by Sheila Cole
Of all the people! His cousin Beth! She has the biggest mouth in the whole world. I couldn’t believe he’d done that. I was so upset, I got off the swing and ran out of the playground. Peter ran after me and grabbed me by the arm. “You want me to take care of it. Well, I am,” he shouted. He was hurting my arm and I was crying.
He led me to a picnic bench. We sat there until I calmed down. He said his cousin Beth was disgusted with him for not using condoms. She told him I should go to Planned Parenthood. I don’t need an appointment there, and they’ll arrange for me to get an abortion. She’s loaning him the money to pay for it.
He thinks it’s so simple. You just walk in, put down your money, and it’s all over in a few minutes. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He can tell me that it’s safe, but it’s me who has to do it, not him.
Sunday, July 7
I never said I’d get an abortion! All I said was I would find out about it. Peter thinks that because I said I’d go to Planned Parenthood with him on Friday, I’m going to have one. I don’t want to. I don’t know what else to do, though.
Monday, July 8
Last night I had a nightmare. I dreamed I had the abortion and I died, and Planned Parenthood had to call Mom and Daddy and tell them.
Peter says people don’t die during a legal abortion in a clinic. But he only knows what his cousin Beth says, and she just wants to get him out of this. She doesn’t care about me.
I wish Carrie weren’t in Montana so I could talk to her about it. At least she cares what happens to me.
Tuesday, July 9
I was going to call and cancel my lesson for today because I didn’t think I’d be able to concentrate and it would be a waste. But I forgot and had to go. Mrs. Rykoff was wearing another one of her ethnic costumes. I think it was from Afghanistan or someplace like that. Once we got into the music, it wasn’t bad. She said, “Vonderful … O-o-oh, zat iz nice, very nice, my dear,” when I played the Vivaldi. And I didn’t have to do the Kreutzer exercises, which was a giant relief because they are so boring. Then we started work on the Bach. She made me take the slow movement apart, counting very carefully. “Now leesten, my dear. Leesten carefully,” she kept telling me. It is gorgeous.
If I don’t go to Planned Parenthood on Friday, Peter won’t speak to me again. I wish it would go away without my doing anything. Why can’t I just have a miscarriage?
Wednesday, July 10
Peter’s grandmother died last night. He went to Los Angeles for the funeral. I really shouldn’t be so selfish, but when he told me, I kept thinking, why did she have to go and die now? I finally got myself all psyched up to go to Planned Parenthood, and now I can’t. I can’t go by myself. I’m too scared.
Poor Peter! He loved her. He says that his grandma and grandpa were the only nice people in his father’s family. His grandma always made him these chocolate pecan cookies. And every holiday—even St. Patrick’s Day and Halloween—she sent him and Mike these silly cards and ten dollars each to buy themselves a treat.
Grandma will probably die soon, too, because of the cancer. I wish I could call her and tell her how much I love her. Daddy would have a fit if I called Chicago, though, because we just saw them.
Friday, July 12
I had today off, but Peter’s still in Los Angeles. The one person around was Dianne. She was only going over to the recycling center where she’s volunteering this summer, but I went with her, anyway.
We talked about Peter’s grandmother. Dianne says she’s afraid she’ll die young and never get a chance to really live. I think she feels like she’s missing out because she hasn’t ever had a boyfriend. She told me she was jealous of me and Peter. Boy! If she only knew!
I didn’t let anything slip, I know I didn’t, but somehow Planned Parenthood came up. “Lily went there to get the Pill,” Dianne told me, all wide-eyed and prissy.
Sometimes Dianne is so naive! Lots of kids get birth control. I wouldn’t be in this mess if I had. But I didn’t think we’d go all the way. I told Dianne I thought Lily was smart to be prepared. Then she asked if I thought Arianna and Will were doing it. “Duh!” I said.
And she goes, “No!” like I’d shot her straight through the heart. Dianne’s such a baby.
