normally, a sense of alarm would have encroached upon me at the sound of a doorbell this late at night. Visions of serial killers and men in black masks would lead my fingers to the familiar emergency numbers of my cordless phone. The strains of the day numb my mind to any potential fear, however. Too tired to ponder the possibility of an unsavory person being behind the ringing of the doorbell, I slowly rise to my feet. My slippers trot across the floor with a scraping sound as I reach the stairs. I rub my eyes, trying to bring consciousness back to them, as I approach the final step. Hank is still woofing, warning away whomever has encroached on our property at this hour. I finally reach the front door, extending my hand toward the handle. I look at my feet as I slowly inch the door open. When I look up through the crack, my stomach plummets as if I have just rocketed down the biggest hill on the biggest roller coaster in the world. A serial killer with a machete would have been less shocking and perhaps less painful. It is not my mother returning for her wine bottle, although at this moment, she would be wishing that she had.

  For a seemingly eternal moment, I just stand in silent reverie with the door slightly ajar. My chest tightens into a knot and my composure threatens to unravel. Hank keeps barking while wedging himself between me and the “stranger.” A car alarm piercingly honks in the distance, a coincidental symbol of how we both must feel. I marvel at the randomness of both the honking and the fact that I notice. When faced with traumatic and shocking events, the human mind will find the oddest focal points. However, my heart eventually overthrows my brain’s defense mechanism as everything blurs together in the background. The only thing I see is him.

  He hesitates cumbersomely as well, standing on the doorstep with his eyes locked on me. He has changed over the years. In the dim, flickering porch light, I can tell that his brown hair is shorter and showing signs of greying. Rugged stubble slightly hides the jawbone that had been so prominent in his youth. The ruggedness that now denotes him is foreign to me, but it seems to fit him. He has stoicism about him as well that is far removed from the carefree boy I had once known, had once kissed. His stance seems automatically and irrevocably defensive, like he is waiting for someone to throw a direct punch at him. Maybe it’s life he is waiting to deflect. Who could blame him? Despite all of the variances in his character, his are the same eyes that had locked on that fifteen-year-old girl so long ago. They are the same eyes in which I saw my life reflected when I sat at that art table or underneath the span of that majestic Oak tree. They are the eyes that reflected back my own soul, even when I wasn’t sure what that soul looked like. They are the eyes that had haunted my dreams, driven me forward, taken me backward, and filled my thoughts in all of the in-betweens. They are the eyes that I had longed to see but hadn’t realized as much until this moment when they were right in front of me. They are the eyes that had offered me refuge and salvation. They are the eyes that had condemned me to a life of want and longing, of regret and sorrow. They are the eyes, I felt certain, that would save me from myself and wou
ld promise me something no one else could.

  I slowly push the door open just a hint more. “Emma, I’m...I’m sorry…I just had to come. I can leave if you want. I just had to see…see that you were doing okay,” his gravelly voice offers slowly. He tastes every word as I soak each one in. His words come out like a question instead of a statement. I can feel the doubts he has suffered over the past hours at coming here, maybe even the past few months.

  For a minute, I feel myself drifting back. I am not a forty-seven-year-old housewife with a dog named Hank and a husband who is out at the ER. I am sixteen again, looking into those familiar, soft eyes that seem to make everything okay. I find myself mindlessly walking toward him with confidence and falling into his arms. I realize that this time I’m not reminiscing. It’s happening.

  The embrace is soft yet hungry, tender yet sensuous. He wraps his arms around me, nuzzles his jaw into my hair, and squeezes as though his arms will stay locked on me forever. His familiar cologne wraps around me, engulfing my body in its sweet temptation. His breath hits my neck and sends chills down my spine. Electricity stuns my body, awakening me so much that I realize I have been asleep for many years. Life singes through my fingers, to my toes, to my heart. I am home.

  In our embrace, everything else that has transpired dissipates. Things are right again in our worlds because we are where we were supposed to be all along. We are where we should have been decades ago and never had the chance. All of the what-ifs and if-onlys evaporate into the night sky as our hearts again find each other. If this weren’t such a momentous occasion, I would probably start spewing about how corny this scene would be in a movie and how ridiculous this would seem. To a heart iced for decades, to a dream stomped into the ground, to a connection severed from external and not internal forces, though, these comments do not have a chance to surface. These comments are lodged in the back of my brain while my heart takes the lead.