Tethering Angels

Chapter 9: Center of the Universe

The remainder of July flew by and before we knew it the dog days were upon us. Jimmy was set time leave for the army in late August, so we had just a few weeks left. We sat on his back porch steps as the sun set over his corn fields one night. He lit a cigarette. The pale grey smoke wafted from his lips in an elegant, swirling puff that floated up into the rosy glow of the evening. I rested my elbow on my knee and watched him smoke until his eyes met mine and he crushed the cigarette out.
"Do you smoke often, Jimmy?" I asked.
"Just occasionally. I've don't it a little more often lately."
I nodded, "Any reason in particular, besides looking like a gorgeous man of mystery?"
He smiled and shook his head, "I've just been thinking a lot lately is all. I've noticed they take the edge off, relax me a little."
I laid my head on his shoulder, "What have you been thinking about?" I asked as if I didn't know. I did, of course, but I wanted him to talk to me if it could help anything.
"A lot of things. You, the family, the farm, the army, the war, if it's really the right thing to do..."
"What do you mean if it's the right thing to do? Serving your country? Freeing a people oppressed by communism?"
"The stuff on the television, and the news...the naked, crying children, the villages burned to the ground, the smiling guys in the trenches looking happy to be there, but then there are the wounded ones—it's not like I'm afraid of pain. I'm not. It's just," he sighed and took another cigarette from the box in his pocket, "I just wonder if it's worth it, if it's worth hurting all those civilians and getting shot yourself when it's not even our land and freedom we're defending. Is that selfish? Maybe that's selfish, I don't know. I just don't know."
"I wish you didn't have to go at all, and I wish the damn fools could just fight their own battles, but if you were called up to fight for freedom, then I suppose you have to go. It seems like a duty to your country."
He took another puff of smoke and sighed, "I don't know. I guess."
"And if you can stop the spread of communism in Vietnam, then that's a blow that could save the free world somewhere else. We need to control the spread so it does not reach our country. It's already dangerously close with all the hippies around trying to overthrow the way things are," I reasoned.
"But what if it doesn't slow the spread? What if the hippies get their way anyway? What if we lose in Vietnam and it's all for naught? I've been rereading this book from my philosophy class. We read it back in the fall and discussed it a little, but I thought I ought to give it a second look as it seems more relevant now," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little cream colored paperback book titled A Collection of Works by Saint Thomas Aquinas. He had marked a page with a folded fast food receipt and opened to it, "Aquinas has this theory for what makes a war a just war. Obviously we're usually not supposed to commit acts of violence, but they are permitted in just wars."
"Oh yes, I know, I've read that."
"So do you think Vietnam is a just war?"
"Well, why don't we go through the criteria and see? It has been a while since I read it too."
He read off the first one, "Last Resort: all peaceful options must be considered first."
"I suppose," I guessed. I did not really know for sure how this all got started or if they had really exhausted all their means of peace, but I assumed they had if it had come to blows, "I doubt the US would send boys to war again when they could have solved it diplomatically."
Jimmy shrugged, "I don't know. I'm not sure things were ever so desperate that the spread of communism in a little country across the ocean was a direct threat to our country. Let's see...Legitimate Authority: it can't be waged by groups or individuals that are not legitimate governments."
"I would assume the groups have legitimacy over there, and the US is certainly legitimate," I supplied.
"Again, not positive on that one either," he said slowly, "It seems like a problem they need to solve themselves. I don't know if the North Vietnamese are really a legitimate authority over there. Just Cause: a response to a wrong suffered or self defense. They aren't attacking us on our soil. We did not directly suffer a wrong here."
"That is very true."
"Probability of Success...I don't know. We've been there for years and there seems to be no progress being made. We are still just fighting and people keep dying!"
"That's true. We've been at this a while and there does not seem to be much end in sight," my heart seemed to sink with every statement.
"Right Intention: reestablishing peace? I guess that's what we're trying to do, but I doubt we are sticking around long enough to help them rebuild a government!"
I shook my head, "And it's not our country!"
"Proportionality—yeah right," he scoffed.
"There are definitely more civilians than soldiers being killed, and not to mention the property damage and disruption. They can't touch us here!"
"Civilian casualties—there you go! Caroline, what am I gonna do? I know this sounds unpatriotic and self righteous, but I don't feel proud of this and I don't want to go!"
