I wake up to the beep of my parents’ alarm clock, but I’m not ready to take on the world. It isn’t until I hear the garage door open and close that I peel back the covers and sit up. Even then, I listen hard for a couple of minutes to be sure I’m alone before shoving my feet into my slippers and heading for the bathroom.
As I turn on the water, I study my face in the mirror. Despite all that’s happened, I look like I always look. Almost. All my parts are there, but it’s like they’ve been cut from a photograph and pasted on. It takes a while for me to realize why that is. And then it hits me. The dead feeling weighing me down on the inside has spread to my outside. I’m as flat as stale soda pop.
I sigh. It’s a good thing I’m not going to school today. One look at me, and everyone would know something is wrong. I smile at my reflection, but it doesn’t smile back. So I chuck a towel at the mirror and make my way to the kitchen.
There’s a note from my mother stuck to the fridge, reminding me to call Dr. Abernathy’s office. As if I’d forget.
I pour a glass of orange juice and lean against the counter as I drink it. A package of frozen ground beef sits on a plate in the spotless, stainless-steel sink. With my fingernail, I scratch an unhappy face into the frost on top and wonder how my mother plans to transform it into supper. Not that it matters.
Nothing matters.
I shake my head in wonder. Two days ago everything mattered. I was one gigantic, jangled nerve, walking an emotional tightrope along the edge of the world. But no matter how carefully I stepped, I knew I was never going to make it to the other end. Then suddenly I wasn’t pregnant anymore, and my problems were gone.
Sort of.
Now all I feel is numb.
I make some toast, take it into the family room and switch on the television. At this time of day, it’s soap-opera city, which means I can park my worries and lose myself in other people’s troubles for a few hours.
It almost works too. No one is being raped, getting pregnant or having an abortion. There’s just the usual adultery, embezzlement, lies and deadly diseases that viewers seem to crave. It isn’t until the commercials come on that I’m slammed back into reality.
It’s just a freaking ad for diapers, but suddenly I’m sobbing like crazy, and tears are streaming down my cheeks. I am shocked. I so didn’t see this coming. Probably because it’s the first time I’ve cried since Ross...I scowl and swipe at my tears. Even though it’s been almost two months, I still can’t look at that memory head on.
Ross’s face pops into my head, and I shudder. I can’t believe how attracted I was to him when I got into his car that night, and how—just a half hour later—I completely hated him.
And myself too. I hadn’t stopped him, and I may never be able to forgive myself for that. Not that I didn’t try. I did. I told him no. I pushed him away. I screamed. I hit him. But none of it did any good. We were parked where no one could hear me. And he had me cornered before I even realized what was happening. He was bigger and stronger, and he pinned me down as easily as if I were a rag doll. I have never felt so helpless in my life.
If only I hadn’t accepted his offer to drive me home.
How I wish I could turn back the clock. If I had called my dad, life would be like it was before—how it’s supposed to be. I would still be me. I wouldn’t have been forced to have sex. I wouldn’t have gotten pregnant. I wouldn’t have…
A ragged breath escapes me, and the tears start to gush again.
I fly off the couch, swiping at my eyes with my sleeve. There’s no point having a pity party. It won’t make me feel less guilty or ashamed. Nothing can do that. Besides, it’s probably hormones making me emotional. Once my body gets back to normal, I’ll be fine.
That thought reminds me that I need to make the appointment with Dr. Abernathy. I glance at the clock. It’s after ten. His office will be open now. I stomp to the kitchen and grab the phone off the counter. I’ll feel better once I’ve got this over with.
I don’t. Though the receptionist is polite and businesslike, I can’t help thinking she’s judging me.
“May I ask the reason for the appointment?” she says.
I’m momentarily stunned. I hadn’t expected to have to explain.
“It’s personal,” I tell her.
“Are you wanting a physical exam?” she prods.
“No,” I reply quickly. That’s the last thing I want. I try to come up with an explanation that will get her off my back. “I was in the hospital recently,” I say, “and Dr. Abernathy wants to follow up.”
“I see,” she replies. “Right then. How does Thursday morning sound? Will ten thirty work for you?”
“That’s fine,” I mumble, scribbling down the day and time. “Thanks.” I punch the Off button.
I return the phone to its cradle and wait for it to ring—my mother checking to see if I’ve made the appointment. She will call. It’s just a matter of when. But I don’t want to talk to her, so I head to the shower.
It’s an ugly day—overcast and blustery—but I feel trapped inside the house. I put on my coat and hat and head out. At the end of the driveway, I turn left and let the wind push me down the street.
I have no idea where I’m going. I walk aimlessly, hoping to distract myself from my thoughts. But they walk right along with me.
I know Dr. Abernathy is going to give me the third degree on Thursday. How much is a doctor allowed to poke into a patient’s personal life? I try to figure out what questions he’ll ask and how I’ll answer them.
He already knows I didn’t go to an abortion clinic. I would have. In fact, I’d just about talked myself into it when—well, when Mother Nature took care of things for me.
I guess I was lucky. If you call having a miscarriage lucky. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I didn’t want to be pregnant, but in a way I’m sad that I lost the baby. I know that doesn’t make sense, but nothing about my life makes sense anymore. I kick a pine cone across the sidewalk and pick up my pace.
Will Doctor Abernathy ask about the father? Not that the word father even belongs in the same sentence with Ross Schroeder. I did consider telling him I was pregnant—for about a millionth of a second.
The thing is, I considered having the baby. I figured I could quit school and get a job. But what kind of job? Waitress? Office receptionist? Certainly nothing that paid well enough to live on, let alone support a baby. I wouldn’t even be able to afford diapers. I pictured myself homeless. What kind of life was that?
Giving up the baby wasn’t the answer either. I would wonder about it for the rest of my life.
Over and over I considered the options, but nothing had seemed right. Keeping the baby or giving it up—either way I would have had to tell my parents. The mere thought made me want to throw up.
No matter how much I thought about things, I couldn’t make a decision. All I was doing was running in circles. And time was ticking away.
Then—just like that—the problem solved itself.
And now it’s all over. So why can’t I stop thinking about it?
A fat raindrop splats on the sidewalk, then another and another. I look up at the dark sky. In a matter of seconds, my face is soaked. Rain or tears—I can’t tell. I turn back into the wind and start for home.