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My name is Jeff Browning. I’m seventeen years old, and I’ve got problems.
Here’s the thing. Last night Christy and I were sitting in my car, in front of her house. It’s February, and cold for Southern California, and the car windows were steamed over by the warmth of our breathing. Any other time it would have felt safe and cozy, sitting all closed in. But I wasn’t feeling cozy last night. I was tense and nervous.
It was late, and I was trying to get up the nerve to break up with Christy. I was determined to do it before the night was over, but it was difficult to get any of those breaking-up words out of my mouth.
Christy and I have been together for so long, and we’ve been through so much . . . laughter, tears, all that stuff you see in the movies and think will never happen to you until it does . . . It’s hard. I don’t want to hurt her, I’m just tired of feeling tied.
Christy always keeps track of our month anniversaries, which we count from the first time I kissed her, September 17, seventeen months ago. We were at the annual back-to-debate team party at my friend Dashan’s house. I’d noticed Christy (Christina Calderon) in my debate class, but I hadn’t really talked to her. She was a freshman and I was a junior. She seemed older—innocent, though. Not like some of those little ninth grade chicks that look about thirty and you think if you even talk to them you could pick up some kind of disease.
Christy has long, black hair, sort of medium-dark skin, and light green eyes. When I first looked into those eyes, I thought she must be wearing some kind of fake colored contacts. I didn’t know God ever handed out such beautiful eyes. I thought you’d have to buy them at some store.
Me, I’m kind of average looking, brown hair, brown eyes, light skin, about five foot ten. Christy sometimes calls me handsome, joking around, but really I’m just ordinary looking.
Anyway, we’ve been together ever since that party. In a way you could say it was first love for both of us. Christy had never been with a guy before me, and I hadn’t ever really loved anyone. I wasn’t a virgin. There had been two girls along the way I’d liked a lot, but I’d never thought I was in love before. It was different with Christy and things were good with us for a long time—really good. Then something changed.
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Last summer I visited my grandmother in Florida, like always, and I met this girl, Beth. We didn’t do anything, it wasn’t like that. But we laughed a lot.
She was my age. Maybe that made me realize how immature Christy can be at times. Beth wasn’t always upset about her family, or needing me to tell her how cute she was, or to take her somewhere. She could take care of herself. I liked that.
Part of the thing with Christy was that she really depended on me. Her family life was messed up. Her dad is one of these super bossy guys who thinks he’s god of the family and everyone in it. I felt sorry for her, having to put up with him all the time. She envied me, living in a house where people don’t yell at each other all the time.
When her dad was on the rampage, she’d walk to a pay phone and I’d come get her. He wasn’t violent, but he could be very mean and nasty all the same. Then, sometimes he was nice.
I never knew, when I went to see Christy, if I was going to see the nice Mr. Calderon, or the mean Mr. Calderon. I liked it better if I didn’t see Mr. Calderon at all. Anyway, Christy spent a lot of time at my house because things are relaxed there.
Besides having a screwed-up family life, when Christy first came to Hamilton High, she hardly had any friends there. She’d gone to Catholic schools before that, and most of her friends had gone on to Mission High School. So I guess she was kind of lonely.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the most popular guy at Hamilton High, but I’ve lived here all my life and gone to school with a lot of the same people since kindergarten. Between school, Little League and AYSO, I know practically everyone. So I helped Christy get a social life and I gave her a shoulder to cry on when her dad was acting like a butthole, which was most of the time.
Anyway, while I was in Florida last summer, I missed Christy. But when I got back, my feelings had changed. I hadn’t meant for them to, it just happened. On the outside everything looked the same. We still hung around together all the time. I still liked sex with her—a lot. But where it used to make me feel important that she needed me to sort of take care of her, now sometimes I felt all closed in.
When I said I wanted to go out with the guys on Friday nights, she’d ask, “What am I supposed to do when you’re out partying with your homeboys?”
“I didn’t say partying, Christy. I just want to hang out with my friends sometimes.”
“And leave me stuck at home watching reruns with my family? You know I hate being home on a Friday night.”
“Well, you could go out with some of your friends. What
about Kim? You could go to a movie or something.” Kim is her friend from St. Catherine’s, and days and most nights they talk for hours on the phone. Was it unreasonable to think they might get together now and then on a Friday night?
But Christy didn’t think much of that suggestion. She said, “Kim and John go out every Friday night. He always wants to be with her.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you . . .”
“I don’t understand,” she’d said, her green eyes filling with tears. “You’re the only one I ever want to be with . . . I like Kim, but I love you,” she’d whispered, and then kissed me long and full.
One thing led to another, and I forgot about going out with the boys. I must be crazy to want to change things, I’d thought, lying beside her, feeling close to her in the warm afterglow of sex. But the next afternoon, when she’d asked me to come get her and take her back to my house because her sister and dad were yelling and screaming at each other, I got that trapped feeling all over again. Life can be very confusing.
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For a while I thought I’d take the easy way out, stay with her for the rest of the school year and then we’d just naturally drift apart when I go away to college. Going away to college has been a dream of mine for a long time.