She said she saw Tom at the beach with Molly Stein yesterday, and she was going to write Carrie to tell her. I told her not to, and she’d better not, because it will ruin Carrie’s vacation. Dianne says we have to let her know because we’re her friends. I don’t think you have to tell your friends everything.
Monday, July 15
I’m going to die. I know it. Something is going to go wrong.
Peter, please come home. I need you.
Tuesday, July 16
At work today, Mrs. Ikura showed me how to shape azaleas when they get too leggy. Now I can do the ones along the side of the house. But I need to practice the violin first.
No word from Peter.
Wednesday, July 17
HE’S BACK! Peter was waiting when I got off work today. I was so glad to see him I just wanted to be alone somewhere with him, but he made me go back in and tell Mrs. Ikura I can’t come in tomorrow. Then he said he had to leave, that his mother was meeting him at the bank in ten minutes to sign some papers.
We’re going tomorrow. I wish it were over with.
Friday, July 19
I knew something would go wrong. I’m four months pregnant. FOUR MONTHS! And if I want to have an abortion, I have to do it in the hospital. And it takes two days and costs eight hundred dollars or more.
It was a nightmare. The place was mobbed when we got there. I didn’t want everyone to hear, so I whispered to the woman at the desk, “I’m here for an abortion.” She didn’t hear me, and I had to say it louder. Everybody was looking at me. It was so humiliating.
She gave me this form to fill out with all these questions, like how many abortions (abortions!) I’d had, things like that. Because there was no place left to sit, I had to stand and Peter went outside to wait. I would have gone outside with him, but I was afraid they’d call my name and I wouldn’t hear.
They sent me to the bathroom with a cup to pee in. I was so nervous, I ended up going all over my hand and the toilet seat. I knew I was pregnant, but I kept hoping that maybe I was wrong. When the counselor told me the test was positive, I felt like I’d been punched in the chest, and I started to cry. I couldn’t help it. She handed me a box of Kleenex and waited for me to stop crying.
The counselor asked me about when I had my last period, if I really wanted an abortion—stuff like that—and I started crying all over again. She asked me if I wanted Peter to come in, and when she brought him in a minute later, he wouldn’t even look at me. He didn’t say a word when she told him I was pregnant. He just slumped down in the chair.
The counselor took out this little paper wheel and showed us that I’d be about sixteen weeks pregnant if my last period was in March. I have to see their nurse practitioner on Monday to confirm how many weeks pregnant I am.
Then she told us an abortion would take two days and cost somewhere between six hundred and fifty and eight hundred and twenty-five dollars, depending on whether I was in my fifteenth or sixteenth week. Peter said he thought it would cost two hundred and fifty dollars. The counselor told us that’s only during the first three months of pregnancy. She said we can apply to Medi-Cal if we don’t have the money, but they may try to give us a runaround. She said a lot of other things—I can’t remember it all. She gave me a lot of stuff to read, too. I left it in Peter’s car.
Peter still wouldn’t look at me when we left. I tried to take his hand, but he pulled away from me. He didn’t say a word. Then, when we got on the freeway, he exploded. “Four months, Val!” he yelled. “Why didn’t you say something before now? How long have you known?”
I wanted to answer, but I was crying so hard I couldn’t say anything. After I stopped crying, I told him I was sorry. I told him he shouldn’t worry because I was goin
g to kill myself. And then he said if I was going to kill myself, he would kill himself, too. Then I was telling him about the balcony in the hotel in Chicago, and I got this crazy image of the two of us jumping out of a window holding hands like Superman and Lois Lane, and I was laughing and crying at the same time.
“It’s not funny, Val,” he said.
We pulled off at the beach so we could talk about it seriously. He kept telling me that I should go to Medi-Cal to apply for the money so I could get an abortion. I didn’t say anything. It was boiling hot in the car, and he was mad. He said if I wasn’t going to be reasonable, he was going to go in the surf and cool off and I could sit there and cook if I wanted.
