Episode 20 - Myths Of The Near Past (pt 2)

I lay there in the darkness waiting for my breathing to stop.

The house was silent - no sound at all. My mother and father fast asleep and unaware that I had chosen to escape the situation that I found myself in, a situation that was snapping me in half with the utter despair that I felt.

At the age of nineteen, my life was to end, barely before it had really begun.

I can't sit here now and blame the girl I met in the night club a year previously and now, all those years ago. She, and those close to her certainly had contributed to the way I was feeling but ultimately it was me and the choices I made, that undid me.

Now, it seems silly but occasionally I feel the echo's of that time and it fills me with shame that I even contemplated checking out. Shame that I actually tried.

Luckily, I didn't get it right.

After meeting Sian - for that was her name, I was happy. Life was great and all the roses in my garden were in full bloom - no aphids and no need for pesticide. Like young couples do, we spent our time getting to know each other, both emotionally and physically. Evenings holding hands as we walked, chatting, dreaming about the future and sharing our thoughts. Dark nights fumbling with each others zips in the back of a borrowed car down some quiet and dusty lane. And it was one such fumbling that sent me down the dark hole that lead to me waiting in the dark for the end.

It was a Sunday afternoon, late April in 1988. It was sunny and fresh and I had secured the keys to my mothers burgundy red Mini Metro. I drove off to Sian's house, where much to my surprise I found her quite drunk, rolling around the streets of her village with a bemused friend in tow. She seemed happy enough and pleased to see me, and as was usual (once the friend realised her gooseberry status and buggered off) we went for a walk in the nearby woods. Emboldened by drink, we started getting frisky and pretty soon we were going at it behind some trees. With one eye on her bouncing chest and another eye looking out for passing ramblers, this did nothing for me and within a few minutes my sense of decency (shagging in cars is ok, but out in the open air with the constant threat of being caught......) was telling me to climb off and find some where a bit more discreet.

The shadows grew long as evening faded into night and eventually we returned to the car. Sian's boozing was catching up with her as she sobered up but that didn't stop her from throwing up in a bin. She didn't look to clever so I suggested we go for a drive with the windows down so that it might wake her up a bit and put some colour back in her.

Should've taken her home, in hindsight.

But the drive did the trick and she was soon back to her best - plus a few mints to freshen the breath, too (vomit breath is not conducive to any intimacy).

And what do you know, we found ourselves parked up in one of those dusty, deserted lanes with only the star and local wildlife for company. Now, I think at the time I must have been a bit of a stupid guy and when we clambered into the back seat of my mothers Metro and started shagging again, I didn't think about stuff like condoms or whether she'd taken her pill. And pretty soon it was all academic - with all the sperm now floating around inside her, the inevitable was bound to happen.

When I returned her to her parents house I had the strangest feeling that, even though people have sex all the time without the P word happening, this particular liaison was going to end with the squeal of a newborn.

And sure enough, within a few months we got the news that I had been dreading but she was over the moon about - I was going to be a Dad, she was going to be a Mother. We were about to become parents. My world sagged a bit, but no where near as much as it was going to when I told my parents. Her mum and dad, strangely I thought, were over the moon.

When I finally found the courage to tell my Mother and Father it went as badly as I expected - my mother cried (didn't stop really until six months after my daughter was born) and my father flew into an apocalyptic rage. I fully deserved the both barrels that my parents gave me that day. Even though it was no real use in crying after the milk was spilt (so to speak) their feelings were understandable. The coming months where punctuated with massive rows and accusing stares across dinner tables and the sounds of muffled sobbing coming from my mothers bedroom.

To make things more interesting, Sian's parents suggested we marry.

This did not go down well with My Dad.........