by Daleen Berry
I haven’t had my period. I had spent so much time pushing away the fear of becoming pregnant, that I didn’t even realize when I missed a month.
My head began spinning, making me feel even worse. Getting up, I wrung out a washcloth and wiped my face, staring at the mirror. Looking at the dark circles hanging like half moons under my pale eyes. I didn’t see myself, instead I saw my mother, while pregnant with Jackie and more recently, Michael. I stared into my reflection, barely able to comprehend it.
I can’t. Absolutely can’t. Be pregnant.
Overnight I had changed, going from a budding journalist to a scared girl whose dreams were evaporating right in front of her eyes.
I’m just another sad statistic: a teenager trapped by a pregnancy I don’t want and a future I didn’t ask for. Now I really am like all those other girls.
As if in a trance, I told Eddie.
“You’re what? What did you say?” He stared at me.
“You heard me.” I kept thinking about what it would mean, and how, when I grew fat, everyone would know what had happened—the terrible thing we had done together. I hated it, and I hated Eddie for doing it to me.
“When was your period due?”
“I’m not really sure.” My soft voice was quieter than usual. We never used birth control, because I never planned to have sex. But when we did, Eddie always promised it was “the last time.” Somehow I just believed it wouldn’t happen to me.
I heard Eddie say we would just have to get married. “Does your mom know?”
I shook my head. I knew it was going to be such a big disappointment to her, considering how she tried so hard to raise me to live by Bible principles.
“I don’t even think I can face her.” I stared out the window.
I couldn’t, so the next day I took the coward’s way out, writing a letter telling her I was pregnant. I told her how sorry I was and I wanted her to know it wasn’t her fault. It was mine.
After I left it on my bed and went to school, I could hardly concentrate the entire day. When the bus dropped us off again that afternoon, I walked as slow as possible, wanting to delay the inevitable. The minute I saw her, I wanted to cry. Mom mustered a smile, and even asked me how classes had gone. I gave some vague answer and then, after Carla left the room, she began talking. She didn’t raise her voice or yell, just kept speaking in that mild, flat tone of hers. I wondered how she could be so calm, when I was in agony over what I had done, and what was going to happen.
“You need to see an obstetrician, just to make sure. If you are, then since you and Eddie want to get married, you should do that right away. I’ll deal with your father,” she finished.
I nodded, unable to speak. We lived in the Bible Belt, that part of Appalachia filled with God-fearing church folk. Where the Ten Commandments were still revered, and parents weren’t afraid to use the “rod” so they wouldn’t “spoil the child.” Due to her own deep religious beliefs, I suspected Mom felt she had somehow failed me—failed to teach me right from wrong. But she would never say so out loud. She didn’t need to, because the words hovered there unspoken, for a long time to come.
What happened next made me wish I had died that night in the snow. More than a few girls bore the fruit of a big belly, waddling down the hallway. Some of them had already gotten married, wearing a wedding band as well as a new last name. But when we were placed in the national spotlight, after our school was featured on an episode of 20/20. I think everyone was stigmatized. According to that segment, West Preston High had the highest number of pregnant teens of any school in the country. Overnight we became the topic of conversation for everyone in our county, if not the nation.
Mrs. Niles shook her head when she heard the locker room buzzing. “It’s pretty sad when a school gets national attention, not for academics or even sports, but for this. We’ll be the laughingstock of the country,” she told us, frowning.
In reality, I wasn’t counted in that study but knew I should have been. If anyone else had known I was pregnant, I would have been responsible for the number climbing even higher. If anything, the news only made me feel more ashamed, like an outcast, and I guarded my secret even tighter, determined no one would know what I had done.
The next few weeks were a complete blur. Eddie broke the news to his parents and though they seemed to be disappointed, his mom was also excited at the idea of getting a grandchild from the deal. It was agreed his father, a minister, would perform the ceremony.
Mom and I went shopping and found a simply styled wedding gown with an empire waist and a short train. “I feel guilty about wearing white.” I grimaced while standing before the floor-length mirror. “White is for virgins.”
“I’m sure it’ll be all right this once,” Mom said absently, paying for the dress the only way she could—with the same credit card she had to use to buy us our new school clothes every year so she could make payments over time.
Seeing her pay for it added to my guilt. I knew she had stretched our thin finances to the limit already by buying me a senior class ring, a yearbook and my senior photos. Now, she was paying for my wedding gown because I was pregnant and had to get married. I knew I would probably never be able to repay her for everything she had given me.
Soon afterward, Eddie drove a shiny new sports car to our house. I knew it was his peace offering to me, paid for with guilt money.
Then suddenly it was graduation night and I was wearing my cap and gown while marching across the football field. Mom was there, but Dad was still overseas. Upset and disappointed in me, he refused to come home.
While I nervously marched to “Pomp and Circumstance” beside a friend I had known since childhood, I wrestled with myself. I was so mixed up—I was leaving school, forever—and in seven days I would again be walking down another aisle, but a very sacred one.