I was in the water a minute later. I was really dreading going home, and for a few minutes while I was swimming, it was such a relief not to think about it.
I was sure they’d know the minute they laid eyes on me. Instead, as soon as I walked in the door, Mom went ballistic because I missed dinner and didn’t call. She went on and on about how inconsiderate I was and how I didn’t give a damn about anyone but myself. How I didn’t care that she and Daddy were killing themselves trying to put food on the table and pay the bills.
I just stood there, listening to her yell at me and thinking that if she acts like this when all I did was miss dinner, what will she do when she finds out I’m pregnant? When she was finished with me, I said I was sorry I was late and I went to my room and shut the door.
Daddy came in a few minutes later. He said he thought I was old enough to understand what’s going on. He told me Mom’s exhausted from work and worried that he’s going to lose his business. He said we were going to have to make a lot of cuts in the budget until he gets more work. He asked me if I would mind taking a break from the violin. It’s only for the summer. They’re going to try to come up with the money to pay for lessons in the fall. I said it was okay, and I told Daddy I’d do the cooking a couple of times a week to help out.
It really is okay. I don’t feel right about taking anything from them, especially now. And I don’t want to get into any fights with them.
Monday, July 22
I had this pelvic exam. It was awful. The nurse said it was the only way to tell how far along I am. My feet were in these stirrup things to keep my legs apart during the exam. Then she put her hand in me. It was the most humiliating experience I’ve ever had.
After it was over, I went to talk to the counselor again. She told me I’m due at the end of December and asked me what I wanted to do. I said I didn’t know, I had to talk to my boyfriend. She said she’d get him, but I said I wanted to talk to him alone.
When I came out to the car, Peter took one look at me and said, “It’s too late, isn’t it?” I didn’t answer. He said, “We’re going right over to the welfare office to apply for Medi-Cal.”
I asked him if he’d let me think about it. He said that I couldn’t keep waiting—and hoping that some miracle would happen. If I hadn’t waited so long already, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
“You got me into it,” I said. “If you—”
He turned the key in the ignition and pulled out so fast the tires squealed. We didn’t say another word to each other the whole way there. When we pulled into the parking lot at the welfare office, he reached across me and opened the door without saying anything. He stayed in the car.
In the office, I asked the woman at the desk for an application for Medi-Cal assistance. She asked who it was for. I said it was for me, and she asked why I needed it. As soon as she heard what it was for, she started asking me these questions—like, do your parents know, who supports you, those kinds of things. Then she said that if I was living at home with my parents, I wasn’t eligible for Medi-Cal assistance unless they qualified.
I told her the counselor at Planned Parenthood said that Medi-Cal wouldn’t tell my parents. And she said no, that wasn’t true. Unless I declared myself an emancipated minor, they needed to know what my family’s income was. I got up and walked out, leaving her sitting there with her applications and forms.
Peter didn’t believe me when I told him what happened. It really burned me. I said, “If you think you can do better, go apply yourself.” That shut him up.
Tuesday, July 23
I’m such a screwup. I can’t believe it. Mrs. Rykoff waited half an hour today before she decided I wasn’t coming. I meant to call and tell her. I feel terrible.
To make it even worse, I had to tell her I wasn’t going to take lessons this summer. She said I was making real strides in my playing and I’d lose the momentum if I stopped now. I promised her that I’d practice. She asked if the money was a problem. I said no, that wasn’t it, because I knew Mom and Daddy would be mad if I said anything. I told her I just needed to take a rest.
I was making real progress with her, and I feel bad about stopping. But I probably would never have made it as a professional, anyway. There’s so much competition.
Wednesday, July 24
We made up! Peter called at seven. He never came out and said he was sorry, but I could tell he was because he said he was just calling to let me know he loves me and he would never let me go through this alone. He said there’s something he wants to talk to me about, but he doesn’t want to do it on the telephone.
I have a feeling that he’s going to ask me to marry him. It’s what I’ve been praying for. It would make everything all right.