My mom and grandma have each been putting money in a savings account for my college education ever since my dad left. But between that money and the money I’ve saved working at the Fitness Club, there’s barely enough for tuition and books at a state school. The bad news is there won’t be anything left to pay for room and board away from home. But here’s the really good news. I almost for sure am getting a debate scholarship to a small college in Texas so I can actually live away from home, in a dormitory, like in the TV sitcoms.
Mr. Rogers, my debate teacher, helped me a lot, but I’ve worked hard for it too. It’s sort of a dream come true. All I have to do is qualify for nationals this year, and the scholarship is mine. I’ll compete in two events, Dramatic Interpretation and Policy Debate. I already know pretty much what I’m doing for both events. I just need to polish the rough edges between now and March.
My partner in Policy Debate, Jeremy, is probably getting a scholarship to UC Berkeley. He may be getting one to Yale, too, only that would be in science. Jeremy is extremely intelligent. Trin, too, may get a debate scholarship. We’ve got a really hot debate program at Hamilton High.
Anyway, back to me and Christy. It’s tempting just to stay with her until I go away to college, but that feels like living a lie. Besides, I’m sort of interested in someone else and I think she may be interested in me, too. Not like it’s another serious love, but it might be fun to hang out with this other girl now and then.
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So there I was last night, sitting with Christy in the car, in front of her house, trying to get up the nerve to break up with her. I’d practiced the words so many times—we’ll always be friends, I’ll always care about you, but I can’t be with you anymore—or—if we try being apart for a while, then we’ll know whether or not we really love each other.
“Christy . . .” I started, my heart pounding. Why was it so hard?
“I have something to tell you, Jeff,” she said.
“I have something to tell you, too,” I said, hoping we each wanted to tell each other the same thing. No luck.
“We’re going to have a baby,” she said, smiling the halfsmile I once thought was so cute.
I couldn’t believe what I’d heard.
“What?”
“We’re going to have a baby.”
Not, I’m pregnant, or we’ve got a problem, but we’re going to have a baby.
“You’re kidding. Right?”
How could she be pregnant when we’d always been so careful?
She dug around in her purse for a piece of paper, then handed it to me. I turned on the inside light and read a notice from a family clinic—her name was on it, and the box for “positive pregnancy” was checked. I kept staring at the paper, not believing my eyes.
“I got a pregnancy test to be sure. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for certain,” she said, smiling all lovingly at me. “It’s due in July. A little baby from us, together.”
“But you’re on the pill. How can you be pregnant?”
“Things happen sometimes,” she said, her smile fading.
“And July?” I counted on my fingers, February to July. “You’re already four months pregnant and you’re just now telling me?”
“I told you, I waited to be sure.”
‘You also told me the pill was ninety-nine percent effective.”
“Well, maybe we’re the one percent.”
“God!”
“Maybe I forgot to take it sometimes,” she said, looking away. “I don’t know. All I know is, I went to the clinic and we’re going to have a baby.”
“Forgot to take it sometimes? Are you telling me that all these months you’ve supposedly been on the pill you were only sort of on the pill?”
“Don’t yell at me. You know I can’t stand to be yelled at. Don’t start acting like my dad!”
“Christy! We can’t have a baby! We’ve got lots of things we have to do before either of us has a kid. I mean, what kind of parents could we be? We’re still kids!”
‘You’ll be eighteen next month. That’s an adult!”
I turned off the light and sat slumped behind the steering wheel, staring at the fogged-over windshield.
“Christy, we can’t possibly have a baby. We’re still in high school.”
“Lots of people still in high school have babies. Look at Phillip and Susan,” she said.
“You look at them! They’ve both practically quit school. Phil is working his butt off at McDonald’s—assistant manager. Wow! And Susan’s always complaining about the baby this and the baby that. I’m going to college next year, I’m not going to work full-time at some fast-food place so I can buy diapers!” I knew I was talking loud but, God, she was pregnant?
“You wouldn’t have to work at a fast-food place. They’re always asking you to work more hours at the Club. That’s a good job.”
“I don’t want more hours at the Fitness Club. I want to go away to college next year. It’s what I’ve always planned on doing and it’s what I’m going to do.”
Christy sat silently, turned away from me. Finally she asked, “What did you want to tell me?”
“What?”
“You said you had something to tell me, too.”
“Oh,” I said. “It was nothing.”
How could I tell her I wanted to break up, when she’d just told me she was pregnant? That changed everything.
We were both quiet for a long time, thinking our own thoughts, I guess. Then I pulled her close to me and rubbed her back, the way I always did when she was upset or sad.
“We’ll work this out,” I whispered. “I’ll take you back to the clinic on Monday. We’ll get set up for an abortion. It’s not too late.”
“Abortion!” she screamed, pushing me away. “You want to kill our baby?”
“Don’t be so dramatic! It’s not a baby, it’s a mass of cells, probably not even as big as a chicken egg.”
She put her hands over her face. “You said you wanted kids,” she sobbed.