"And you don't have a choice," I shook my head as my face felt hot with anger, "I just wish this stupid war would end! Maybe you can shut it down, Jimmy."
He laughed without humor, "I can't do anything but what they tell me."
"Then you follow your orders with as much love and humanity as you can muster. You don't have to shoot at children, you don't have to be the one to torch the village..."
"I can just take care of my fellow soldiers and help free the people we are trying to free, if that's even what we're doing anymore. Even if it isn't, I'll do it. I'll protect those kids and fight the North Vietnamese commies and dig the trenches for my fellow men. I'll return to you, Caroline, I can promise you that." He held his cigarette in his left hand and touched my knee with his right.
He was so passionate and emboldened when he spoke and stirred feelings of giddy admiration inside me, but at the same time feelings of dread and anxiety crept through my arms and made my hands sweat as he took mine in his.
"No I can't! I can't promise you that! But I will. I will anyway!"
I nodded and squeezed his hand tightly. It was sweaty too.
"You're nervous, Caroline," he observed, "care for a cigarette?"
"I...I've never had one. My mother says good girls don't smoke until they're women," I confessed.
"Do 'good girls' discuss Aquinas' just war theory on a summer night?"
"I guess not. I think very few people do that."
"Women?" He laughed.
"I think that's probably even rarer," I laughed a little, "though I would love if something could take my nerves away."
He lit a new cigarette and handed it to me.
"I don't even know how!"
"Put it in your mouth and breathe it in but not too much," he instructed.
I tried but immediately hated the strange burning sensation and started choking and coughing. He grimaced and took it back from me.
"It looks elegant when you do it. I can't do it at all! I feel much more nervous now than I was."
"You have to inhale while you take it out of your mouth," Jimmy laughed.
"Well, you didn't tell me that!" I snapped, "I just don't think I like it. If you like it, that's fine, just don't do it too much. Be smart about it."
"I will," he promised with an amused smile.
  "My music teacher also warned me that smoking would mess with my voice," I remembered.
  "Well, we can't have that."
   I watched him take another puff, looking like a dreamy, rebellious James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. I couldn't resist giving it another try to impress him.
  "Can I try again?"
  "Really?"
   I nodded.
  "Alright..."
   I tried it again, putting on my best movie star smirk and seductive glint in my eye. He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but impressed. Then I tried to inhale and coughed again. He laughed so hard he almost burned himself.
  "I guess this is God's way of telling me I shouldn't smoke," I sighed, but couldn't help but laugh at myself too, "I'm sorry I don't look pretty doing it."
  "It's alright. You look pretty doing everything else."
   A foreign smell and a cloud of smoke came wafting through the still air from around the corner of the house. I wrinkled my nose and fearfully looked around for the culprit.
  "Is there a skunk around here? Maybe we should go inside so it doesn't spray us. They're all around here at night, you know..."
  Jimmy sighed and stood up, stretched, and walked toward the source of the smell.
  "Jimmy! What are you doing? You're going to be sprayed!"
  "I don't think I'm going to be sprayed. I think it's a special kind of skunk."
  I watched as he reached around the corner and grabbed hold of something, pulling it back towards him. Whatever it was let out a yelp and scrambled to resist to no avail.
  "Tony, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
  "If you can have a smoke, why can't I?"
  "I'm...older, and I bought mine legally at the gas station. You...where did you even get that?"
  "What's it to you?" Tony Romano asked moodily, tossing his mop of brown hair to the side.
  "I wanna know so I can talk to them and make sure they stop dragging you into whatever crap they're doing."
  "They're not dragging me, I'm going myself. They have more fun."
  "Until the cops show up!"
  "The cops," he scoffed.
  "The cops, Tony. If you get arrested, colleges don't want to let you in, you can't get a job, you can't..."
  "I don't want any of those things."
  "Then how do you plan to...I don't know, live?"
  "How do you plan to live when you are going to fight a fight that isn't yours? How do you plan to live when they are going to drop you in the middle of a jungle with guns all around and tell you to kill? You don't even know really what you're doing over there, do you? You're just going because they're telling you to. You always do as you're told, don't you? You're everyone's favorite, perfect son, brother, player, boyfriend," he put the long joint in his mouth and Jimmy pulled it out, stamping it into the ground, "Hey!"
  Jimmy twisted the front of his shirt and pinned him against the house, his voice growled, low and angry, "Go in the house, take a shower, and go to bed. Stop being a damn delinquent!"
