Taming of the Shoe

by Rebekah Dodson

  “I know it’s on the box. What’s Plan B?”

  “It’s the morning after pill.”

  I wanted to smack him. He was so confusing sometimes. “I don’t know what that is,” I nearly whispered.

  “Oh...” We hit another red light, and he looked at me, his eyes wide. “Oh! Do you really not know what it is?”

  “No.”

  “It’s like, um, emergency birth control, for when you...you know...what we did...” he trailed off just as the light turned green and he had to focus on the road. “Do you need some water or...”

  Disgust and revile slid over me and I felt icky, slimy, disgusting. It finally hit me what he was talking about. In my church we called it the abortion pill – a way for loose women to ensure they didn’t get pregnant. I wasn’t a loose woman, though. We’d just made a mistake, and we hadn’t made that mistake last night, so why did I need this? I slid the box back in the bag.

  “I’m not taking this.” I shoved the bag on the floor.

  “Taylor, we had unprotected sex. You need to. Just in case. What if you’re pregnant? We can’t... I mean, I’m not ready to have kids, you know?”

  I crossed my arms as he turned down my street. His mother’s words rolled over me: what did you spend fifty dollars on at the pharmacy again?

  Again.

  Again!

  “This isn’t the first time you’ve bought this,” I announced, looking out the window at the manicured lawns and white picket fences. I wanted to cry, but I held back. I knew Ethan had probably been with other girls; he was very popular at school, after all. But ... how many? And without protection?

  What in the world had I got myself into?

  He stopped at the curb in front of Papa’s house and threw the car into park, then turned to me. “Look, you’re right. It’s not the first time I’ve bought this. I’m sorry you had to hear my mother say that. But, it’s the responsible thing to do when you make a mistake.”

  I dragged my eyes to look at him. “I’m a mistake?”

  “No, but that night in the park, we could have been more careful.”

  Tears seeped out of my eyes. “I didn’t know how to be careful, Ethan. I trusted you. And now you want me to ... to take and abortion pill?”

  “Abortion?” He scoffed, which made me even more mad. “It’s not like that at all. Look, I don’t know exactly how it works, but please, just take it, for me?”

  “Absolutely not.” I fiddled with the door handle and through the door open. “We made a ‘mistake’ but what if it’s God’s will?”

  “God’s will is to ruin our lives with a teenage pregnancy? Come on, Taylor, you’re being ridiculous.”

  I was halfway out of the car when I turned to him, one leg dangling on the pavement. The ire burned the back of my throat and more tears squeezed out of my eyes. “Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Maybe Papa was right, and you’re a snake who only has sex with women and throws them aside...”

  “What?” He blinked at me. “Why would you say that? I lo—”

  “Don’t you dare, Ethan, don’t you dare!” I was shouting now. “Don’t you say you love me when you can’t even respect me to have a conversation about this, this Plan B thing. You didn’t even ask if it’s something I wanted.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry. I just... I just assumed you wouldn’t want to get pregnant...”

  “And what happens when the play is over, when summer comes, and I go back to Germany?” I blurted. I clapped a hand over my mouth as soon as I said it. Ethan really did look concerned, and I wasn’t being very nice.

  Shock and a tinge of sadness masked his face. “You’re ... what? You’re going back to Germany? When?”

  “Next month.” My shoulders slumped, and I fell back against the front seat. “And you’ll forget about me and move on to someone else.”

  “Oh, Taylor, is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Wrong answer. His words pierced me so hard I couldn’t take it anymore. I wanted his assurance; not his sympathy. “I’m tired.” I got out. “I’m going to take a nap and text you later, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, but his face told me he was confused.

  “I hope your sister is okay,” I murmured, and shut the door with a terrible sense of finality I didn’t really enjoy. My head was pounding, my legs hurt, and I couldn’t even begin to think about Papa in the hospital.