There’s this amazingly beautiful piece for violin and orchestra on the radio right now. It’s so sad and beautiful, with wonderful soaring passages that I’d love to play. The announcer just said that it is The Lark Ascending by Ralph Vaughan Williams. Got to get the music.
Thursday, July 25
I still can’t believe it’s really happening. Mrs. Winder! Me, Valerie Larch-Winder! Peter came by to drive me to work this morning. That’s when he proposed. He parked a few blocks from here, leaned over, and said, “I think we should get married, Val.” He told me he loved me and wanted to be with me for the rest of his life, and I was crying. All I ever seem to do now is cry.
We talked about the baby. It’s the first time we ever talked about it, really. Before, it was it, but now that we’re getting married, it’s Our Baby. When I asked him if he wanted a boy or a girl, he got this marvelous look on his face. “I want a daughter. A little girl, with a funny nose and sapphire blue eyes like yours,” he said. I just hope it has Peter’s smile and his nose, not mine.
I didn’t want to leave him, but I had to. It felt weird waiting on people at the nursery as if nothing had happened. All the time I was working, I was thinking, Peter and I are getting married, Peter and I are getting married, Peter and I are getting married. It was like a song in my head. Mrs. Ikura asked me what I was so happy about. “You must be in love,” she said. I laughed.
Friday, July 26
Peter did something really wonderful. I was sitting at the counter in his kitchen, watching him make a tuna sandwich. We were talking about how we were going to break the news to our parents. I was really worried about what they’re going to say. But he looked up at me with his wonderful smile, put down the fork, and said, “Val, I don’t need anyone’s permission to marry you. We are married, as married as we’ll ever be.” He pulled an envelope from his pocket and shook out a ring. Coming around to my side of the counter, he took my hand and slipped the wedding ring on my finger, saying, “With this ring, I, Peter Matthew Winder, marry you, Valerie Susanne Larch.”
I cried. Peter held my face in his hands and kissed me. He kissed my eyelids and the tears on my lashes, saying I shouldn’t cry. We split the tuna sandwich, ate half of a coffee cake that was in the fridge, and finished off the milk. And then we went upstairs. He undressed me, kissing me softly, moving his lips slowly down my body. Then I undressed him and tortured him with my kisses. I never got as far as his feet—we couldn’t wait. It wasn’t anything like the first time because now I wanted it and it felt right. It was incredible, really incredible. I wish we could have
stayed there together forever.
Although the ring is just a gold band, I think it’s lovely. I keep twirling it around on my finger and holding out my hand and looking at it. I wish I didn’t have to take it off, but I don’t want to tell Mom and Daddy tonight. I’ll do it tomorrow when I get home from work.
It’s amazing. I’m going to marry Peter, and we’re going to have a baby, a real live baby! The three of us will do everything together. I know it will be hard because we don’t have any money and the baby will be a big responsibility. But it’s going to be okay.
I started working on The Lark. Peter, my own dear, thoughtful Peter, bought the music for me.
Saturday, July 27
We were just sitting down to dinner when the phone rang. Daddy answered. All he had to say was, “What? They’re what?” And then he looked at me in this awful way, and I knew. I got up from the table and ran to my room.
Mom was right after me. Asking me what was going on. Telling me to turn around to face her. Then Daddy burst in. “She’s pregnant! Four months pregnant!” He pushed Mom away and started smacking me.
Mom kept yelling, “Stop it, Dave! Stop it!” over and over. And suddenly he stopped. When I looked up, he was gone.
Mom sat down beside me and put her arm around me, and it all just came out. I told her everything: that I’m pregnant and that Peter and I want to get married.
She said that the call was from Peter’s mother, and Mrs. Winder wasn’t about to give Peter permission to get married. She said she wasn’t sure it was a good idea, either. We sat there for a few minutes without saying anything. I kept wishing I could cry, as if that would make it better, but I couldn’t. I was shaking so bad.