  Tony shoved him away and attempted to throw a punch but Jimmy caught it and twisted it behind his back. I gasped but stayed quiet.
  "I can't wait until you leave," Tony muttered through gritted teeth.
  "Why? Why's that?" Jimmy asked menacingly.
  "Because then you'll be off my back! I already have one dad telling what to do, I don't need another! Just keep doing what you're told, being a perfect GI Joe and then don't bother coming back!"
  Jimmy's face went blank for a moment before turning angry again and shoving him to the ground, "Fine. Have it your way! I'll get off your back! I may not come back and get a nice college education and a job, but you still can. You're lucky you're still young enough and there's time for you to apply yourself and earn more money than I did. If I die, my college money can go to you. For the love of god, don't let it go to waste."
   Tony scrambled to his feet. I got out of his way before he jumped on the step and slammed the door as he went inside the house. Jimmy ran a hand through his hair and sat back down next to me. He put his head in his hands and sighed. I rubbed his back and we sat for a moment, saying nothing. After a while he sat up and looked over the fields. Nearly all the sunlight was gone and the porch light came on. I kissed his cheek and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He touched where my hands met with his right hand.
   "What am I doing, Caroline?" He whispered, "What are we all doing?"
  "I don't know. I'm holding onto you for as long as I can."
  He turned his head and his shiny hair glistened in the yellow light. He glanced at the door, "That's my brother. Does that serve me right? For doing everything I'm told all the time?"
  "No, of course not!" I insisted, "You're a good guy. You're good to answer your country's call. Tony doesn't get it yet. He's in that angry, rebellious phase where everything discontents him."
  "I never had that phase. I've always been quite content with life, and when I'm not, it does much more good to just bear the burden rather than rail against it when there is nothing you can do."
  "Jimmy, are you even a human or are you an angel?" I laughed.
"Of course I'm a human. I say crap like that but it's not like I do it wholeheartedly all the time!"
  "That makes me feel better about myself."
  Jimmy sighed and pulled me close, "I want to take you into Chicago next Tuesday. I can get tickets for a Cub's game and we can go sightseeing in the city. It'll be a nice last hurrah before I go and you start school."
  "Right, I have to go back to school like a child while you go to the army," I grumbled, "but of course I would love to go to Chicago."
"Great. I'll pick you up at seven, bright and early."
   Jimmy drove me home, kissed me goodnight on my front porch, and I hurried to take a shower and lose the smell of cigarette smoke. We set off on the road to Chicago the next week. We got into the city in time to grab breakfast at a café. We roamed the streets until about noon when we made our way to Wrigley Field to watch the game. After years and years of being generally terrible and forgettable, the Cubs were beginning to rise in prominence and popularity. They were doing quite well this season. The team featured players like Ernie Banks and Ron Santo who would become legends. Ernie Banks, or "Mr. Cub" as people called him, due to his love for the team and the game, played first base. He had been the very first black man to play for the Cubs. While this caused a stir back in the day, now he was one of the most beloved players on the team. His career was winding down and he would surely retire in a few years, but he just had to keep playing. I never wanted to see him go. His smile and his pure passion was visible even from our bleacher seats.
   Halfway through the fourth inning Jimmy put his arm around me as I crunched on peanuts. Mr. Cub hit a home run and we immediately got to our feet to cheer. As he ran the bases, I felt the rush of excitement and pride for my favorite player. We sat down again when the cheering died down.
  "Did you know that he was in the army? In Korea?" I asked Jimmy.
   He nodded, "That's where he hurt his knee. It started acting up again and that's why he had to change to playing first base."
  "Oh," I felt sorry I had even brought it up, "Well, he's good at first base, and he can still run, see?"
   Jimmy smiled, "I suppose he can."
   After five more innings, the W flag was flying and we were high on the thrill of the win. Once we left the stadium, we hopped on a bus.
  "Where are we going now, Jim?" I asked.
  His eyes sparkled mysteriously, "You will just have to wait and see."
   I tried to look out the windows at the passing buildings, but I did not know Chicago well enough to be able to tell at all where we were going. The bus stopped in from of the Art Institute and Jimmy offered me his hand. I took it and a wave of giddy excitement rushed over me. He led me off the bus and down the sidewalk.
  "I know how you love art and culture," he whispered as he opened the door for me.
  "Oh Jimmy! I've always wanted to come here!" I gasped at the grand foyer, "Do you want me to pay? I can pay! You payed for the tickets earlier—"
  "I'm a gentleman. I will pay," he said, standing up straight and tossing his head comically.