“I didn’t mean now! God, Christy, you know I’ve always planned to go to college. And what about your plans to be an audiologist and help deaf kids? Teen mothers do not go to college!”
“Some do,” she said. “I will.”
“Oh, come on, Christy . . . Look at Susan’s life since she had the baby. She’s out of school as much as she’s in—the baby has a fever, the baby’s cutting teeth. Get real. How will you possibly go to college and start a career if you have a little baby that needs your constant attention?”
“Maybe our moms would help take care of it. And we could take turns. It would be fun. There’s that extra bedroom at your house that’s not even being used. It could be a perfect room for a baby.”
“Well that’s not for me! And I don’t think my mom would be all excited about turning her study into a baby’s room. I don’t think your mom is going to be jumping up and down with excitement over this news, either. And your dad! He’ll go nuts!”
“You can just talk to him, like you did when he wouldn’t let us go out. Remember?”
“Geez, Christy. This is a slightly bigger deal than going to a movie, you know?”
God. Pregnant? How could this be? We’d been so careful! I couldn’t end up like Phillip! I wanted to be less tied down, not more! I felt dizzy, closed in. I couldn’t breathe! The car was getting smaller and smaller. I jumped out, slammed the door and started walking fast, down the street, feeling the dampness of the misty night on my face and in my hair. How could this have happened to me?
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Always I’d used condoms. That was something I was very careful about, even the first time, when I was fifteen and fumbling all over the place. But a few months ago, when Christy said she’d gone on the pill because of being irregular or something, well . . . it was a lot easier. And we didn’t worry about AIDS, or other diseases, because we were only with each other.
I walked faster, past the house on the corner with the huge oak tree in front. There was a big yellow plastic slide under the tree, and a treehouse with a rope ladder leading up to it where I’d often seen kids playing. I wasn’t ready to build treehouses! I didn’t want a kid!
I broke into a run, across the street, one block, two, to the big Safeway near where Christy and I used to park after school, when we were first getting to know each other. I leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
What should I do? What could I do? I didn’t want the responsibility of a kid! Her parents would kill me if they found out. And my mom? God, I didn’t know what she’d say. I was so young the first time she talked to me about the importance of rubbers that I thought it had something to do with keeping my feet dry.
My mom is studying to be a nurse and she’s a fanatic about safe sex. She’s always coming home from her nursing classes with horror stories about AIDS and other STDs. She has two slogans that she’s been preaching to me for about forever. Never ever have meaningless sex, and never have sex without a condom unless you’re ready to get sick and/or take on the responsibilities of fatherhood.
I stood, still leaning against the market, shivering against the cold stucco. Maybe it was a mistake. Doctors make mistakes all the time.
The security guard sauntered over, carrying a billy club in his right hand.
“No loitering here,” he said.
“It’s a public place,” I said.
“Not now it ain’t. We’re closed.”
I felt like punching the phony smile off his ugly face. But I’m not the kind of guy who does stupid stuff like that. I turned and walked slowly away, toward Christy’s house. She wasn’t in the car when I got back. I stood outside for a while, looking at her lighted bedroom window, then got in my car and drove home.
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As I started the turn into my driveway I shut off the lights and the engine, and coasted slowly to the place in front of the garage where I always park my car. The light was on in my mom’s study, and I knew if I went in while she was still awake she’d want to talk. I wasn’t up to it. Just thinking about how disappointed my mom would be if she knew Christy was pregnant made my stomach feel all fluttery, the way it used to get when I first started competing in debate tournaments.
It’s weird how one minute, things seem to be one way, and the next minute, everything’s changed. Someone tells you something, and the world you thought you knew is all different. That’s how I felt the morning my dad walked into my bedroom and told me he wouldn’t be living with us any more. And that’s how I felt sitting in my driveway last night, like the world had taken a big turn, and it was a turn I didn’t like, and nothing I could do would turn it back.
I sat watching my house, listening to the police copter circling overhead, waiting for Mom to go to bed. I’ve lived in the same house for as long as I can remember—a basic three-bedroom two-bath house with an attached garage. It’s not fancy or anything, not like some of the houses up in the Highlands area of Hamilton Heights. But it’s not a neighborhood where people have to put iron bars on their windows either.
For awhile after my dad left, he was bugging my mom to sell our house and rent an apartment, so he could get his money out of the place. Mom said they owed it to me to give me a decent place to live, in a decent neighborhood.
“I’m not making one more payment on this place,” he’d said. That’s the kind of person he is. Once he decided to leave, he couldn’t care less about the people he left behind.
Mom told him, “So don’t make another payment. But we’re staying in the house.” That was when she started working for Town and Country Realty.
I guess it’s been a good place to grow up: 1264 Columbus Street, Hamilton Heights, California. But even though it looked exactly the same as it always had, if Christy really was pregnant, nothing would ever be the same again.
Finally, after I’d been sitting in the driveway for about 20 minutes, all the lights went out except for the ones on the back porch and in my bedroom. I stayed in my car a few more minutes, then tiptoed quietly inside.