***
In ninth grade I started seeing Toby. Although I would definitely put him into the long-term boyfriend category, during the two years that we were on-again-off-again, sex wasn’t a part of our relationship. He was a typical popular guy who everyone wanted to be friends with, except that he also had whirlwind of issues because his mother and father had recently split up. The anger was justified in every way, but I was in no place to be someone else’s therapist—I needed one of my own.
Being asked to sleep over a guy’s house is usually unsubtle code for sleeping together, but Toby was usually more straightforward so I didn’t initially feel too pressured when he asked me to stay over his house one night. As soon as I arrived, his friend started making fun of him about us not having sex. The dumb peer pressure pissed me off and their typical boy banter made me feel less close to Toby as the night wore on. Still, I was thankful for his friend’s irritating presence because Toby’s parents were out and I didn’t want him to believe we’d take advantage of that to have sex. Unfortunately, his friend ended up leaving so we went to bed. He took me by the hand and led me up to a room upstairs. He pleaded his case and I quickly denied him.
“Let’s have a baby so we can stay together forever.”
The idea was absurd but Toby wouldn’t take no for an answer. Everything about that night is a haze besides his proposition. Mostly I remember the sensory details. It went from being a dark room to me feeling just as pitch black as the environment. I didn’t want to sleep with Toby, but he persisted. Denying him seemed fruitless. I believed Toby loved me so I decided I could give him this one thing as long as he wore a condom. He obliged my one request, yet something was off—literally.
“Where’s the condom?” I questioned him when it was over.
“I took it off.” The four words caused my heart to stop flittering for a moment. Off? He took it off?
“WHY did you take it off?”
Most guys would be freaking out, but his shrug was careless.
I should have been furious, but I was too terrified and consumed with worry. After that, Toby ignored all my attempts to communicate with him. I had never felt so down on myself, ever. Why was he shutting me out? I don’t know why he thought getting me pregnant would be the answer to his problems (especially since he wouldn’t talk to me) but to my dismay, his wish came true.
I took my first pregnancy test at fifteen in a Walmart bathroom. The little money scraped up from coins and random bills could have been enough to pay for a cute shirt I had been eyeing up at the mall, but instead it bought me a pregnancy test that offered a blurry picture of my future—a high school dropout, buried under piles of dirty diapers.
The only person I had to turn to was the one person I did not want to tell. My mom needed to know, though. Unfortunately, she seemed less concerned for my future than she was for her reputation. I think she felt that if became a knocked up teen, she’d be looked at as a failure. She was adamant that I would not be allowed to deliver this baby into the world, even though deep down that was what I wanted. I remember my mother was so proactive about preventing my pregnancy from going any further that she sought out Toby’s family to demand money to pay for the abortion. She threatened to press charges, which she knew meant he would lose his shot at a college scholarship. His family had no choice unless they wanted their son to be ruined.
Our parents made us attend abortion counseling sessions at a local clinic, where we were required to watch informative videos and to speak with a counselor. Between my mom and the counselor, my choices seemed limited. I remember my mom saying that I wouldn’t be able to live with her and asking where I was planning to live. Those words from my mom impacted me just as hard as the videos did. It made me feel like I would be kicked out of the house and that my family would turn against me. The counselors reminded me that I was sixteen and I didn’t have a car, a job, or even a license.
The next step proved to be as disturbing to me as the counseling sessions. Toby’s dad and my mom picked a discreet location. We met at a Wawa—one I can’t even drive by anymore without having an anxiety attack—to make the exchange. I had overheard my mom say to a friend that she might ask for more money than what the abortion cost. Was she trying to profit from the unfortunate situation? Watching through the window of my mom’s car, I witnessed their stoic expressions as they made the no nonsense handover. The exchange looked a bit like a poorly planned drug deal in broad daylight. That was it. The money would pay for the abortion to terminate my baby.
My mom tried to confuse the situation by telling me that I had been RAPED. Rape is such a scary subject. What exactly constitutes rape? It’s such a muddy word. Abortion is even darker, although less murky. The two together turned my heart to palpitations. These scary words belonged to an adult world that at the time meant little to me because I thought Toby loved me. How childish I was. I was so naïve that I had no idea how grave a situation I was in. I cared more about Toby loving me than my own well-being. But it was beginning to dawn on me that maybe his “love” wasn’t good for me.
***
On a birthday that should be remembered fondly, my happiness wasn’t the priority or theme of the day. The sixteenth birthday bash I threw in my head had cake, friends, and many jokes of how everyone should watch the road for my crazy driving. I wanted to be at the DMV getting the permit that would give me freedom from the hell I sometimes lived in. I wanted to be opening a few presents, hoping for clothing. But there was no joyful celebration for me that day. There were no gifts to receive, only one to be taken.
While I was marking my sixteenth year on earth, a precious life was being snuffed out before it even began. I didn’t feel like blowing out candles to wish for the hopeless miracles of my mom never drinking again or my father appearing out of thin air. The only reasonable birthday wish for me was a giant memory eraser because I spent my sixteenth birthday in a clinic.
