I helped when I could, but times were hard for us. Many nights we sat together on the floor of the bathroom, me smoothing my hand along his back as he railed against it all. It was college that held him back, Jim believed—if he could just drop the few classes he took, he could work full-time at the plant and make more money, but I wouldn’t let him. In those days a degree guaranteed a good paying job, no matter what the field of study, and I knew Jim wanted to be more than a line worker the rest of his life. I wanted him to be something more—I wanted him at a day job and home in the evenings, in the bed beside me at night. He wanted it too, so he would cry himself out as I held him, but eventually he kissed my neck and whispered my name. “How are you feeling?” I’d want to know.
With a shak
