KITTY
AT LUNCHTIME THE teachers’ lounge is full of gossip. As an elementary school teacher, I’m surrounded mostly by other female teachers. Jordan’s told me on more than one occasion that he’s glad I eat lunch with women. He always implies that I would have an affair if there were men around. But if he heard the way the way women talked in the teachers’ lounge he might change his mind. And it’s not just today, it’s every day. The main topic of conversation is husbands. Bad husbands. Absent husbands. Ignorant husbands. The faults of husbands in general. Abbie Lawrence, a second grade teacher, is going on and on about her husband, venting to the nodding crowd. “He hired an assistant and she’s a twenty-year old college student!” Everyone gasps. “She has long blond hair, big brown eyes and is as thin as a rail. Do you think he hired her for her brains?” Mumbles fall across the crowd. There are a dozen or so teachers, all female, gathered in the teacher’s lounge. I’m sitting on one of the old mauve couches, the one pushed against the back wall. One other teacher, Susan Maden sits with me, intently listening to Abbie’s dilemma. No one ever has any sound advice to offer, but we all listen and nod and ooh and aw at the right times.
Susan surprises me and stands up from our couch, taking her turn to lead the conversation. “Ralph is laid off. You would think since he’s home he’d help around the house while I’m here at work. You would think he would do the dishes or vacuum. Something. Anything.” She throws her hands in the air. “At least help with driving our kids to and from their sports and activities.” She shakes her head. “But no, he can’t be bothered. He’s too busy watching Sportscenter and sulking about how bad he has it. And then he has the nerve to complain about the fact that we haven’t done the deed in a while…the gull! How’s a woman supposed to feel sexy when she’s face down in work twenty-four-seven? Tell me that!” She isn’t looking for a reply, we all know this. She’s looking to be heard, because she isn’t heard at home. Susan places her hands on her hips and sits back down on the couch and I feel the cushion bounce as she does this. I don’t know if it’s the force of the bounce or if the pregnancy has my hormones out of whack. I never participate in these bashing conversations, but suddenly I find myself standing, still holding my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in my right hand and letting it flop to my side. Everyone’s eyes are on me and now I know I have to speak. I feel an extra pressure since I haven’t contributed before. The weight of expectation is almost too much to bear. I begin to bend my knees to sit back down, but Susan grabs my hand and stands with me and whispers that it’s okay. “Go ahead honey,” she murmurs. “Let it out.” It feels like some sort of therapy and I almost laugh at the thought. If only Jordan knew what I was doing now, I would never hear the end of it.
“I’m pregnant.” It’s a flat statement that gets a rise from the small crowd. I chickened out, it seems to be a pattern for me. I wanted to unleash the frustration that’s bottled up inside of me. I wanted to tell them how things really are with Jordan, but instead I blurted out the one thing I knew would make them all turn to mush. The other teachers clap and say congratulations. When they stop, I’m still standing with Susan by my side. Everyone knows there’s more. There’s always more. If there wasn’t, I wouldn’t be standing. I wouldn’t have everyone’s eyes on me. “And I feel more alone than I ever have. Jordan ran to call his parents when I told him the news. He didn’t hug me or say anything to me, really. It’s not that he’s upset about being a dad. I think he’s happy about that. But I’m not sure he’s happy I’m the mom.” I feel my voice catch and I stop talking to save myself from shedding unwanted tears. Susan rubs my back and Abbie walks over and hugs me. After a moment I find myself surrounded by a circle of congratulations and giddiness. They don’t get it. Maybe I didn’t explain it right. How do you really explain the fact that you’re in a loveless marriage? I said the P word. Pregnant. Once you say that, everyone’s eyes glaze over and they can’t hear anything else. The one time I choose to participate in the gossip, in the venting about husbands, and I single handedly turn the conversation to a happy pregnancy announcement. Instead of finding a shoulder to lean on, I’ve found an army of giddiness, literally surrounding me and I am helpless to escape. What did I expect? I work with women who have chosen to spend their – our – lives around small children, helping them learn and grow. Nothing gets past the P word here. Nothing. I realize I’ve just expanded my emptiness. I’m in my first year of marriage, I’m young and now I’m pregnant. No matter what I say, people see what they want to see. I’m the image of happiness. So why doesn’t it feel that way to me?