My Life Unplanned

Blessed are the people who can bring light into the dark.

My prison door was finally opened and strong arms instructed me, moving me around like a puppet. I took a shower and got dressed; I peeled back my dark, wet hair into a pony tail and brushed my teeth. I left my face bare and stared into the mirror at those puffy pink eyes, rubbing the skin to try to find some sort of warmth in that gaunt face. The pregnancy test was sitting atop all my other trash in the corner of my eye, symbolizing the one importance above all the meagerness of my previous life. My baby was the only thing that mattered to me anymore.

I met my father in the hallway empty handed as my mother had instructed, for the dammed were allowed no pleasures. As soon as I was in front of him he pulled my hood over my head, throwing a shadow on my poignant countenance.

My father guided me outside with a hand held tightly on my shoulder, and all I could hear was the loud cracks of footfall against the shiny wood of my home. Nothing else filled the air, not the smell of cooking breakfast, not the whir of a fan, not even breathing. We were silent.

The door cracked open and my father led me through the torrents of rain and the howls of the angry wind, tearing apart my world. The only strength I could find was to ignore everything nature was telling me.

The door creaked open again behind me and the vile words of my mother followed us, fighting for dominance above the screaming of the wind. “What are you doing with that rat? Where are you going? What’s happening?” Her insistent blabber was nothing compared to the howl of Nature’s anger.

My dad snapped something in response to shut her up and she stayed silently frozen in the driveway. Her imported silk nightgown was drenched, but she seemed not to care as she tugged her red robe around her tightly. Her steel eyes broke me down as I climbed into the car. She pulled her lips together like a purse string, crinkled and angry and I cried not for the angry look, but the fact that it was the last thing I would see of her.

I closed my eyes to shut her anger away, instead imagining her smiling and waving at me, in the same nightgown with bubbly tears dripping down her face. She approached the car and a bird chirped in the distance signaling the sound of springtime. The bright sun made her hair glow like a halo around her angelic face. “Have fun, sweetie.” She told me, kissing my face as my nine year old self giggled. “I’ll miss you.” She told me and dad laughed in the front seat.

“It’s just summer camp, Darling.” He told my mother. “She’ll be back soon.” My mother kept her eyes on me, smoothing back my hair as she kissed my head again.

“I know, I know.” She mumbled, smiling at me. “But I just love my baby girl so much, I’ll be so sad when she leaves.”

“Don’t make her feel guilty; she’s been waiting months to go to this camp!” My father argued and my mother sighed, pulling away from me finally.

“You’re right. You’re right! Goodbye, Rosie girl, I love you.” She called and the window slowly peeled upwards.

“I love you too mom.” I whispered aloud, my voice clenched with tears and when I opened my eyes I couldn’t see my mom any longer. I struggled not to cry as we sped down the road, watching the image of the house that I had lived in all my life shrinking into nothing.

The dark grey clouds hung over us as we drove through town, covering everything I knew in gloomy shadows. It seemed everywhere I turned there was darkness.

Nothing seemed right in this storm.

My father was whistling, trying to raise the volume of the radio, but the storm filled the radio with static and after a few minutes of frustration he turned it off, leaving us in an empty silence. I listed the thumps of the tires against the black pavement until finally the car screeched to a stop.

Rain was scratching down the window glass.

“We’re here” My father whispered, even his voice was rough as he sipped his morning coffee. It was 5:07am.

It was a bus stop with a dry bench under a box of plastic covering, coated in graffiti. I started to open the door and my father stopped me, handing me a small briefcase. My eyes teared up.

It was a tiny black briefcase, easily hidden from my mother and this small jester enough to make me want to cry with relief. He may have only packed a little, but it was enough.

“I packed a little food for you. The bus trip may take a while, and I want you to be comfortable. I’m sure they will have pillows, and maybe a cheap blanket. I didn’t want to pack something as trivial as that when you would rarely use it. I tried to get things that would be meaningful to you since I may not have another chance to give you anything else…” He paused and suddenly he had no more words and he smiled just barely able to keep his composure. His eyes were stinging red. I smiled at him.

“I love you, Rosie.” He whispered, leaning backwards as he kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes and tears dripped from them as I nodded, unable to say much else.

I rubbed my hands on my dark blue jeans, curling my fingers into fists as I stared at the plain black T shirt I was wearing, tied with a hair band in the back. On the front it said, God is with you. Always. It was a cruel and ironic statement with no more meaning to me than the words I love you now from my mother. Because I knew both were lies.

My jacket was thin, and the dark color of maroon. I hated the color maroon. It was an ugly shade of purple with a mixture of the evil red that I was never allowed to wear. But it was the only thing I could grab in the hurry I was in.

I felt tiny, unprepared, and utterly alone as I exited that car with an adult briefcase that didn’t belong to the little girl I was inside. I held it close my chest to protect myself from the rain and I leapt out of the rain onto the small desolate bench.

I stared out, tears streaming, at the black car that held the only person that loved me in the world. My dad cracked the window and his caring eyes peeked out as he watched me. He said nothing and then he rolled it up once more, slowly peeling away.

