My Life Unplanned

I can’t move.

I blink. Once. Twice. Rapidly. Still, nothing. I see nothing.

I still can’t move.

Wearily my eyes flutter shut for the last time. I inhale, steadily, as if that will help calm my mind. It does nothing but shatter the silence, the peace. My breathing is that of an animal, jagged and frightened.

My fingers are stinging. I cringe from the pain, but feel relief that I feel something. Electricity vibrates through my very bloodstream as each limb awakens. I can curl my fingers; the success of my movement causes me to laugh briefly. It’s a lonely sound, echoing in the dark.

I wait and the time passes at an agonizingly slow pace.

As my body warms to my new wakefulness I realize I am not as free as I once thought. I can feel my body, I can move, but only barely.

I try to lift my hands but find my wrists are bound to the table I lie on. The sudden anxiety overwhelms me. Why am I bound to a table? Why am I here? Where am I?

A small sliver of light glides into the room and I turn my face towards it eagerly. I imagine I look quite frightened. I see nothing else but light, a sliver of a hallway. I’m in a room, someone is coming inside.

The light flashes, blinding me. I blink once more, steadily. A woman comes into focus. She is a nurse, I can tell by the clothes she wears. Her hair is naturally brown, coming in at the roots, but dyed bleach blonde on the rest. It’s been tucked and pulled into a careless bun at the nape of her neck. She’s smiling, her face round and plump.

“Hello,” she glances downward slyly at a sheet in her hand, “Miss Turkonowi.” Her smile grows with a pleasantness that says she has never witnessed evil, or else she is blind to it.

“How are you feeling?” The question is one that should only be appropriate in doctor’s offices’. It is a doctor’s job to learn and help you become well again, to feel well. No one else cares how you feel. Truly.

“Numb. Tingly.” I swallow the lump in my throat, suddenly aware of how dry it is. I feel like I’ve eaten something terrible, a dead animal maybe. The taste is horrid. I scowl.

“You’re just recovering from the anesthesia.” The doctor warmly tells me, tapping my wrists with her fingers. I stare at her peculiarly as her fingers rat dance up my arm. “Can you feel this?” She inquires, taking my pulse. I nod stiffly.

After a few moments I decide to take action, my curiosity is killing me. “Where am I?” The woman seems surprised by my question, her eyebrows crunch.

“You are in Hospital Ward B at Madeline’s Maternity Home.” The woman ends her sentence with another smile, as par usual. “You’ve just recovered from a minor anxiety attack; nothing to worry about dear, it’s quite common for a woman in your particular situation.” I can’t breath. What does she mean…my particular situation?

“What do you know about me?”

Finally…her smile falls.

“I know only the essentials, Miss Turkonowi, to ensure your physical health. As of your mental health, you are welcome to join our group therapy sessions here at Maddie’s Home.” Her smile returns, but this time weaker. She’s hiding something from me; I decide not to press the issue.

“Is my baby alright?” I say as an afterthought and I cringe at how transparent I sound.

She only smiles as an answer. "You only suffered a minor fall, Miss Turknowi, your child is fine. We have you scheduled for an ultrasound in two hours. There you will get to see your baby. She’s merely the size of a pea, but I’m sure it will be reassuring all the same.” Finally I smile back.

“Thank you.”

…

“Rosalind?” I hear a slight, faint knocking and the sound of a quiet child’s voice comes from the door. I sit up on my elbows, confused. I didn’t know I was having a visitor.

The door pushes open and in walks a slight young girl. Her face is round and pointed at the chin, a child’s face, framed by twisted golden locks. Yet her stomach is distended well past normalcy…and not with fat. She’s…

“My name is Juliet Capri.” She walks toward me, not paying the slightest attention to my fascination with the orb attached to her middle. My mouth has gone slack. “I’m your roommate.” She distends her hand, a pleasant smile on her face.

I take her hand and shake it. I tell her my name, Rosalind, but she can call me Rosie. Her fingers are cold and slight in my own, mere ribbons of flesh. She is shaking, whether she is aware or not, causing chills to run up my spine. “How far along are you?” Here my eyes widen and I stare at her, unable to speak.

“I don’t know.” I murmur my voice a whisper. “What is today?”

“The twenty fourth,” Juliet tells me softly, silently asking if I’m alright. It must seem odd to her that I don’t even know the date. I hadn’t known. How had this happened? It had been nearly a week since I had arrived at Madeline’s Maternity Home. Had I been in the hospital for that long? Had I woken up before and I just didn’t remember? What was wrong with me?

“Nine weeks.” My voice is distant. Juliet doesn’t notice. She sits down next to me, her hands gently graced over her belly button. She doesn’t notice what she’s doing, but I watch as her fingers work over her stomach, pitter pattering in little circles. I can tell she loves her child, but it makes me wonder how she got it. She’s only thirteen…

“I’m seven months along.” She says proudly, “My son is due on February 12th.” With this she adds a smile. “I hope I can keep him in though for two extra days, wouldn’t it be awesome if he were born on Valentine’s Day?”

I nod my head, but I’m not really paying attention. My mind has begun to wonder about Juliet. How can she be pregnant? Is she…like me? Or was this by choice? I look at her inquisitively as if the truth will come out if I just look hard enough.

Juliet looks embarrassed. “Please stop looking at me like that.” Her chin has dropped and it quavers with her weakness. Her eyes are glistening. “Just, stop.” She stands up and I reach out my hand to comfort her. She shoots me a glare.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not!” She barks, suddenly enraged. I’m guessing this is due to her hormones, so close to her due date, but I can’t know for sure. “This is a home for pregnant teenagers, Rosalind! People who’ve messed up…messed up bad. This is supposed to be a place where there’s no judgment because we’ve all made mistakes. You’re a pregnant teenager, just like me! Yet you still look at me like everyone else does…like I’m a bad person…like I’m a…” her voice quavers as she chokes on her sob, “a slut!”

She wraps her arms around herself and her child, clutching tighter and tighter. “I’m not a slut…okay? I thought YOU of all people would understand that.” She’s just about to leave when I feel my anger boiling.

“What do you mean ME of all people?” I hiss, standing and crossing my arms. She pauses and turns, her anger fading quickly.

“What happened to you…” She whispers, her eyes downcast. “It’s on the news. People all over the country…the world…are talking about it.” Here she’s almost silent. “Everybody knows.”

All of my strength leaves with this new revelation and my knees give way causing me to fall in a heap on the floor. Juliet screams, running towards me with a string of complaints. ‘Pregnant women can’t fall.’ ‘You’re going to hurt your baby.’ Then finally…’Are you alright?”’

I sit, curled against the edge of the bed, and again I weep for all I’m worth and I don’t even fully understand why I’m weeping. I’m embarrassed. I’m ashamed. I’m afraid.

“Look, I thought you knew about it…I’m so sorry Rosie.” Juliet’s arms tighten around me and I feel the need to push her away, like I did with Mrs. Haven. But for some reason I trust Juliet. Though she’s a child, she is just like me. She’s young…she’s scared…and she’s carrying a baby. A baby she probably didn’t want. I wrap my arms around her and I cry and just before I’m about to dose off, I’m able to murmur.

“Don’t call me, Rosie." I murmur, breathlessly. Rosie died that horrific day of the Homecoming Dance. I knew she did. How had I not known? I just didn't come to accept it until now. "I’m Rauz now. Just Rauz.”