In Our Hearts, We Must Carry On
ii
Again, this story does deal with abortion. Please stop reading if this bothers you.
Monday morning found Cherry sleeping, caught halfway between a dream and her real world. The weekend went by too quickly for her liking, but she had kept her mind off the other night, for the most part. She could hear her mother calling for her to get up and get ready, and she heard her brother joking that Cherry was “still in bed, dreaming about some boy.” As he said it, her dream about fighting a fire-breathing dragon was interrupted. She sighed, giving up on her last few minutes of sleep, and turned to face the wall. She and her father had painted three walls a pale purple with she was 10, and the fourth wall was offset with a deep purple, now adorned with The Beatles posters and pictures of her life. If anyone wanted to know anything about her, they’d just have to look at this wall. She was an open book there.
Some boy.
Certainly not the boy she should be dreaming of. That was Bob; with his dirty blonde perfectly coiffed hair and his piercing blue eyes. Bob, who was quick to smile and make her laugh and was content to sit at home with her and watch television; who was also quick to drink and quick to anger, but would never lay a hand on her- not more than once, anyways. There was always bad with the good. Fortunately, Bob was more good than bad. He was secure. He was safe. They had broken up, but if she could keep last night a secret, they would find their way back to each other; they always did.
This other boy was different. Dallas was quick to fight, quick to insult, quick to hurt and judge and lie and steal. He was wild and unpredictable. Dark hair and dark eyes with an even darker soul. Cherry’s mother was always scolding her for bringing in strays, and well, wasn’t this boy just another stray? She shook her head, finally getting ready, knowing this was all just silly musings, and, though she found a certain appeal to so-called “bad boys,” she would always go with the safest route.
She pulled her light purple quilt over her head and groaned into her pillow. She wouldn’t think of Friday night anymore. She wouldn’t think of the way his weight felt on top of her, the way her skin almost glowed in the moonlight, their bodies wet with sweat. The way they knew what they other needed, a forbidden call and answer. She certainly wouldn’t think of how his pants fit just right and his black shirt hugged his skin and the way his hands were rough and his lips were so soft and- NO. No. Her hands clenched the sheets in frustration. She wouldn’t think like that. She couldn’t. She would forget last night ever happened, as she knew he would.
She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t lonely. Sometimes she wanted more out of life than beer blasts on the bottom of the riverbed, or having meaningless conversations just to be saying something. Bob still wanted her but she wasn’t ready for another round with him. However, she regretted Friday night immensely, no matter how fun and exciting it was. Hurting Bob was the last thing she’d ever want to do, and she had played a dangerous game. She wasn’t wrong, telling Ponyboy she hoped she’d never see Dallas again, but she had, and luckily, escaped unscathed. That was more than most girls could say. She had a plan and Dallas Winston was not part of it.
His jacket threw a wrench into that plan.
After breakfast, she had gone out to her car and unceremoniously tossed her books into the seat beside her. One flopped down to the floorboard, but she ignored it until she had parked in the school parking lot. As she retrieved her books from the passenger side, her fingers brushed against something rough; a denim jean jacket. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she dropped the jacket, slightly horrified.
“Cherry! Hurry!” She heard Marcia calling for her mere steps away, and from the sound of it, she was getting closer. Cherry hastily shoved the jacket under the seat before snatching her books. She straightened up, brushed her hands on her plaid skirt, adjusted her cardigan, and faced her friend with the biggest smile she could muster. Randy was waiting for them a few feet ahead, and she could feel Bob’s eyes on her as he leaned against his car, waiting. Instead, she linked arms with her best friend and chatted excitedly about the weekend- no mention of the movie theater. She even caught Ponyboy’s eye throughout the day but promptly looked away each time. She rarely talked to him at school, but knew even if it was a common occurrence, he’d see right through her. Those big eyes of his had a way of drilling through the bullshit, straight to the soul. This was one secret Cherry would happily take to her grave.
A month later, Dallas hadn’t come looking for his jacket, and Cherry had truly believed that was the end of it. She had no intention of seeking him out to return his clothing, and instead had kept herself busy, immersed herself in school and her social life, and had even thought about taking Bob back.
She was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, taking deep shaky breaths. The phone was on the floor next to her feet, its cord stretched so far it could rip from the wall at any second. She had called her cousin Janet and explained her situation. Janet lived in Chicago and had been a surrogate older sister for as long as Cherry could remember, and she knew she could trust Janet with this. Janet had told her not to worry, that she had a few friends who had “gotten it taken care of.” The thought terrified Cherry. But there wasn’t another option. Janet had given her a number for a doctor a good 45 minutes from Tulsa; it was safer that way.
Her parents were still working, and her brother was at football practice. Taking another deep breath, Cherry slowly dialed the number. Her hands shook so hard she nearly dropped the phone. She flexed her toes against the soft pale blue bath mat- so pale it was almost white, though her mother insisted it was, indeed, blue. Everything in her house was too clean, too pure. It sometimes felt like she was living in a museum more than an actual home.
“Dr. Watson’s office,” a woman answered.
“Hi- I ahem- I…” Cherry froze. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. She couldn’t get the words past her lips.