   He payed before I could protest and we walked hand and hand through the galleries. I marveled at the beauty of the ancient sculptures, the richness and contrasting lighting of the baroque biblical scenes, the majesty of the Neoclassical works, the drama of the Romantics, the ethereal elegance of the impressionists, and the grit of the realists. We tried to make sense of the modern pieces with their bright colors and wild patterns that seemed to be nothing but lines and shapes.
  "Forgive me, but it seems like nowadays a kindergartener could create high art," Jimmy laughed as he stopped in front of a painting that did truly looked like what Paul would create if he was given a paint brush, wild, garish colors, and a canvas.
  I shushed him but was inclined to agree that I did not see the appeal. I liked the pieces that told stories or had stories behind them. Perhaps this odd mess on the canvas was a reflection of the times the artist was going through. Maybe he was confused, conflicted, or restless. The brush strokes had energy behind them, as if they were being violently flung across the canvas.
  "I must admit, I do not love it, but perhaps there is more to it than we see. It would be nice if we could have a bit of an explanation, but maybe it is supposed to speak for itself," I shrugged.
    The Art Institute was also home to a few iconic works like Grant Wood's American Gothic and Edward Hopper's Nighthawks. I had always liked Nighthawks. When I looked at it, it was like I was on the street looking through the window, watching a little vignette of human life play out. I imagined it was late at night based on the small number of people inside. The couple leans on the bar, a red haired woman in a red dress and a man in a blue suit and a blue hat. The woman's left hand is almost touching the man's right hand as they rest against the counter. The man in the white uniform and hat looks to be taking their orders, but also engaging with them in a more serious manner. A less striking but nevertheless interesting aspect of the painting was the man sitting alone with his back to the viewer. His head is tilted down, looking at whatever he has in from of him, but I always imagined that if I could see the painting from the other side, his eyes would be sizing up the couple. I imagined he was like us, the viewers, on the outside looking in.
As I looked harder, I noticed that the lonely customer was actually closest to the center of the painting, though he did not seem to be the main attraction. I noticed the couple first. It seemed to tell their story. They were the center of attention in the little world of the painting. I looked around the room at the other people in the gallery. They all seemed absorbed in the other paintings. Jimmy squeezed my hand a little and I looked up at him. I couldn't help but smile as our eyes met.
"You seem to like this one," He noted.
I nodded, "I have never had the chance to get a good long look at this painting before. Look at that guy with his back turned. He is in the center of the painting but my attention goes right to the couple. It seems to be their story. I wonder what they are talking about with the fellow behind the counter, or what that is in the lady's hand."
"I don't know. I just feel like I'm intruding on their night and maybe staring in the window a little longer than is appropriate. It is as if we are on the street corner in the city, spying on them."
"Yes, it seems like we are watching their story play out, like they are the center of the universe and we are just onlookers, but the lonely guy is in the center."
Jimmy nodded, "Maybe we are the center of the universe. Maybe that guy is supposed to represent us."
"But it seems we have some sort of role in it ourselves. He seems like a different character."
"Still, we are the center of the universe."
I scoffed, "It may seem that way, but we aren't. We are two Indiana kids in Chicago for the day, looking at art. You are going to go fight and I am going to go back to school and do something, I don't know what. I'd say you are the center of my universe, after God, of course, but I'm sure people in Europe or Africa have never heard our names. They could not care less what we do or how we feel about our circumstances."
   "They may not, and you're right, our little lives seem small in the grand scheme of things, but they are our lives. If this is all we get, I intend to make it count and not throw it away if I can help it," he dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a little black velvet, hinged box and opened it to reveal a little golden ring with a flower made of sapphires with a silver center.
    I gasped and felt hot for a moment, "Jimmy..."
  "I know we're too young, but I love what we have. I love you, and I'd love if you accepted this ring as a promise to wait for me. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I will come back for you, and it would break me to see you with anyone else."
  "Jimmy, I'd wait for you forever!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms around him.
  He smiled and held me tight. I looked over his shoulder as my feet left the ground in his embrace. People were staring at us like nighthawks, but I selfishly loved the attention. He kissed me, set me down, and slipped the ring on my stubby little finger. It fit perfectly.
"I'll get you a diamond next time," he promised.