I wasn’t alone. Toby’s parents forced him to sit through the entire procedure with me. I was thankful he was present but he didn’t need to be. My mind was too busy fighting against the truth to even notice he was there. Unfortunately, my mother was right: I was not capable of taking care of a child. The emptiness was total. I swear they didn’t just suck out my uterus. It felt as though they had taken every little fiber of my being. When it was done, there was no baby. It was like he or she had never existed. I was expected to forget about the fetus. I could look to science for comfort that the genderless little squiggle was never a human being, but the truth was I felt a mother’s grief. I didn’t want to let go.
I had lost everything, but Toby still had what mattered to him. He had scholarships ready to send him off to a great future. I was the one who had to endure the pain and overcome the damage. On top of all that broken glass, my reputation at school was ruined.
Having an abortion and feeling like you have been raped isn’t ever over. The experience added a weight to my feet, a few extra hundred pounds to the already heavy stack I was dragging around. With this heavy baggage, I had to walk into a new school. I had to meet new people. I knew I would have to date again. I would have to shelter this horrible secret in order not to be judged. At sixteen I was leaving black stains wherever I went.
Chapter 3
My Precious Prom Night
The first time we met was at a McDonald’s. I don’t know if it was the romantic red and yellow decor that set the tone of the evening. Or maybe the aroma of potatoes and chicken frying in scalding hot oil was an aphrodisiac. McDonald’s isn’t exactly the classiest place you can meet a significant other, but I guess I could give myself half a point for not meeting him at a dive bar where contracting hepatitis is a given.
The experience was underwhelming. I wasn’t impressed by him. I wasn’t instantly attracted. No sparks even ignited, let alone flew. First impressions truly mean very little. Initially, Jo seemed weird to me. He was so different from the cocky boys I was used to. His quietness wasn’t awkward, more mysterious
and alluring. Things between us began so low key, I never would have guessed we were destined to be a part of one another’s lives forever. How was I supposed to know meeting this weird kid was fate?
When we first met, I had no intention of pursuing Jo. I probably wouldn’t have even seen him ever again if it weren’t for a mutual friend who had a crush on me. In the beginning, the three of us hung out together. This provided a neutral ground for Jo and me to start on, and our friendship progressed slowly over time. We didn’t rush into a relationship or anything sexual, but gradually I developed a crush on him and what had started out as group outings began to turn more intimate.
The first time Jo invited me over to his house I was stunned by what a contradiction he was. He wore baggy clothes and brands that made him look like a hood kid, but it turned out he lived in a six-bedroom house complete with nice cars. He had a close-knit family, who worked incredibly hard for what they had. It seemed odd to me that he would try so hard to represent a different lifestyle than what he lived, but despite all that I liked Jo. He seemed like a genuinely good guy compared to most that I had encountered.
Our first “date” felt like it was broadcast to the nation. Even though it was just our families, that was plenty of eyes for us. Since I didn’t have my license yet, I had my mom drop me off and pick me up. Even just watching a movie at Jo’s house held a bit of pressure because both our families knew we were becoming a couple—or so I thought.
The bump in the road appeared when Jo asked to have sex with me before we were official. Because of my past experiences, I assumed Jo was a typical guy who wanted nothing more than sex—no matter how he got it. Did I have the word “tramp” tattooed on my forehead? I had sworn to myself that I would never have sex again outside of a solid relationship. I had already been through so much between the abortion and my relationship with Toby. I didn’t want to be caught in a sleazy trap where I was being used for sex, so I refused Jo.
Jo didn’t push me after I said point blank I wasn’t ready for sex. After that, he did me justice by showing commitment and asking me out officially. It was the old “Do you wanna be my girl?” How I fell so hard for that line is beyond me. Instead of listening to my instincts, I allowed him to reel me in because I realized I had judged him too quickly.
***
From the beginning, there were little glimpses of what we were heading to. Our so-called honeymoon period lasted shorter than the time it takes to say those words. I guess we never really got off to a healthy start. We broke up every other week for various reasons. His parents didn’t want him to date me because his grades were dropping. Our personalities clashed and, on top of all our fighting, there was the most obvious truth: it’s hard to be in a young relationship. I don’t know why or how our relationship lasted, but through thick and thin our bumpy path continued right up until May of Jo’s senior year (my junior year). By then, we had officially been together for nearly nine months. Every high school senior knows what May is for: graduation and prom. These are the celebrations that mark the end of high school, but prom never meant much to me. This Cinderella’s expectations of the ball were very low. I figured it would be like any other school dance—grinding, drama, and maybe a couple fights. The only difference was I’d be witnessing it all clad in a gown.
Me and Jo, getting ready for prom
Easily, the pampering was the best part. Like a true princess, I had my nails and hair done by my mother’s best friend. My prom dress was from New York City, so compared to the other girls’ low-key dresses I felt like royalty. The dress was the best part of a truly amazing birthday present from my cousins Jen and Candy, who are the closest I’ve ever had to siblings. They have always been heavily involved in my life, babysitting for me whenever possible and visiting every holiday after they both went away for college. Earlier that year they had given me a trip to New York as a birthday present. They paid for the bus ticket, showed me around the city, and took me to a Broadway show. For fun we had ventured into stores to look at prom dresses. I ended up falling in love with one in particular and they bought it for me as a gift. They were my fairy godmothers.