“Yes?” The woman pressed.
Cherry's voice had started out strong, but the reality of the situation was beginning to seep in, and her voice faltered more and more. “I… I have a problem. I’m calling about… well, an unwanted pregnancy.”
“Okay, dear. I have a few questions to ask before we get you scheduled.” As they talked, Cherry felt slightly better, but only just. She nervously twirled her famously red hair around her long, pale, finger, and chewed her lip until a piece of skin tore off- a bad habit from insecure junior high days she had never managed to quit. She winced at the pain. Finally, the big question came up.
“Is the father in the picture?”
“What? Oh. Uh… No, not really…”
“That’s fine, dear. You’ll need someone with you to drive you home, as here we only do surgical procedures, not medicated ones. This is very important.”
“Okay…” She sniffled loudly, feeling the threat of hot tears brimming.
“Be sure to wear something comfortable- no jeans, but loose fitting clothes if possible."
“Oh- okay. Is there anything else I should know?”
“You will need to stock up on pads of your choosing as you will bleed a lot after. Nothing goes in the vagina for two weeks- no tampons, no fingers-” Cherry turned bright red at that; fingers? “-no sex, nothing.[i/] Any questions?”
“No, no I think that’s it…” Her voice cracked.
“Okay. If you have any, please don’t hesitate to call us.”
“Okay. Thank you,” Cherry choked out a whisper, feeling small. The woman made a sympathetic noise.
“Of course, dear. Take care.”
Cherry hung up and called Janet back with the information. The appointment was set for two and a half weeks from now, on a Friday, at 9 am. Her parents were set to go out of town the Thursday before, and her brother was rarely home on weekends, and Cherry needed at least a full day to recover. Janet wouldn’t be able to come out, and Marcia was definitely out of the picture, so Cherry would brave this on her own. She hadn’t yet planned on whom to ask to take her to the clinic. She figured she’d just lie and drive herself home.
She walked into her bedroom- one of the few places in the house that had bursts of color- and dug through her closet. The jacket had been stashed away in the very back, underneath shoes she had outgrown years ago but hadn’t gotten around to throwing out yet. She pulled the jacket out and leaned against her closet door adorned with more band posters, pulling her denim-draped knees up to her chest. She stared unfocused at the dark purple wall in front of her, feeling like she was going crazy. The photographs’ subjects weren’t smiling anymore; they were mocking her. “We were perfect in this moment. You screwed it all up. We still have our lives ahead of us. You are doomed.” Suddenly, her head snapped down and looked at the jacket before her. She had to get out. She had to give the jacket back. It only served as a sick reminder for what had happened, and what was to come, and the less of those, the better.
Monday morning found Cherry sleeping, caught halfway between a dream and her real world. The weekend went by too quickly for her liking, but she had kept her mind off the other night, for the most part. She could hear her mother calling for her to get up and get ready, and she heard her brother joking that Cherry was “still in bed, dreaming about some boy.” As he said it, her dream about fighting a fire-breathing dragon was interrupted. She sighed, giving up on her last few minutes of sleep, and turned to face the wall. She and her father had painted three walls a pale purple with she was 10, and the fourth wall was offset with a deep purple, now adorned with The Beatles posters and pictures of her life. If anyone wanted to know anything about her, they’d just have to look at this wall. She was an open book there.
Some boy.
Certainly not the boy she should be dreaming of. That was Bob; with his dirty blonde perfectly coiffed hair and his piercing blue eyes. Bob, who was quick to smile and make her laugh and was content to sit at home with her and watch television; who was also quick to drink and quick to anger, but would never lay a hand on her- not more than once, anyways. There was always bad with the good. Fortunately, Bob was more good than bad. He was secure. He was safe. They had broken up, but if she could keep last night a secret, they would find their way back to each other; they always did.
This other boy was different. Dallas was quick to fight, quick to insult, quick to hurt and judge and lie and steal. He was wild and unpredictable. Dark hair and dark eyes with an even darker soul. Cherry’s mother was always scolding her for bringing in strays, and well, wasn’t this boy just another stray? She shook her head, finally getting ready, knowing this was all just silly musings, and, though she found a certain appeal to so-called “bad boys,” she would always go with the safest route.
She pulled her light purple quilt over her head and groaned into her pillow. She wouldn’t think of Friday night anymore. She wouldn’t think of the way his weight felt on top of her, the way her skin almost glowed in the moonlight, their bodies wet with sweat. The way they knew what they other needed, a forbidden call and answer. She certainly wouldn’t think of how his pants fit just right and his black shirt hugged his skin and the way his hands were rough and his lips were so soft and- NO. No. Her hands clenched the sheets in frustration. She wouldn’t think like that. She couldn’t. She would forget last night ever happened, as she knew he would.
She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t lonely. Sometimes she wanted more out of life than beer blasts on the bottom of the riverbed, or having meaningless conversations just to be saying something. Bob still wanted her but she wasn’t ready for another round with him. However, she regretted Friday night immensely, no matter how fun and exciting it was. Hurting Bob was the last thing she’d ever want to do, and she had played a dangerous game. She wasn’t wrong, telling Ponyboy she hoped she’d never see Dallas again, but she had, and luckily, escaped unscathed. That was more than most girls could say. She had a plan and Dallas Winston was not part of it.
