Vigil Night

Bobby watched as Lynnette laid out the long underwear she usually wore for cross-country skiing.  The first and third Tuesdays of every month the Sisters of the Holy Rosary held a vigil in the market square behind city hall.  They stood: nuns, priests, laymen, professors, sometimes soldiers and always students, everyone holding candles and having a group-think for peace.  Lynnette has not missed once since she read about it two years ago.

    It’s funny that she’s a supporter of this peace thing because she sure doesn’t subscribe to it at home.  But then she wouldn’t be the first person who said one thing and did another so Bobby couldn’t begrudge her too much.  Besides vigil night also brought him some peace, in a way.  Lynnette would take off about six and come home about eleven-thirty.  Always dressed nice, warm but nice.  They got some television coverage every now­ and then, particularly if the loved-ones of the fallen made an appearance.  He knew from watching such a sad occasion that the vigil took place between 7 and 9.  And from this he concluded that Lynnette was doing something else before she came home.  It was only a forty-five minute drive from their place to the city.  He asked her once.  She told him she went for tea with the nuns afterward. The nuns must be having a little nip with their tea, he thought, because when she slides into bed he can smell it on her breath.  Not so much that he would worry about her driving but it’s there, that hint of something, hot and sweet, if he gets to kiss her good night.  And that’s the other good thing about vigil night.  It’s almost as if being away from him for an evening helps because sometimes she will snuggle up to him when she comes home.

    Bobby thought about what he was going to do while Lynnette was gone tonight.  He’s been meaning to do some maintenance on the 50 horse power motor he has out in the barn, but it’s too cold.  That’s why Lynette’s got the long johns out.  It’ll be colder than a witch’s tit standing around that square sending thoughts out into the universe.  If they really wanted to send some peace waves where it counts, they should all face south and project those thoughts over to the good old U. S. of A.  But they’d rather count on the Almighty to do that for them so there they are.  The old clock on city hall chiming off: quarter hour, half hour, three quarter hour.  Freezing their asses until their duty to humanity is done.

    The nun who organizes the vigil came up to him and Lynnette one time when they were in the city.  It was summer and she was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt with, what else, a peace sign on it.  Lynnette introduced him but he’d already guessed this was Sister Agnes Louise Kennedy about whom he had heard so much.  Lynnette told him that Aggie Lou’s brother had been a linebacker for some football team down in the states and when he got a look at her he could believe it.  She was damn near six feet tall and solid.  Just a little taller than Lynnette, who was a bit of a stretch herself.  Big basketball star back in high school.  He’d loved to watch her, loved to see her running down the court bouncing the ball in front of her, look of concentration on her face, muscles tight, sweat making her hair stick to her forehead.  He used to go to every game.  Until she got pregnant; then that was the end of that.