Don't get me wrong about hormones. Joey grew from a cute boy the girls whispered about in seventh grade into one they drooled over in high school. Guys looked at me all the time, too, but everyone knew we were off-limits. I was his girl, and he was my man. Everyone understood. It was how the world was meant to be.
As seniors in high school, we had the grades and credits to get into college. I didn't need to go, since I would be a wife, homemaker, and mother. Joey and I talked about it for years. He planned to follow in his father's footsteps by serving his country. When he was done, we would get married and he would continue his education.
Prom night was the night when a lot of couples had sex for the first time. Joey and I were king and queen of the prom. More than one of his buddies made comments about our plans for later that night, since we weren't going to the post-prom party. One of my girlfriends teased me in the rest-room at the prom, too.
"Are you and Joey going to do it tonight?" she asked from the next stall.
"Do what?" I asked. I had my lap full of prom gown skirt, trying to squat over the toilet to pee.
"IT. Are you two going to do IT tonight?"
"If you mean are we going to have sex, the answer is no."
"Why not? You two have been going together for, like, forever."
"Yes, and we promised we would wait. You and I talked about this."
"I know, but it's Joey. He's like, your world, isn't he? You're going to marry him, aren't you? And he's so gorgeous."
She was right. It was Joey, my gorgeous man, the man who made me feel like a beautiful, well-loved woman. Yes, other couples would have sex that night, couples who would never get married, who didn't love each other like my boyfriend and I did. They didn't understand that real love doesn't need sex. That two people can feel like they have one soul without being physically intimate. I thought about my parents and grandparents. Surely they didn't have sex anymore, but they still were deeply in love. That's how Joey and I were.
Being in love was natural, like getting out of bed in the morning and brushing my teeth. Marriage and family were a given. We knew what some of our friends did. We knew we should wait. Sex was for newlyweds, something we would be when he got out of the Army. He left for boot camp three days after graduation.
It was the summer of '69.
His letters during basic training were so full of love, I thought he might surprise me and ask me to marry him when he got home. I would have. The minister's study would have been good enough for me. We were more in love than ever, having been apart. We both felt it, but Joey avoided any discussion about long-term plans. We lived in the moment.
The night before he shipped out, we were in the basement family room he and I helped Dad build, sitting together on the couch.
"Baby," Joey said, "Do you think you should wait for me? You know there's a chance I'll never come home. I could die over there. Maybe we should break up so you can get started on finding another guy."
"No! There won't be another guy, Joey. I'm yours. I've known that more than half my life."
"I feel the same way," he said, wiping my tears with his neatly folded pocket handkerchief. "I can't imagine feeling like this with anyone else. I thought about asking you to marry me before I ship out, but I decided that's not fair. You're young and beautiful. You're going to be here, and Lord knows where I'll be. Please, Sue, just write back to me when I can write to you."
I wanted to give him my virginity that night. He deserved it. He was the only man I would ever sleep with, and he wasn't trying anything! "Joey, do you want to make love?"
"Please don't ask me that. I do, but I won't. We've waited this long, honey. If I come back, we'll see if we still feel the same."
"You're scaring me. I can't lose you." We spent the night on the couch, kissing, cuddling, and finally sleeping in each others' arms, dressed except for our shoes.
I stayed at my high-school job at the diner. I didn't have any other job skills, but I worked hard. It was good enough. Work kept me occupied and earned some money, a nest egg for when Joey and I got married. I didn't burn my bra. I looked forward to a couple of babies and a nice kitchen. I didn't want a career other than wife and mother. Maybe, when the kids were grown, I would take some classes, but hopefully, being a grandmother would take up a lot of my time.
Joey had been gone for over two months. From the dates on his letters, it seemed like he wrote to me and his parents almost every night, but mail service from the jungle was sporadic. Often, we went for a week or more without any news. The letter about him being being pinned down by snipers was in the last bundle, over two weeks earlier. As always, I was sick with worry, but I knew things would be okay. They always were.
One night, Joey's parents rang our bell. My dad opened the door.
"Joe, Marge, how are...." The smile crumpled off Dad's face.
Joey's father shoved a paper into my dad's hand, and ushered his crying wife onto the sofa.
"Hon, Joe and Marge are here. Come down here now," my dad called up the steps.
Mom rushed into the room, and saw Dad reading a telegram. Joey's parents were holding each other. "Oh my God!" Mom wailed and threw herself at Marge on the couch.
Dad hands shook as he read. "He's M.I.A.? Missing in Action? Joe, Marge, that could be good. That just means he's separated from his unit, or he and some other guys are holed up somewhere with a busted radio, doesn't it?"
Joe, Sr. growled, "It means they don't know if he's dead but they haven't found his body, or if he's injured and dying in the jungle, or if he's in some hospital, so damaged they don't know who he is. He could be a P.O.W."
Marge and Mom started wailing in unison. I did nothing. I probably had the same expression on my face Dad did, since I was so much like him -- stunned silence, no tears, no anguish -- nothing. Numbness.
Finally, Dad said, "Maybe not. At least they haven't found his body, so he must be alive."
Joey's father spat, "Or blown to bits or burned beyond recognition or,..."
"Stop it!" Marge screamed. "Just stop it! This is my baby we're talking about! Mine! I carried him inside my body for nine months, pushed him out of me, and fed him from my breasts! Mine! You're supposed to be making this easier for me! Dammit! You're not helping!"
"Sue, would you get Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey some iced tea?" Dad asked in his dead voice.
Joey's mom wailed, "I don't want any damned iced tea! I want my baby back!"
I'm strong, or maybe I'm slow, but it finally sank in. I might never see my Joey again. I felt completely alone. Mom was awash in tears with Marge and Joe. I looked at Dad. I never saw such a look of pained love from him before. He helped me to the loveseat and held me while I cried. For the first time in my life, I saw him cry too.
Joey's parents went home when Marge ran out of tears. Joe helped her to her feet, kissed my mom on the cheek, shook Dad's hand, and then hugged me. "I'll call you or stop by every day, whether I hear anything or not. I know Joey wants me to do that."
When the front door closed, Mom said, "I need to go to bed." Dad followed her up to their room. I sat on the loveseat blowing my nose, wondering whether I would ever feel Joey's arms around me again. When I went upstairs, I was exhausted from crying, but I couldn't sleep. I paced, looked at photo albums, read his poems, and stared at his self-portrait he had painted for me. I cried for two days, trying to decide whether I could ever be happy again.
On the third day, my boss called from the diner. "Sue, I'm trying to write next week's schedule. Will you be able to come in?"
"I'll be in tomorrow for my breakfast shift, if I still have a job."
I was early for work the next morning, and I stayed for another shift because one of the evening counter girls called out sick. I worked as many hours as I could to keep from brooding at home, earning a lot in tips from people who knew Joey. After a year of burns from spilling hot soup and coming home smelling like fried onions, I had to do something else. I went to the local campus of the state university to become a teacher. Maybe helping children discover themselves would help me wait.