  I didn’t look as he pulled away from the curb, just let myself in the front door, headed to my room, and crawled under my comforter. I tried to cry, but all the frustration and anger burned so deep inside me, I couldn’t. I tried to sleep, but I tossed and turned, until finally the exhaustion won.

  My phone startled me awake sometime later that Saturday afternoon. I hadn’t even had time to process how long I’d been asleep before I sleepily answered, not even looking at the time.

  “Hallo, Töchterchen!” My mother’s excited German accent filled my ear. She was a native German my father married twenty years ago who much preferred her first language, including calling me “little daughter” whenever she could.

  “Hallo, Mutter,” I responded, rubbing my eyes. I was still so tired, I didn’t want to talk to her, but I also didn’t dare hang up.

  She exploded in German about Papa, telling me things I already knew: he was in the hospital, would return soon, and she guessed I was scared. She ended her ramble asking how I was.

  Scared, sad, lonely, lovesick. But I couldn’t tell her any of those things. Was there even a German work for how I felt about Ethan? I wracked my brain and finally came up with liebeskrank, but it translated to something like longing for love. Was that me? Longing for Ethan’s love, but so distraught about it at the same time? Ugh. German and English were so limiting sometimes.

  “I’m okay,” I responded in German. Though my father was fluent as well, my mother and I spoke it with more accuracy, and I know it ruffled his feathers when we spoke it so eloquently. “How is Father?”

  “Father is sleeping. He has a sermon early tomorrow.”

  I pulled my phone away from my face. I had three missed calls and ten texts – one guess who those were almost all from. “It’s almost midnight there, Mutter. Why are you awake?”

  “I called earlier, but you didn’t answer. You know I worry, with you all the way in America.”

  The woman who called herself my mother had never been to America, and my father was born in Germany. They always thought America was a dangerous place, full of school shooters, drug addicts, and downright heathens. After what I’d seen this year so far, they were only partially right, though I hadn’t really come into contact with any of those people – the news was awful sometimes. Papa always insisted I watch it with him, but I always made up some excuse to go to my room. It was too terrible.

  “How is play?” She had switched to mostly broken English when I didn’t answer.

  “Ja, it’s good,” I told her in German. I could almost see her relax when we switched back. “We open in three weeks.”

  “I wish I could be there to see it. You were always so good at acting, meine Liebe, and you have the voice of an angel.” She paused with a sigh, and I could almost see her fidget. I pulled myself up in bed because I could almost guess what she would ask next. “So...Papa tells me there is a boy?”

  I could smell the lecture from thousands of miles away. She’d ask what church he went to, if he was a devoted Christian, and then lightly berate me for not having him ask my father for permission. I wondered how Father felt about all this – no doubt he’d be more fanatical than my mother, and insist he talk to Ethan. I didn’t even know how Ethan felt about religion. We actively avoided discussing it, but I wasn’t sure why. And as the weeks went on, little did I care. But, that was none of my mother’s business when she was halfway across the world.

  I could lie to her. Papa’s words about me coming home still burned in my memory. Did Mother and Father even need to know about Ethan?

  But what if I could use Ethan to convince
them to let me stay the summer? Didn’t the Bible teach us honesty was a golden rule?

  “His name is Ethan,” I announced slowly. I winced, bracing for impact. “He’s the director of the play I’m in.”

  “Oh, wunderbar!” she exclaimed. “I am glad you are making friends.”

  Images of being in Ethan’s bed last night fled through my mind and I blushed, hard, grateful my mother couldn’t see my face. Oh, he’s more than a friend... I gulped and gripped my phone harder. “He’s great, Mutter, I really like him. We have fun together.”

  Somewhere in the back of my head a little demon whispered, Sure, you have fun, you little harlot.

  I dismissed it.

  “Oh?” Her question was cautious, not excited, as she had been a moment ago.

  I inhaled deeply. Should I even ask it? “I was kind of wondering if I could stay with Papa for the summer. And maybe come home in the fall, instead?”

