Abio episode 6: Cheryl, my first girlfriend - January 21 2024
Abio episode 6: Cheryl, my first girlfriend
“I’m pregnant,” she said.
To roll back, I mentioned how I met Cheryl in Episode 1. She fell for me. I was so flattered to have someone like me, that we started dating. This was right after I graduated from high school.
Quickly, I was crazy in love. When I got my first real job at Howes Leather Factory, she easily convinced me to forgo my own ideas of how to spend my first few checks – no Simca, no stereo, no records, no wardrobe – instead she wanted me to buy her a half-carat diamond ring because she found it to be pretty.
She was goofy and naturally funny and cracked me up. One time she made me laugh so hard I had to pull over and park because my eyes were watering.
I still remember the joke that cracked me up.
Cheryl was upset that we might be late to the drive-in, and she started cussing out loud; however, she didn’t know many cuss words. She did her best. “Oh, shoot. Oh, darn. Damn it. This stinks,” and then the grand finale, Cheryl’s final foul word that would sum up all her frustrations. She dug deep for inspiration and yelled out to the world, “Oh, crunch!”
I lost it. I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe or see.
Those were our happy days. Often, we talked about how much we loved each other, and I took it lightly.
Too lightly, looking back.
Around the end of our year together, after saving for six months for the diamond ring she wanted, a major spiraling out of orbit began.
Unbeknownst to me, Cheryl had been hiding the $1,200 diamond ring from her parents. At last, sure of our love, I guessed, she showed the sparkling rock to her parents. who were overjoyed. It’s about time, I told her. Why didn’t you show it to them right away? She said her mama was so happy she cried.
The following day, Cheryl informed me that we were engaged to be married. “Say what? Said I. “Marriage? No way. I’m happy as is. We’re still kids fresh out of high school.”
The next morning, I opened the daily newspaper, and on page three was a half-page announcement with my picture included. “Local couple Steve Gibbs and Cheryl F__ are engaged to be married on June 6,” which was about five months away.
Cheryl told me her mother posted it, and wasn’t it all so wonderful? We needed a guest list. The church was already chosen. Family was flying in.
Cheryl explained relationships from her family viewpoint. You meet someone. You court. You fall in love. You get married. You make babies. That’s it.
From my viewpoint, it was a friendship ring. She found it pretty, and she was my girlfriend, so I bought it. I loved her.
I was an immature doofus, and in shell shock. Her mouth was moving, but I heard only muffled sounds.
Again, I told Cheryl, “No. I am not getting married.”
She cried. I felt hornswoggled. Roped in. Tricked, if you will.
Her parents had overreacted. They must retract the story.
I had given up my first six paychecks to her, and now I was to give up the rest of my life, and my plans to become a deep-sea fisherman in Nova Scotia?
I stood my ground. She cried some more, and then she said, “I’m pregnant.”
“But we’ve been careful,” I countered. Our amateur techniques had obviously failed.
“What other choice have we got?” she asked.
“Adoption or abortion,” I said.
“Adoption? With my parents knowing? No way!” We were both too young and ignorant to raise a baby. At first, I assumed she got pregnant to rope me into marriage. I’ve seen that before in rural Ridgway, too many times, but when she agreed to the alternative, I knew we just goofed.
We were both sad. Cheryl saw marriage as a chance to be free, to get away and travel the world, not change diapers. I, too, wanted to travel the world, unmarried.
New York had legal abortion. We made phone calls and an appointment at a Long Island clinic. My neighbor, our friend. Vietnam veteran Alan, agreed to drive us to New York in his restored black Datsun.
I could not help the sinking feeling that set in, that a small mistake could grow so large, and I was morose through the long drive. My quiet showed. Alan, on the other hand, was being sweet. He talked us through. He had no skin in the game, literally. He was able to comfort Cheryl better than I. What have I done? Why went wrong? Where are those carefree days?
It was gloomy in that clinic’s waiting room. We signed in and took our seats with about six other women who were either reading or sitting with their heads lowered.
One fresh couple walked in casually. The guy was quaffed, quite older than the girl, well dressed in white shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, sporting a tan. He looked like a yachtsman. They signed in. He kept glancing at his watch. The girl sat down. The man asked the receptionist how long this procedure would take because they sailed that afternoon.
She said it could be hours. The man looked exasperated. He turned to his girl. “Call me when you’re done and I’ll come get you,” and he left her there alone. Ass.
Am I him? My stomach turned. My life had gone off the rails.
Alan took his seat close to Cheryl’s side, and whispered soothing words to her.
I decided to go for a walk, a brief walk, to cool off and get my head straight.
“Hey, I’m going to look around the neighborhood. Get some air. Do you want anything? Food?”
“Ugh,” said Cheryl.
“Go ahead,” said Alan. “See Long Island.”
I left the clinic, walked a few blocks, took a few turns, admired some architecture, and got completely lost. For about two hours, I roamed disoriented in mind and foot. Never had I been to a big city. The harder I tried to retrace my steps, the more lost I became. Shortcuts through buildings and out different exits made matters worse. I stood on the corner of Which-Way-to-Go and Take-your-Pick.
At last, I spotted Alan’s black Datsun parked on the curb and reached the clinic just around the corner. Alan and Cheryl were sitting outside in the cold on the concrete steps. The procedure was over. They couldn’t get in the car for warmth. I had borrowed Alan’s keys so I could retrieve my jacket. Cheryl was in pain, and I felt like an insensitive jerk. On the drive back to Pennsylvania, the whole car was silent. Cheryl slept mostly.
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