Orbiting Jupiter

by Gary D. Schmidt

You can tell all you need to know about someone from the way cows are around him.

“I always know where Jupiter is,”

“I’m Jupiter’s father,” said Joseph. “I will always be Jupiter’s father.”

I wanna cry

“I’m going to find her,” he said. “I’m not going to stay alone.” “You’re not alone.” He shook his head. “You’re not.” “I’m alone,” he said. “You’ve got me,” I said.

“Because bad things happen,” said Joseph. “If there were angels, then bad things wouldn’t happen.” “Maybe angels aren’t always meant to stop bad things.” “So what good are they?” “To be with us when bad things happen.” Joseph looked at him. “Then where the hell were they?” he said.

Christmas is the season for miracles, you know. Sometimes they come big and loud, I guess—but I’ve never seen one of those. I think probably most miracles are a lot smaller, and sort of still, and so quiet, you could miss them.

I wonder if he knew it couldn’t be. Maybe he didn’t want to know it couldn’t be.

“Tell him she’s beautiful. Tell him I promise to take good care of her. And I promise she’ll find a family who will love her too.” “And tell Jupiter about Joseph,” I said. “Tell her he tried to find her.”

Trying my absolute hardest not to cry

“Let’s go, Dad. Leave him here. Let’s leave them all here and go.”

So scared this is not going to end the way i want it to - the way joseph deserves

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” And that’s when I started crying. Crying like a kindergarten kid in front of everyone. Crying because Joseph wasn’t just my friend. I had his back. And he had mine. That’s what greater love is.

“Jupiter,” I whispered back. “Jupiter. I promise I’ll always know where you are.”