In Our Hearts, We Must Carry On

The next thing she knew, she was waking up. A nurse rushed over to give Cherry crackers and juice, as well as a bag with her clothes in it. When the nurse was sure Cherry wouldn't faint, she instructed her to change back in the small room again, and to take her time, stressing these last words.

Cherry was pulling on her stockings when she felt that familiar churn in her stomach. She ripped the curtain back and gasped, "bathroom," at the nurse. She was directed to a small room two doors down. She was told this would be a side-effect, and from the way the nurse's eyes held no trace of judgment, only sympathy and understanding, she figured she was not the first.

She barely recognized the girl staring back at her in the mirror. The girl in the mirror looked like one of the undead in those horror movies she'd watch with Bob late Sunday nights, curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, long past their bedtime. Dark circles formed under her eyes and her normally perfectly coiffed red hair was a tangled mess. Her pale skin was shimmering with sweat and her heart was racing. She splashed water on her face and while it didn't make her look any better, it made her feel better. She straightened out her clothes and smiled- unconvincingly, she thought- at the mirror. Taking another shaky, deep breath she walked out into the hallway.

"How you doing, dear?"

"Great," she breathed. "Am I free to go now?" The nurse nodded and patted her on the shoulder.

"You'll be fine."



"Pull over," she begged.

"I can't, there ain't nowhere to- are you- oh Christ are you gonna be sick again?"

Cherry didn't even remember telling him she had been sick already. Instead, she jerked her head in a vague 'yes' motion before quickly grabbing the bag her clothes and care instructions were in and unceremoniously dumped the contents onto the floor. She retched quietly, thankful that none came out of her nose, but mortified all the same. Tears streamed down her face and she held the bag close, in case her stomach decided it wasn't finished wreaking havoc, but it seemed it was done for the time being. Dallas swore underneath his breath.

"You done?" She nodded and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She leaned her forehead against the window, thankful for its cool relief. A rough hand hesitantly rubbed her back, but she was too tired to shrug him off. The pressure was comforting in a weird way. Soon after, she fell asleep to the soft purr of the engine.

She woke up when Dally pulled into the parking lot of a small diner.

"Where are we?" Her dry mouth made it hard to speak and the words came out a croaky whisper.

"I have no idea, but I'm starving and I figured you needed food too."

"In town?"

"Not our town." Cherry nodded gratefully.

The diner was mostly empty, and the tired waitress barely glanced their way as they sat in a cracked vinyl booth.

"I probably look awful," Cherry smiled, patting her hair down, before restlessly running her fingers over the plastic table top. She suddenly felt embarrassed, sure the three other customers and the two employees knew what she'd done. Dally shook his head and briefly grasped the top of her hand.

"You look great," he rasped, before clearing his throat. She glanced up at him and saw he looked how she felt: tired, conflicted, and like he'd aged ten years in the span of a morning. Faint worry lines creased his face. The waitress dropped off menus, and took their drink orders: water. The silence settled into comfortable quiet as they perused their options.

"What'll it be, kids?"

"Uh… Cheeseburger," Dally muttered.

"I'll have a turkey club, please." Ten minutes later, the pair was stuffing their faces with some much needed food.

"Thank you," Cherry said abruptly.

"For what?"

"Being here." Dally shrugged it off, tossing a fry at her. She smiled, rolling her eyes, understanding. There wasn't going to be a heartfelt conversation about their feelings and their fears and dreams, and she liked that. If it were Bob sitting across from her, he'd be overly concerned, with judgment bubbling just under the surface. Cherry wasn't proud of the actions that led her to this very moment, and she felt sick to her stomach both from the medication, and the intrusive thinking; but she knew for her- for them- this was the right decision.



"Where have you been?" Cherry's blood ran cold. She had been so determined to head straight to bed, that she hadn't noticed her parents' car in the driveway. Her mother was standing in the kitchen, washing dishes.

"I-"

"That wasn't Bob's car. Maybe a new boyfriend? Where were you?" Her mother sounded mildly interested- not accusatory or suspicious, just… barely caring. Cherry could lie, say that they had skipped and not-Bob was just another friend of theirs, someone who lived nearby, but she was sick of lying.

"Mom, you might want to sit down."

"What is it, dear?" Again with the airy tone.

"That wasn't Bob, nor a new boyfriend. That was a friend- a greaser friend, to be exact." The words melded together into a verbal blob; Cherry wasn't sure her mother had understood. However, her right eyebrow rose slightly, and her mouth pressed into a thin line; a sure sign she was unhappy.

"A greaser? A hoodlum? What were you doing with that trash?" Her eyes traveled down her daughter's bare arms, quickly latching onto the unsightly dark bruises. "Did he hit you?"

"He's not-" Cherry's voice rose, echoing around the roomy kitchen. She paused before quickly continuing, lowering her voice. "He's not trash. He's a friend. He's the only real friend I've got right now. Mother, he helped me through one of the roughest days of my life-"

"Sherri, if you think you're seeing that boy again, you are sor-"

"You are not listening to me!" This time, Cherry didn't hold back, her emotions swirling around her, almost tangible. Her mother took a small step back, but otherwise stood her ground.

"Sherri-"

"I had an abortion!"

Like so many years before, her mother's reaction was the same. The plate she was holding slipped from her hands, and Cherry watched it tumble end over end to the ground, as if in slow motion. Her mother didn't even react when it shattered and sent white porcelain shards flying across the otherwise perfect kitchen floor. Eleanor stared at her daughter, a spitting image of herself 20 years ago. The girl before her could barely look at her; Cherry's normally warm green eyes shone with unshed tears and unspoken apologies.

"What?" Eleanor spoke, finally breaking the palpable silence.

"Today. I went and had an abortion. These marks are from being jabbed with a needle." Thousands of scenarios played out in Cherry's mind as she waited for her mother's response. But not once did she expect what happened. Despite Eleanor's views on the matter, she could see her daughter was sick with worry, and without saying a word, gathered her daughter into her arms and herded her upstairs.



She lay in bed, thinking about the past few weeks. She didn't know what would happen after this, if things would go back to the way they were, or if everything would change. Her mother had done a complete 180, fretting over Cherry's health, and lamenting that Cherry didn't tell her about what she'd been going through, and she realized just how much she was loved. She didn't know if she would ever tell Bob or Randy or even Marcia about this. Bob's roses were still on the dresser; before, she found them taunting, a gross reminder of what had been. As she looked at them now, they seemed almost cheerful, welcoming. Hello! We're here for you! Things will get better! She didn't know what the future held, but for now she was happy to curl up in her bed, breathing in the faint smell of laundry detergent, wrapped up in a hoodlum's jacket.