I felt like all the people in the audience could tell I was pregnant, but I knew the flowing graduation gown covered my waist, which hadn’t even begun to expand. I still felt like everyone knew—as if something about the way I held myself, or the expression on my face, would give away my secret.
I was also annoyed with Eddie. He said he had to work, so he couldn’t come to my graduation or the party afterwards. I was hurt and disappointed, and had no idea how that same excuse would soon become a constant in our life.
We were to be married the Saturday after graduation. The setting would be a state park, in a ceremony under a canopy of spruce trees in front of a small group of family and close friends. It would be just two months before I turned seventeen.
While I was getting ready, I thought about the upcoming ceremony—how important it was, and about everything that had led me to Eddie.
On that day I believed we were meant to be together. I was always looking for connections in my life and in the lives of others, so when I learned Eddie’s parents had both been in San Francisco not far from where I was born and later, that they, too, had returned to West Virginia to be near family, I truly believed it was meant to be. At least that’s what I told myself.
The romantic story Mrs. Leigh told was made more so because she had sworn off men—and love—forever, and there Mr. Leigh was, tearing down all the barriers she had built. After her first marriage had ended in divorce, she had gone to California to visit her brother’s family and when she later returned to West Virginia, she met Mr. Leigh while working in a little Morgantown café. Fresh out of the Army, Robert had immediately asked her out.
A petite woman with chiseled features and thick, dark hair worn in an elegant coiffure, she was the perfect foil for his own movie star looks. Because she’d become bitter, a fresh divorcee, she turned him down cold, and was annoyed to find him waiting for her, after her shift ended. He’d insisted on walking her home. Those walks quickly became a ritual, which was how she learned they had been in San Francisco at the same time, how it was destiny that they meet, and later marry.
I pulled myself away from thinking about the past and
looked out a window, seeing the tall green branches that scraped against the blue sky. It was lovely weather, and as I changed into my wedding gown, I couldn’t help but feel ashamed. As though she sensed what I was thinking, Kathryn hugged me.
“It doesn’t matter, white is for brides—all brides,” she said as she smiled.
I hugged her and felt tears well up behind my eyes. She was so kind and understanding.
Then it was time to walk down the aisle, a green, grassy path beneath the tall trees. I passed our guests, and then stood nervously beside Eddie. I loved him with all my heart, and just knew we would be happy. He looked down at me and smiled, and then Mr. Leigh began the sermon. We took our vows, and my finger shook ever so slightly as Eddie placed the slender gold band upon it. Then it was my turn, and I wondered if he was nervous. Mr. Leigh told us we could kiss then and Eddie lifted my veil.
He lowered his head and I felt his lips meet mine, very gently, but then, more passionately. I had my arms around him, but didn’t feel comfortable kissing like that in front of so many people. I tried to pull back, but he wouldn’t stop so I just turned my head some, hoping that would keep everyone from seeing so much. The next thing I knew we were walking back down the aisle, hand in hand, amid joyful shouts from our guests. We posed with the bridal party while cameras flashed from every direction.
We cut the wedding cake that sat just a few yards away under a covered pavilion and fed a small piece to each other. We talked to our guests, accepted their congratulations, and opened our gifts. Then it was over, and we were in our car, pulling away from the curb. A timid look at my new husband told me he was equally immersed in his own thoughts. As if sensing my gaze, Eddie grinned. “Boy they really did up the car good, didn’t they?”
Several relatives had decorated the car with crepe paper streamers and tissue paper flowers. They wrote “Just Married,” on the rear window and tied pop cans to the bumper of our little black sports car.
“I’m going to pull over before we get on the highway and take those things off. I don’t want them dinging the new paint job,” he said. Eddie took particular pride in making sure all his vehicles were clean and well-maintained. That sense of responsibility was one quality that had endeared him to me, and I was certain it would make him a good husband.
So what if he had never said those three words: “I love you”? I was convinced he did and, more important, that he would be an excellent provider.
The overhanging branches in the dense forest created an umbrella over us as we left the waving crowd behind. It darkened the car’s interior, immediately making it more intimate. I glanced into the visor mirror: my cheeks were flushed and my eyes sparkled, reinforcing my belief that new brides are supposed to glow from happiness. I certainly felt happier than I had in a long time, which reinforced my belief that I had done the right thing for our baby, our families and most of all, for God. I didn’t know where life would lead us, but I knew with enough faith, we could accomplish anything together.
That’s when the full force of what I had done hit me. I was honoring God’s family arrangement by marrying my unborn baby’s father, trying to give that child the best life possible. Saving my family the embarrassment of having an unwed daughter—something that seemed to happen in so many other houses in our county—was just a bonus. Most important, from that day forward, never again would sex be wrong or leave me feeling dirty and ashamed. So in a way, I was saving myself, too.
By the time I realized that wasn’t even possible, it was too late.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As I sat next to my new husband, I mused on the past three years and a twinge of conscience caused me some concern, as I again remembered no one but us—and God—knew what we had done. With a mental shrug, I pushed my guilt out of the way.
We’re married now, so everything is going to be all right. Nothing will ever make me feel bad again.
That’s when I realized sex would now come without shame, and felt a blush creep up my neck.