Feeling beautiful, I headed out for the night, but first I made a quick stop at a cousin’s baby shower, dressed in full prom attire. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was as if the universe was warning me that my life as a carefree teen was about to end because May 16th, 2009 turned out to be a very important date in my life—one that had nothing to do with prom.
Stopped at my cousin’s baby shower on the way to prom, the night Issac was conceived.
Posing for prom.
The entire night seemed geared towards anything but dancing. There were groups grinding against one another everywhere you looked. A couple of boys were conspicuously huddled in a corner, taking swallows out of a flask. Teachers were scrambling to cut through any open space in order to break up lip-locked couples. Drama surfaced through the cracks of each mini event, spreading from the dance floor to the tables.
The classic teenage night of debauchery pushed on through rap, electronic dance music, and the out of place Blink 182 song. The music created a joyful atmosphere. All of my friends were present, happier than ever. Even Jo and I were taking a break from fighting for a little while to just enjoy ourselves. We owed it to our rocky relationship. We may not have been a typical happy couple, but that night we felt like we could almost be normal for a change.
The mini dream ended when the speakers blew out and hundreds of Easton High School students were left bummed and stranded. This abrupt early ending to the dance pushed the after-prom activities up on the schedule. Trouble was coming to get most prom attendees, and Jo and I were no exception. We drove to a deserted location, where the only eyes belonged to rundown buildings that hadn’t seen the light of day for ages. The pouring down rain tapped heavily on the car as our clothes peeled off. The zipper on my dress fell quicker than the rain outside.
I was not comfortable in the car. We were very close to Jo’s house and just knowing that psyched me out. My mind raced with questions and worries. I was close with Jo’s family. Janet, Jo’s mom, had always impressed upon me that I could count on her if need be. Would I be betraying that bond by having sex with her son? Although the atmosphere wasn’t really dead-on perfect, I felt in my heart Jo was the right person to be having sex with. My gut told me so. There was no comparing this feeling to sidewalk sex or sex I had been forced into. I loved Jo. And Jo loved me. We loved each other—fights and all.
Jo thought he was just losing his virginity that night. I thought I was finally having sex with someone who truly cared about me. Nope. Turned out we were making a baby.
Chapter 4
16 . . . 17 and Pregnant
A woman’s body doesn’t lie. Mine knew right away. My period wasn’t supposed to come for another week or so, but I had a feeling this time the monthly reminder wasn’t on its way. This gut feeling overtook my head and I knew I had to take the test to be a hundred percent positive.
Buying a pregnancy test isn’t as easy as you would think. There are different brands and some of them are expensive. All those commercials I had seen over the years should have been clicking in my head, but I was so terrified even the simple act of choosing which brand to buy was overwhelming. I didn’t want to think about the last time I had to buy a pregnancy test. Like any protection mechanism, I had wiped the memory from my mind because the truth was too sad to confront. But now that I found myself having to buy another pregnancy test, the horrification I felt doubled when I really put the two together.
The circumstance I was in was so humiliating. I felt a whirlwind of stress and confusion. As I approached the counter, the repetition of events slid across my heavy, pounding heart. The stress of purchasing a pregnancy test and then taking it was so overwhelming that most of the details have been scratched from my brain. All I remember is that somehow I was able to pull myself together to get back home, where I locked the bathroom door, even though I was alone, an
d peed on the stick. Sounds sort of ridiculous, but it was nowhere near as comical as the scene in Juno where she drinks those jugs of Sunny D. I didn’t really need fake juice to provide the test with what it needed, not when I was nervous beyond belief.
While I waited, I tried not to overanalyze the what-ifs. If I were pregnant, then I would deal. If not, then I had learned a very important lesson: use multiple methods of birth control. I was on the pill, but I hadn’t always taken it properly and now I was learning the hard way that it had made it less effective.
The seconds passed by slowly. Finally, I picked up the plastic device and saw the plus sign. I laughed anxiously and threw it down onto the sink. How was this real life? I was pregnant? What was I going to do? I was seventeen. Seventeen-year-olds barely know how to take care of themselves. How would I support a baby? Would my mom force me into another abortion? I didn’t want her to coerce Jo’s parents into paying for the abortion. What was going to happen this time around?
I called my friend Marisa and asked her to come over. I didn’t want to be alone in this state of frenzy. The room was no longer a solid box, but a blurred swirl around me. The words we exchanged held no thought or meaning because I couldn’t function properly. I was too young for all of this to be happening to me AGAIN and now I had to live with the consequences of my mistake. But amidst all the confusion, there was one concrete idea I firmly probed.
“What if I don’t want to be with Jo forever?” I asked, scared.
The question echoed my head. I was too young to determine the course of the rest of my life, yet this baby growing inside of me couldn’t wait for me to grow up. Maybe I wouldn’t have to be with Jo forever, but if I was allowed to keep this baby (which I already knew in my heart was what I wanted) it surely meant he would always be a part of my life as my baby’s father.
Pride Over Pity Page 2
