Mike looked at the clock, realizing that in his passion he had completely forgotten it was a school day. He had barely enough time to make it to school. Cherry was happily dreaming. “Cherry, we need to get to school.”
“Mike, please let me stay home. I’ll do extra work or something. Please,” she dreamily begged.
“But I can’t write you a note. They’ll notice the different handwriting,” he said reasonably.
Cherry stretched languidly. Mike was entranced by her breasts now presented so enticingly for him. He quickly considered calling in sick. “Mike, the school has never seen my mom’s handwriting. She didn’t care about that stuff. I filled out my school paperwork since fifth grade,” she said. “I write my own notes.”
“Oh,” he said, not quite believing what he was hearing.
“Hurry,” Cherry said, rolling back over and closing her eyes.
“Oh yeah,” he said, the clock not giving him time to consider alternatives. He jumped into his clothes and was running out the door before he had another thought.
He had plenty of thoughts during the day. He had thoughts ranging from the pleasure of making love to Cherry to thoughts upbraiding himself as a perverted child molester and horrible teacher taking advantage of a student. He wasn’t sure exactly which of those he was.
When he arrived home, Cherry was in the kitchen. “Hey,” he called out. She came running from the kitchen and threw herself into his arms, kissing him passionately and fully, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. He returned the kiss as good as he got. As he pulled away from the kiss he was looking into her smiling face, “Hi.”
Cherry giggled, “Hi, yourself. I’m making dinner.” She jumped down and ran back into the kitchen.
Mike followed her, bemused. “Hey, you taking over here? You think you’re my wife or something?”
She turned toward him, a serious look on her face. “As much as I can be, yes.” She turned back to the stove.
That rocked him a little. In order to gain some time to think, he asked, “What’re you cooking?”
She pointed at a cookbook open on the counter. “I used to cook at home. Mom didn’t like to cook. I don’t know a lot of fancy stuff, mostly what you can make cheap: stews, chili, stuff like that.”
Mike looked at the book. It was a Cordon Bleu cookbook his sister had given him as a joke housewarming present. In the front she had written, “Mike, congratulations on your new house. If they ever outlaw fast foods maybe you won’t starve. Love, Amy.” Everyone had laughed knowing he would never pick up a cookbook like this. He had learned to keep himself from starving, but his cooking didn’t go much beyond pan frying and re-heating canned goods.
“You’re cooking this?” he asked.
She smiled, “Uh huh. I had to substitute a couple things. You don’t have many spices.”
“Yeah, I guess not. Wow,” he said.
He went off to change. When he returned, Cherry was putting the dinner on the table. Mike sat down as she sat next to him in a typical little domestic scene. He was struck by how ordinary this was. He took some of the stew and took a bite. It was delicious. “This is good,” he said enthusiastically.
“What, are you surprised?” Cherry asked.
“Um, no. That’s not what I meant,” he temporized.
Cherry smiled letting him off the hook. “I’m glad you like it.”
After dinner, Mike and Cherry sat in the living room. Both looked serious as Mike started, “Cherry, I’ve been thinking all day about what happened.” Cherry looked grim, expecting the worst. Mike continued, “I can’t think what happened was bad. It wasn’t. It was incredibly wonderful.”
“But,” Cherry said.
Mike shook his head, “No buts.” Cherry burst into a radiant smile. As Mike continued, “There are some things I wanted to talk to you about. Like, you have three and half more years of school. After this year, you will be in a different school, which will make it easier to hide our unconventional relationship. Can you fool people for that long?”
“Mike, I have been lying since first grade to hide the fact that my mom was a hooker. I know how to do it.”
He nodded. “What about things like the Prom? I mean the usual things a teenager does.”
Cherry laughed. “Mike, I’ve known forever I wasn’t going to do all the things most kids do. The Prom? How was I ever going to go to the prom? If my mom ever had enough money to buy me a prom dress, it went into her nose. I used to look at other kids and know I could never be like them. Their parents worked, came home, ate dinner, and went to bed. I never had stuff like that and I knew I never would. If you are saying I might miss out on some things I never would have had… It’s not much of a sacrifice.”
