Donald and Heidi

The alarming thought that Heidi Watson might hear that he had died a drunk, caused Donald’s blue eyes to pop open as he lay there, sprawled on his dirty front-door rug. He had stumbled over his own feet again and fallen flat. Donald was a beer drunk, had been for years, starting in high school, then testing his capacity for it in the Navy, and eventually persisting, mostly blacked out, through two brief marriages.

Having thoughts of Heidi was not particularly unusual for Donald. In fact, she had been a subtle but consistent presence in his subconscious for 30 years. But never, not until this moment, did he panic over the possibility of being revealed to her, maybe perceived by her as weak or pathetic. He believed he had some sort of image to uphold in her eyes.

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Heidi and Donald had parted ways without fanfare after high school – she to college and he to military service, a default option since he had neither the money nor the ambition to pursue any other plan.

His very first encounter of Heidi Watson had occurred four years earlier on the day when the new high school opened its doors and welcomed kids from several surrounding districts. She did not notice little Donald as he entered their homeroom. Heidi and Donald embodied the familiar stereotypes of many 14-year-old boys and girls – she, already flowering, and he, still awaiting a transforming spurt of hormones.

He, however, immediately noticed Heidi, laughing, confident, sparkling with pretty eyes, shining hair, beautiful teeth.

Their homeroom teacher explained the seating arrangement: single rows, front to back, alphabetically according to last names. The new classmates jostled each other along the side wall as names were called and they found their seats. Donald’s eyes darted around as only two names remained to be called: his, Vogt, Donald, and hers, Watson, Heidi. He dissembled well. Acting bored and distracted, he took his seat, concealing both his rampant excitement as well as a deep, calming conviction that this was karma plus kismet and that he deserved it. As the youngest child in a large Irish Catholic family, Donald had learned to privately value his independent opinions even as he deferred to his noisy siblings.

Most teachers throughout their high school years chose the simplicity of seating students similarly, and so invariably, Donald Vogt sat in front of Heidi Watson in the last two seats of the last row in almost every classroom. Even their class photos showed them either standing or sitting next to each other. The frequent juxtaposition easily became their brief little joke at the beginning of each semester, but that was really their only connection. He knew that Heidi attached no significance to the fluke, but to Donald, a unique proprietary intimacy slowly grew from it. That he lived outside her social circle of achievers and athletes and leaders did not matter. He was the boy who sat just inches from Heidi Watson for many hours every day. He was her quiet, self-appointed protector. He imagined he could feel her breath on the back of his neck.

By their senior year, Donald and Heidi developed a relaxed, trusting friendship. He managed to appear on the sidelines of her high-profile activities and popularity that year. If she landed a role in the school play, he was a stage hand. If she wrote for the yearbook, he volunteered to take photos. If she was walking home alone following an after-school meeting, he pulled up at the curb in his old Ford and offered a ride. Gradually, they became comfortable companions. But after graduation, he did not see her again.

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Donald lay there, slightly dizzy, eyes wide and unblinking, searching the contours of his living room for a solution to the non-existent, yet, for him, urgent problem. Quite simply, Heidi Watson must never know the sordid circumstances of his life. With characteristic quiet resolve, Donald allowed his eyes to close, knowing that he would not break the promise to himself. He did not. And it was not easy.

Three months later, Donald called his older sister Maureen. From the change in his voice and mood and from his heightened alertness, she inferred what he had accomplished. She wanted to congratulate him but respected his privacy and said nothing. He inquired if their old high school ever arranged reunions. They talked about Heidi, and Donald requested a favor. After just a few days, Maureen called her brother back to report that she had indeed reached Heidi Watson. Yes, Heidi wanted to hear from him.

It would have been perfectly fine with Donald Vogt if he had dropped dead right then and there. His happiness was complete. His life was fulfilled. But he didn’t drop dead. He summoned his confidence and contacted Heidi. They talked by phone. They emailed and texted. Then they met. Donald was as in love with Heidi as he had been when they were 14. Maybe more. She was 50 pounds heavier and her hair was cut short, but her eyes shone, her teeth flashed, and she could still make him laugh. He moved from Texas to New Jersey to live with her in her house, and soon they married – her second, his third, no children. He found employment and they settled in. They had an old high school class photo enlarged and cropped to show just the two of them standing side by side. They hung it over the mantle in the living room.

Within the first year of their marriage, Heidi Watson was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and Donald Vogt awakened to his lifelong call. He had been waiting many years for it. He was prepared. And Heidi was ready for all the love and kindness, all the care and concern that he was so eager to pour out. For six years, together they endured several surgeries, several rounds of chemotherapy, and the heartbreaking results of many lab tests. Heidi died when they were both 56.

Donald languished and the house lost some of its immaculate order and repair during the two years following Heidi’s death. Donald finally decided that he could not survive there without her. He moved to Nashville for the warmer weather, for the mountains, for the country music, and maybe for the bars and the beer. It had been a long time. And really, it didn’t matter anymore.

~Julie Helms~