His jacket threw a wrench into that plan.
After breakfast, she had gone out to her car and unceremoniously tossed her books into the seat beside her. One flopped down to the floorboard, but she ignored it until she had parked in the school parking lot. As she retrieved her books from the passenger side, her fingers brushed against something rough; a denim jean jacket. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she dropped the jacket, slightly horrified.
“Cherry! Hurry!” She heard Marcia calling for her mere steps away, and from the sound of it, she was getting closer. Cherry hastily shoved the jacket under the seat before snatching her books. She straightened up, brushed her hands on her plaid skirt, adjusted her cardigan, and faced her friend with the biggest smile she could muster. Randy was waiting for them a few feet ahead, and she could feel Bob’s eyes on her as he leaned against his car, waiting. Instead, she linked arms with her best friend and chatted excitedly about the weekend- no mention of the movie theater. She even caught Ponyboy’s eye throughout the day but promptly looked away each time. She rarely talked to him at school, but knew even if it was a common occurrence, he’d see right through her. Those big eyes of his had a way of drilling through the bullshit, straight to the soul. This was one secret Cherry would happily take to her grave.
* * *
A month later, Dallas hadn’t come looking for his jacket, and Cherry had truly believed that was the end of it. She had no intention of seeking him out to return his clothing, and instead had kept herself busy, immersed herself in school and her social life, and had even thought about taking Bob back.
She was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, taking deep shaky breaths. The phone was on the floor next to her feet, its cord stretched so far it could rip from the wall at any second. She had called her cousin Janet and explained her situation. Janet lived in Chicago and had been a surrogate older sister for as long as Cherry could remember, and she knew she could trust Janet with this. Janet had told her not to worry, that she had a few friends who had “gotten it taken care of.” The thought terrified Cherry. But there wasn’t another option. Janet had given her a number for a doctor a good 45 minutes from Tulsa; it was safer that way.
Her parents were still working, and her brother was at football practice. Taking another deep breath, Cherry slowly dialed the number. Her hands shook so hard she nearly dropped the phone. She flexed her toes against the soft pale blue bath mat- so pale it was almost white, though her mother insisted it was, indeed, blue. Everything in her house was too clean, too pure. It sometimes felt like she was living in a museum more than an actual home.
“Dr. Watson’s office,” a woman answered.
“Hi- I ahem- I…” Cherry froze. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. She couldn’t get the words past her lips.
“Yes?” The woman pressed.
Cherry's voice had started out strong, but the reality of the situation was beginning to seep in, and her voice faltered more and more. “I… I have a problem. I’m calling about… well, an unwanted pregnancy.”
“Okay, dear. I have a few questions to ask before we get you scheduled.” As they talked, Cherry felt slightly better, but only just. She nervously twirled her famously red hair around her long, pale, finger, and chewed her lip until a piece of skin tore off- a bad habit from insecure junior high days she had never managed to quit. She winced at the pain. Finally, the big question came up.
“Is the father in the picture?”
“What? Oh. Uh… No, not really…”
“That’s fine, dear. You’ll need someone with you to drive you home, as here we only do surgical procedures, not medicated ones. This is very important.”
“Okay…” She sniffled loudly, feeling the threat of hot tears brimming.
“Be sure to wear something comfortable- no jeans, but loose fitting clothes if possible."
“Oh- okay. Is there anything else I should know?”
“You will need to stock up on pads of your choosing as you will bleed a lot after. Nothing goes in the vagina for two weeks- no tampons, no fingers-” Cherry turned bright red at that; fingers? “-no sex, nothing.[i/] Any questions?”
“No, no I think that’s it…” Her voice cracked.
“Okay. If you have any, please don’t hesitate to call us.”
“Okay. Thank you,” Cherry choked out a whisper, feeling small. The woman made a sympathetic noise.
“Of course, dear. Take care.”
Cherry hung up and called Janet back with the information. The appointment was set for two and a half weeks from now, on a Friday, at 9 am. Her parents were set to go out of town the Thursday before, and her brother was rarely home on weekends, and Cherry needed at least a full day to recover. Janet wouldn’t be able to come out, and Marcia was definitely out of the picture, so Cherry would brave this on her own. She hadn’t yet planned on whom to ask to take her to the clinic. She figured she’d just lie and drive herself home.
She walked into her bedroom- one of the few places in the house that had bursts of color- and dug through her closet. The jacket had been stashed away in the very back, underneath shoes she had outgrown years ago but hadn’t gotten around to throwing out yet. She pulled the jacket out and leaned against her closet door adorned with more band posters, pulling her denim-draped knees up to her chest. She stared unfocused at the dark purple wall in front of her, feeling like she was going crazy. The photographs’ subjects weren’t smiling anymore; they were mocking her. “We were perfect in this moment. You screwed it all up. We still have our lives ahead of us. You are doomed.” Suddenly, her head snapped down and looked at the jacket before her. She had to get out. She had to give the jacket back. It only served as a sick reminder for what had happened, and what was to come, and the less of those, the better.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thank you.