Nothing can make it wrong now.
As we drove Eddie broke the silence, interrupting my attempts to talk to God, and reassure myself. “I can’t wait to get to the hotel. Are you hungry? I’m not,” he said to me.
I felt the blush return, but ignored my embarrassment. “I’m getting there. Remember, I’m eating for two now, so by the time we arrive, I’ll probably be famished.”
“That’s too bad, but, oh well… If you must eat, you must eat…” Then he sighed.
Thirty minutes later we walked through the hotel lobby in our wedding finery, making me wish I had changed clothes after the ceremony. Everyone we passed gave us a big smile and all I could think was: they know we’re going to have sex. They know what we’re going to do.
I tried to banish the thoughts from my mind, acknowledging that making love was something every couple in love did. Since we were married, there was no reason to worry that other people would know we were intimate.
And it worked—until Eddie picked me up without a word, sweeping through the bedroom doorway. My old fears and feelings returned as he lowered me onto the bed and began kissing me gently.
I tried to kiss him back, wanting to regain the sense of pride I felt when his dad pronounced us husband and wife. But within seconds the intensity of his kisses changed and I found myself just staring at the hotel room ceiling, my eyes chasing the new pattern there. I gave myself a mental shake, while wondering if he really expected me to make love right away.
I knew I needed to tell him I had to get something to eat, or I would be sick.
“Eddie, can we go get dinner? I’m so hungry I feel sick.”
His eyes looked sorrowful. “Are you going to make me wait some more? I already hurt bad, can’t you take care of me first? You don’t know how good it feels to hold you again, to touch you.” He ran his hands over my breasts. “It’s been so hard, going without you these last few weeks. I thought I would die.” He groaned into my ear, as he began caressing me.
“But Eddie, if I don’t eat now, I’ll get sick,” I protested.
“Oh all right.” He was pouting, but showed no sign of stopping. The more he kissed me the worse I felt, and as the seconds slowly ticked by, I knew with a certain amount of anguish that we wouldn’t leave the hotel room until he had gotten what he wanted.
It’s not that he doesn’t care about my feelings. He just can’t stand his own anguish, that’s all.
“Oh Daleen, I have to have you now. I can’t wait anymore.”
I believed the consummation of our marriage was something that should be savored, but by then I was so ill I could barely respond.
I felt like an observer watching the stage as Eddie helped me get up and then unbuttoned my gown, trailing kisses down my back as he did so. The dress fell in a crumpled heap. Eddie got undressed too, but without clothes on, he always frightened me. It was still difficult for me to touch his naked skin and not feel odd. In that instant I realized getting married hadn’t changed that.
He was in such a hurry that it was over in a matter of minutes. When he was done, I felt awful. I forced myself to get up and go into the bathroom because I feared I would throw up in the bed. When I returned I begged Eddie, who was nearly asleep, to get up and get dressed. I felt hot anger building within me.
Finally he complied. We went to dinner but I was so nauseous I pushed my half-eaten meal away and drank my soda. It seemed to calm my stomach and by the time Eddie finished eating, I was feeling better.
Back at the hotel, I showered and then came out of the bathroom wearing a new negligee I’d bought for my wedding night. I had no sooner gotten under the covers than Eddie was all over me, as if the pre-dinner sex hadn’t even happened.
As the night wore on, my body became the basis for some kinky sexual experiments he must have had planned for this first night together as a married couple. After the first interlude I drank two glasses of champagne—more than enough to dull my senses—so I wasn’t always completely conscious. Or
at least not enough to try to get him to stop.
When I opened my eyes the next morning, I realized I was imprisoned within Eddie’s embrace. I came awake more fully after smelling the alcohol, and suddenly had the sensation of swimming in a wine vat. With a jolt, memories of the previous night came flooding back.
I lifted Eddie’s arm from where it lay across me and stumbled into the bathroom to take a hot shower. My head felt heavy and I was dizzy. I leaned against the shower stall to keep from falling when the thought hit me.
I don’t feel any different now than I have during the past three years. No wonder I drank so much champagne.
I wondered if all new brides felt that way—dirty and ashamed—or if all new husbands behaved in a seemingly sex-crazed manner. It wasn’t the hot water that made my cheeks burn, as some of the more daring things he had tried came floating back into my consciousness.
I’m just his toy, to be used for his own sexual gratification.
Stepping from the bathroom, I saw he was still asleep. As I watched him, I didn’t know what to think.
But he does love me. And I love him. Maybe if we just work on it, maybe if I try to tell him how I feel, that’s all it will take.
Less than twenty-four hours after our wedding, I began to wonder if I really knew the man sleeping beside me.
By August, I was plagued with so many questions and doubts I had trouble concentrating. Our nightlife was filled with what seemed to me might be scripts taken from a porn magazine. Except for one thing: I wasn’t a willing partner to Eddie’s outrageous sexual desires. Still, that did nothing to stop him from trying to convince me to take part—or coercing me, if nothing else worked. Force was used as a last resort, but frequently enough to keep me from erasing the wedding night memories branded into my consciousness.