I was speechless and could not say anything more. I could not help smiling broadly and feeling so happy I could burst. Tears pricked my eyes and I felt like I was walking on air. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me through another gallery. When it was time to head home, we got a strawberry milkshake to-go from a diner and hopped into the truck. The ring on my finger sparkled like a clear blue lake in the sunlight as I twisted my wrist back in forth, admiring how it glistened.
"This is such a beautiful promise ring, Jimmy," I said finally, "Thank you so much."
He smiled and rested his hands behind his head as we were forced to stop in the beginning of the rush hour traffic jam heading out of town, "I just need to make sure everything is squared away before I go. I need to make sure my dad has help on the farm and Tony's staying out of trouble. I need to spend enough time with Marina, my mother needs to calm down, and I need you waiting for me when I get back. I want to stay with you forever. If we weren't so young, I'd marry you before I go."
"Really?" I gushed, disbelieving the goodness of his words.
"In this moment, yes. You are the center of my universe, like that couple in the painting. You make everything else in the world not matter so much. When I'm with you I feel like I can shut out all that news on TV and the threat of my impending doom and just be a kid in Indiana with the best girl by my side. I want to have more ball games, more art museum dates, more nights making out in fields, more smokes on the back porch, more sharing milkshakes. I just want more of you. I never want this summer to end."
"We will have more," I insisted, though a feeling of dread pulled at my stomach, "We will have all that and more."
We listened and sang along to the country station on the radio all the way home. He reached over and held my hand as he drove out of the bustling metropolis and back into the countryside. The corn was growing tall and green in the fields we passed. The soy crops looked thick and healthy. The sides of his big, strong fingers brushed the flower on the ring.
"That blue matches your eyes. I knew it would look great on you."
"I love it."
"I love you, Mary Caroline Kildare."
"I love you too, James...what's your middle name?"
He blushed a little, "Dean."
"James Dean Romano," I laughed, "That's gorgeous. You have a little James Dean in you. You can give a sultry, smoldering stare."
He laughed, "There's also the country singer, Jimmy Dean."
"Right. I love that."
"I swear my parents just liked the name. Those guys didn't become famous until after I was born."
"What would you name a kid, Jimmy Dean?"
He paused for a moment, "I don't know. I haven't thought about that much. Of course I want to have kids, but I never thought of names. I like Rose for a girl. For a boy—I don't know, really."
"Jimmy Dean Junior," I suggested jokingly.
He shook his head and laughed, "No, how about Michael or George?"
"I like those, and I love Rose too. How many do you want to have?"
"However many God blesses me with," he kissed my hand as he kept his eyes on the road, "but I would love to have a lot of kids, like your family, and maybe even more."
I nodded and thought about that. I looked at Jimmy and decided that our children would have no choice but to be beautiful with his genes, and I suppose I wasn't unattractive myself. I imagined a bunch of little Irish Italian children running in the front yard of a little suburban house with a vegetable and flower garden. A few handsome little boys would play catch with their father's beaten old gloves, little girls would jump rope and pick flowers while a baby boy with big brown eyes and a full head of dark hair would laugh joyously as a big yellow dog licked his toes. A nice big station wagon would pull into the driveway and the kids would all yell, "Daddy!" As they went to mob him as he got out of the car in a nice white collared shirt with a tie. He would hug and kiss each of them until I could scoop up the baby and get to him. He would take the baby in his arms and toss him up in the air until he laughed again and then he would kiss me. I would get dinner out of the crockpot and we would all sit down to a big family meal in our lovely dining room with a crucifix on the wall. We would pray and I would run around serving everyone like a perfect wife and mother.
"Do you want to have a lot of kids, Caroline?" He asked, breaking up my fantasy and sending me back to the reality of his eighteen year old self and the old truck.
"Oh yes! Definitely!" I said passionately.
He nodded slowly, pleasantly surprised at my enthusiasm. We rode on until he dropped me safely at home. We said goodnight and he kissed me once more on the porch. My parents were sitting on the living room couch, watching the 10 o'clock news. I sat down with them and they asked me about my day with Jimmy. I explained how wonderful it was with the Cubs game and the Art Institute. My dad caught sight of the ring on my finger and his eyes widened.
"Did he get you a present?"
"Yes, he got me this," I said, holding it up. I suddenly felt a little embarrassed and feared my parents' reaction to the level of commitment.
"That's very pretty. Just for fun? I hope he didn't spend too much on it," my mother said.