  My mother sighed then, and I felt my heart deflate. That was not a good sign. “I’m sorry, Töchterchen. I haven’t been honest with you. I am having surgery soon...”

  I gasped. My mother was one of the healthiest people I knew – despite the fact the German diet was downright atrocious, though only a tad better than my American one. She jogged every day for fun, ran the ladies’ walking group at church, and even taught physical education at a local school.

  My brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  My mother hurried through her next sentence. “It is nothing serious; last month, the doctors found a lump, but it was not cancer. Still, it must be removed, and my recovery will be long. Father must be away to raise funds for our missionary work and cannot care for me.”

  “Ah,” was all I could muster to say. I sunk down in the bed. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks.” Four to be exact.

  Four weeks left with Ethan.

  I wanted to scream.

  “You still have a month to enjoy America,” she assuaged, “and perhaps you can go back in the fall if Papa allows.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I muttered. Truthfully, it would be Ethan’s last year in school, and I wouldn’t mind it. But would he wait for me over the summer?

  “In any case, I mainly called you because Papa is headed home from hospital soon. Pastor Mark emailed me to say he is giving him a ride, but he hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d call...”

  I could almost see my mother biting her lip, a nervous tick I definitely inherited from her. “Everything is fine here, Mutter. I saw Papa this morning, and he looked much better, really. His color was good.”

  “You make sure he takes his insulin and pills.”

  “Yes, Mutter.”

  “And please go to church tomorrow.”

  I wouldn’t, because I doubted Papa would be up for it, but I didn’t need to tell her that. “Yes, Mutter...”

  “Please call me anytime, and text me, okay?”

  My mother hated texting. Something about speaking two languages made her text in jumbled German-English which I couldn’t understand a word of. But it had been a while – since I started dating Ethan to be exact – since I talked to her. “I promise I will,” I told her, surprised at myself; I meant it.

  “Auf Wiedersehen,” she bid me, and we hung up.

  I lay back against my pillows, my phone in my hand. I needed to check my messages, but I was almost afraid to. In the end, I had to check, because I was worried for Amy. The bite had seemed so serious, but maybe it was something stitches could fix. At least, I hoped so.

  I checked my phone again. Of the three missed calls, one from my mother, the second, Ethan, and the last was from church, and I had a voicemail. I checked the voicemail: Hi Taylor, this is Pastor Mark. I just wanted to let you know that Allen has been released from the hospital and I’m going to give him a ride home. We should be there a little after three or so, depending on the hospital. Hope all is well with you. God bless.

  It was half-past two now, so I didn’t have much time to get up and get myself presentable. I knew Pastor Mark would want to pray for us, so I had to be at least half awake, and at least change my clothes. I scrolled through my texts, hoping for an update on Amy, but it was just a couple of friends from school who had heard the news about Papa and wanted to check on me. Callie, Gavin, and even Susanna – all people from the play – wanted to know if everything was okay. I sent them a group text saying I was fine, and Papa was coming home, and thanked them for their concern.

  The final text was from Ethan: Amy will be okay. She got six stitches on her leg, and she has to miss school for a week.

  Then one last one: Call me?

  I threw my phone across the bed. I was upset enough with him; I didn’t want to deal with it anymore today. I pushed myself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom.

  Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed in a knee-length summer dress, I plodded down the stairs in time to see Pastor Mark’s red truck pull into the driveway.

  I threw the door open for Papa, who looked much better than this morning, and the color had returned to his cheeks. He walked a little slower, however, and went directly to his recliner in the living room.

  As I thought, Pastor Mark offered to pray. I let him, because it was expected, but I started to wonder how much good it would do. God hadn’t kept Papa out of the hospital.

  I was just grateful he didn’t hold the same ideals about anti-medicine that my parents did. That was one thing I could thank God for, so when I muttered amen at the end of the prayer it was at least halfway sincere.

  After Pastor Mark left, I sat on the couch opposite of the recliner, flipping through one of my textbooks I was barely interested in, while Papa flipped through his Fox news stations. “What are your plans for today?” he asked, finally breaking the terrible silence hovering over us for the last several minutes.

