Good Lord, we couldn't even afford proper wedding rings.
One afternoon, we were eating lunch at a little diner when I spotted an old vending machine near the entrance, the kind filled with inexpensive trinkets. Connor dropped a couple of quarters into it, and two plain metal rings came out in tiny plastic capsules.
I wore a simple white sundress, and he put on a suit he had probably bought for his high school graduation. Connor brought those same vending-machine rings with him. We exchanged them at the courthouse, and at that moment, we were happier than we had ever been.
But just one week later, Connor was drafted and sent to Vietnam.
I promised him I would wait for him, no matter how many years passed.
At first, we continued exchanging letters. Then, about six months later, the letters suddenly stopped arriving.
Soon afterward, one of Connor's friends from his unit wrote to tell me that Connor had gone missing after an attack. When the war finally ended, I met that friend in person, and he told me there was no possibility Connor had survived what happened.