"I don't know how much it cost, but it's a promise ring."
My parents looked at each other with alarm.
"You mean...an engagement ring?" Dad asked slowly.
"No, a promise ring is different. It means I'll wait for him while he's away in Vietnam, and he will come back with plans to marry me someday."
My mother sighed, "Carrie, we like Jimmy, we really do, but you have only been dating him for," she paused, "has it only been two months?"
"But we're serious, and we need to be! He's going to war!"
"But you're still so young..."
"He's old enough to go to war."
She sighed, "I know, I know, and he'll be a good soldier."
"But he's ready to say he'll marry her?" Dad cut in.
"He did not say that exactly, we just want to stay together while he is away and not see other people. The ring is a pretty symbol of that. It's a nice present," I explained.
My parents exchanged uncertain glances and I looked at the TV as it showed the nightly Vietnam report. Tonight was a more graphic night. There were a few of the usual fresh faced, smiling soldier boys, but there were also young men without shirts desperately trying to run through deep mud with their wounded friends on stretchers. The camera then panned to a pile of burnt bodies with more being thrown on top. My stomach churned and I felt like gagging when I realized what I was looking at on the blurry, black and white screen. Panic seemed to grip me as I imagined what Jimmy might look like in any one of those situations.
"Oh my god," I breathed.
"Don't use the Lord's name in vain," my dad scolded half heartedly.
"Sorry, holy mackerel..."
"It's the news. It's a war. Why's it shocking you tonight?" My mother asked.
"I guess it's just starting to really hit me that Jimmy's going there. He seems too young. We are too young to be deciding to get married, and he's certainly too young to be sent away and dropped into the middle of that!"
"It's what we all did," Dad shrugged, "it's just a part of the world we live in. If we want to keep it free from fascism and communism, we need to go into nasty places like Vietnam."
"But it's hardly our war to fight!"
My dad scoffed and smiled jokingly, "Alright, hippie. I think it's time you went to bed."
"I'm not a hippie! I'm just scared for my boyfriend! Is there something wrong or unnatural about that?"
"We didn't mean to spoil your day, honey. Just go to bed and stop watching the news."
I said goodnight and went up to my room. I found Josie still awake, reading Seventeen Magazine in her bed.
"How was your day with Jimmy?" She asked.
I held up my left hand and let the flower sparkle in the lamplight. Her eyes widened.
"That's pretty."
"Thank you. It's a promise ring."
She shut her magazine and her jaw dropped, "You're engaged?!"
"No, no, we just promised not to see other people while he's in..." I sighed and didn't want to finish.
"It stinks that he's going away. He's a bit of a sappy square, but I guess I like him well enough. I don't really understand what he sees in you, but—"
"Shut up," I snapped and tossed my head as I picked my pajamas off my bed and took them into the bathroom. When I was done with my nightly routine I hopped into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. I rolled on my side and curled my knees up to my chest.
"Why're you so mad?" Josie mumbled as she began to fall asleep over an article about skin care.
"I'm not...well, I am. I just have so many feelings. Obviously I'm proud of Jimmy and his going to the army, but I'm also sad to see him go and frightened of what might happen to him, and then there will be the missing him, and I don't know when he's coming home! It's just really hard to feel everything. I can't lose anyone else. Grief is just the most crushing thing, and I want to marry and have children with him! I love him so much!" My voice broke suddenly.
Josie rolled her eyes, "Ok, Carrie, enough feelings. I'm tired, you're tired, go to sleep."
"You go to sleep and stop reading that trash. Read a book," I muttered.
"Or I could just go to sleep. Goodnight," she turned off the light and I lay in the dark, thinking about Jimmy. The day had given me plenty of images to play in my mind like a film reel. There was the thrill in his eyes at the home run, his pensive gaze at the art, his tender, honest smile when he pulled my ring out of his pocket, the cocky yet wholesome grin when he said that we were the center of the universe, and his quiet mumbled singing along to Johnny Cash in the truck. He was the center of my universe, after God of course, but Jimmy seemed more present. He was where I found my identity. He held all my good parts close to his heart. I found my purpose in being his girl. If he were to disappear, I would be lost. I supposed I would still have God, but He and I had never been very close. Perhaps he had sent Jimmy to me to draw me closer to him through days of wild frolicking and nights of quiet bliss. Whether Jimmy was sent from God or not, I wanted to tether him to me with the strongest knot possible. Hopefully our promises would do the trick.