  “I thought I’d make cheese sandwiches for dinner,” I said cautiously, “then I have homework.”

  “Sure, sounds good.” He settled on a station and put his feet up.

  “Are we going to church tomorrow?” I asked, hoping he’d say no. I was still exhausted, and I was looking forward to sleeping in.

  “Doctor’s orders are to take it easy for a few days.” His eyes slid shut.

  I didn’t know if that meant we were going or not, so I waited a few minutes until he was snoring, then I softly closed my textbook and slipped into the kitchen to find a snack. My stomach rumbled as I looked in the fridge, which was always fully stocked with what I called ‘old people’ food. Yogurt, soy milk, bread, and cheese. And a stack of leftovers, of course. I settled on hummus and chips and a few baby carrots and took them to my room.

  With the door closed behind me, I decided it would be safe to finally text Ethan. I hastily deleted his texts from my phone, then pulled out the one Ethan had given me from my desk drawer and sat on my bed while I held the little black device. It only had one number: Ethan’s. Would he answer if I called? Or was it too late in the day and he’d be busy?

  I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversation in the car. He’d really wanted me to take that pill, and he didn’t even seem nervous about it, which meant it wasn’t the first time. I wasn’t stupid; I knew Ethan had been with people before me. But somehow, it hurt, on a spiritual level. My whole life I’d been taught that men and women who loved each other gave their purity to each other, and while I had given Ethan mine, I would never have his.

  Would God hate us for that? Would He ever bless what we were doing, when it all seemed so wrong?

  I didn’t know.

  Instead of dialing Ethan’s number, I opened the browser on the tiny smartphone instead and looked up Plan B in the search engine as I munched on my food. I read through a few medical articles, all of them saying it had to be taken within 72-hours of unprotected sex. So, I was still in the window, as long as I took it by tomorrow at the very latest. I also looked up how it worked, and it didn’t seem at all like an abortion or anything like that but was just like
birth control and prevented the pregnancy before it even happened. The more I read, the more I started to change my mind. I scrolled through options for birth control, which I’d been told was nothing more than a way to thwart God’s will to start a family. But I was sixteen; surely God wouldn’t want me to start a family so soon, right?

  After nearly an hour, I pulled open the texts and Ethan’s number. Can you meet me at the park in about thirty minutes?

  His response was immediate. Absolutely. See you there.

  Papa woke briefly when I got to the front door, and I told him I was going for a walk. He was so tired he didn’t ask, and I didn’t have an answer prepared. I walked as quickly as I could the few blocks to the park, wringing my hands in the pockets of my dress. My nerves built and then exploded the minute Silver Beast came into view.

  I opened the passenger’s door and slid in the front seat. Ethan looked at me like I was a drink of water and he was stuck on a desert island.

  Too scared to tell him why I wanted to meet him, I eyed the paper bag still on the floorboard and asked instead, “How’s Amy?”

  “Good,” he drawled, eying me. “She’s home now. She had to have seven stiches. It wasn’t a bad bite, thank goodness, but since she’s so young, they put her in a split to avoid ripping any stitches. My mother’s taking some time off work to take care of her while I go to school.”

  I resisted the urge to say I was sorry. I’d already said it so much. But poor Amy. “That’s good.”

  “Taylor...” he started, gripping his steering wheel, “I’m sorry about earlier. I realized I never asked you what you wanted...” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll never make that mistake again. I just assumed you were like someone else, which was stupid. You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met before.”

  I wrung my hands in my lap. What was he trying to say? “That’s just it, you have asked me, and I’ve said yes. It takes two...”

  He slightly smiled at that. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”

  “Oh, I’m still a little upset, yeah.” Before I could think about it anymore, I reached down and retrieved the box from the bag and tore it open. I pulled the singular pill from the foil as Ethan watched me with wide eyes. “You got water in here?”