Mike opened his arms and Cherry came into them. They sat in silence, each thinking about the future and how much better it was than the past.
Like one of those movies where the picture slowly fades out and suddenly we are back in the present, I shook my head. Those were the remembrances that had filled my head as the speakers droned on. I don’t know why I had recalled how it all started, as I sat in the grandstand watching Cherry graduating from High School. For four years, Cherry had in essence been my wife. She cooked for me, slept with me, fucked me, loved me and I had loved her.
Sure, things had changed over time. She grew and changed, matured, gained confidence, but what hadn’t changed was our love for each other. Nothing else really mattered. I guess it was appropriate that I think about how it all began, the weird day overhearing the boys talking about getting laid. I turned out to be the luckiest boy of all, still getting laid four years later.
But the happiness was tempered with a growing sadness. She was all grown up now. I had been right about her potential. She aced the SAT math section. Many colleges had accepted her including MIT. I was really proud of her. But she’d be leaving and that filled my heart with dread. I was losing her. Those were my thoughts as the speakers droned on, the school board president, the class valedictorian, the janitor…
If I could just keep her with me like the last four years had been…
The band struck up the Elgar “Pomp and Circumstance” and the students paraded across the stage. I watched as Cherry got her diploma with honors, waving up to me. I kept the tears from flowing, barely. My little lost Cherry.
After a perfunctory hug, she headed off for the all night grad party, a school tradition started after six kids were killed one night drunk and speeding in a car. I went home and watched a movie, not really seeing it, thinking how my life was going to change.
Cherry’s best friend dropped her off; yes she had friends in high school and as far as I knew, they never did figure out that she actually slept with her teacher. They never made the connection because her friends had gone to different middle schools. Cherry headed straight for bed, ours, and slept until dusk.
I called for a pizza when she crawled out of bed, tousled but smiling. Over pizza we talked. “Mike,” she said. “I never would have thought I would graduate high school with honors. I have to thank you for everything good that has ever happened to me.”
“Sweetie, you don’t have to thank me. I should thank you,” I said.
“Why are you sad?” she asked. We had been together long enough now that we knew each other’s moods.
“Because you are leaving,” I said.
“I’m not leaving,” she said
“But college. You have to go to college,” I said. I saw the tears start in her eyes. “What?” I asked. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you are sending me away,” she cried.
“What?” I was confused. “I’m not sending you away. You want to go to college, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to go away,” she said. “State is a good school. I thought…” she stopped mid-sentence and seemed to be biting her tongue.
“What? What were you going to say?” I demanded.
“I thought you would ask me when I turned eighteen. Then I thought you would ask me when I graduated. Instead you want to send me away,” she said the tears coming down her cheeks.
Now, I admit to being a typical clueless man. Even I could figure out what this meant. I slid off the sofa and knelt on one knee and took her hands into mine. Her eyes went wide in shock.
“Will you marry me?” I asked.
I saw the looks flitting across her face. Finally she realized I was serious and I wasn’t kidding her. “Yes,” she screamed and came off the couch like a rocket, knocking me over backwards. Cherry kissing me wildly as we lay in a heap on the floor. “Can we get married tomorrow?”
Laughing, I said, “I think we have to get a license first. And we have to invite my family.”
That sobered her. She sat back. “Oh yeah, family.”
The emptiness of no family filled her face. “Sweetheart, you should try to find your mom and grandparents. Just because she abandoned you…” I said.
She cut me off, “No. Not in a million years. She hasn’t even tried to find me in four years.”
“Okay, but at least your grandparents,” I said.
She relented, “Okay. We can try to find them.”
I pulled her to me and kissed her. “Good.” At least there would be someone on her side of the church.
That’s the story of Cherry, the finest survivor I ever knew.
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