by A. Jill Gaebel

Created on: March 09, 2008   Last Updated: April 08, 2009

CLIFF: A DIFFERENT KIND OF LOVE STORY

Cliff is dead now, for at least 25 years or more, but I have to tell our story. In this way, maybe I can make myself feel a little better about how I handled, or mishandled, my relationship with him. I think there are probably other Cliffs out there, as well as other young women similar to the young woman I once was.

It was 1969, and I was twenty-three when I first met Cliff. I was separated from an abusive husband, Rick, and trying to support two children without the luxury of child support. I lived in the small rural town of Marshall, Illinois. Jobs were limited, and being young and unskilled, I took a job downtown at Jerry's Caf. It was in a small, narrow building with large plate glass in the front. "Jerry's Caf" was painted in large red script across the windows. Four or five tables with chrome legs were near the entrance on one side, trailed by a counter and backless stools that ran nearly to the swinging louvered kitchen doors. A row of red, vinyl-covered booths ran down the opposite wall, followed by the restrooms. A jukebox sat between the restroom area and the kitchen doors.

It was on the jukebox that a few years before, I, and a couple of my teen peers, played Love Potion #9 so much that I'm sure Jerry and his regulars hated to see us come in for our afternoon cokes. We had to play it because another small group of teens, with whom we were feuding, started a club and made sure that we understood that we were excluded. They selected a secret club song, and we discovered that the song was Love Potion #9. To annoy them, we spent many quarters making sure that we began playing the song before they could and kept it going for as long as they were in the caf. For added insult, we would sing along. It was satisfyingly effective.

Bye the time that I had grown into more serious challenges and began working at Jerry's, Cliff was one of the regulars. Every day he walked downtown and came to Jerry's for lunch. I remember one of his favorite meals was the beef and noodles. At the time, I guessed him to be in his early to mid seventies, although I was still young enough that knowing his exact age was a minor detail. He was old. Enough said.

He always wore a fedora type hat, a suit jacket, a casual shirt, and slacks. Most of the men who came in were laborers and farmers and dressed accordingly, wearing overalls or some type of work clothing and uniforms. Cliff, although not overdressed, stood out with a casually worn dignity. He

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4
• Next Page >>