I sobbed and sobbed until the bus arrived, three minutes later.

I wondered what would have happened if we were late. Maybe my father wanted us to be late, so he would have an excuse to keep me just a little bit longer. I had no time to think of what could have been because of the fact that we were not late. The bus was here to take me to a new place that would soon become my home.

I had to make it my home, because what other choice did I have?

I climbed on the bus, my hand slick with cold and wet rain as I slid it up the railing. I kept my eyes on the ground until I reached the top of the steps where the grouchy bus driver awaited his payment. I unzipped the front pocket where my dad had put the money and I pulled out envelopes, expecting just a few dollars.

I was shocked into silence. The bus driver spoke again, trying to awaken me and I handed him the money. The bus doors slammed shut and I clenched the full packet in my hand, looking up to find a seat as the bus began to move. I grabbed a bar, panic flashing through me as I hurried to find a spot.

All of them were full except one, next to an elderly woman with a stern expression that was etched into her face over years of unhappiness. I crossed the aisle and sat down next to her, curling into myself for support.

I opened the package again, looking at the money with tears. I dared not pull it out, in case someone tried to grab it but I knew it was a lot. I counted it slowly, numbly…and finally came out with a number of almost 3000 dollars.

I shoved the money back into the suitcase, nearly laughing with surprise. He gave me 3000 dollars to last me until…until what? I realized with this I would never, ever be coming home. If I gave birth to this baby, my mother would never accept me into her home again. I was now a woman at 15 years old.

I opened the suitcase and pulled out a bag. Inside was a warm and crispy blueberry bagel with cream cheese, a coffee, a bag of chocolate covered strawberries, and of courses my favorite sweetbread. I wondered how he had time to pack this without my mother noticing.

I set my lunch aside and kept searching curiously through the bag until I found a folder. Inside there were many papers: my birth certificate, my shot records, and countless other documents. Everything that proved my existence was in that folder. I wondered if it was so I could prove I was real, or if they could prove that I wasn’t. The thought made my stomach queasy.

Besides the folder there was the maternity home packet, a bible, two letters I guessed from my parents, and a tiny gold locket with a delicate chain. On the front of it was an engraved cross and on the inside was a picture of my parents. Finally I pulled out a tiny purple stuffed animal. Around its neck was a golden ribbon with another folded note.

This bear was given to you by Elizabeth. I kept it for you knowing you would want it someday.

I stared at the note questionably, looking into the bear’s solid black eyes. Who was Elizabeth? I didn’t know anyone named Elizabeth…

“That’s a cute bear.” I jolted, shocked as I looked up at the old woman beside me who gave me a solitary smile. I blushed, smiling nervously and I shoved the bear back into the briefcase embarrassed. “Where are you going?” She asked me, her voice soft with age and I stared at her. I wondered why she asked my destination instead of my name.

Then I realized she was expecting an answer. I nervously laughed and pulled out the packet, quickly flipping past the first page so she wouldn’t see and I stared at the tiny font, wincing as I realized I couldn’t read it. I fumbled around in the briefcase to find my glasses and the woman took the packet from me.

“Wait,” I cried out, trying to snatch it back and she laughed, letting me grab it since she had already read it. I felt humiliated that an old woman could see better than I could at the ripe age of fifteen.

“You get off just an hour before me, looks like we’re both in for a long ride.” She whispered cheerily and I snorted.

“Yeah” I agreed and she reached out her hand, stroking my arm with her wrinkly thumb, a nervous feeling tingled through me.

“Is this your first child?” She murmured softly and my eyes jolted open. How could she have known? I looked down at my stupidity in the form of those violet words on the paper, that one word specifically.

Maternity

Of course. I nodded my head briefly, my cheeks flaming with shame as my eyes teared up. What did she think of me now that she knew I was nothing but a child myself carrying one of my own? Would she think the same as that man at the gas station, the same as my mother?

“Congratulations.” I was shocked. I looked up at her in disbelief and she smiled at me, taking the packet as she gazed over it. “I hope that you know that a child is a child and it should be loved and cared for, no matter what the circumstances.” She told me with a double meaning, her eyes locked with mine. She gave me a small smile.

“I don’t want to be pregnant.” I choked, my eyes falling to my lap, staring at my empty hands and I realized that what I said was true. Just because I didn’t want an abortion, didn’t mean I wanted to be pregnant. This baby felt like a punishment for the sin I had committed, for not stopping those men, for giving up on fighting them.

“I want to be pregnant.” The woman said suddenly, surprising me yet again. She smiled softly again. “I’m 82 years old…and I’ve never been pregnant.” She told me and I pressed my lips together.

“Why?” I asked and she now looked sad.

“I couldn’t get pregnant. My husband married me when I was nineteen years old and we tried for years to have a baby. When I was 22 I found out I could never get pregnant. We got a mutual divorce and I never remarried because what man would want a woman who couldn’t one day give him children?” She told me and I could not believe what I was hearing.

“How old are you, fourteen, and you have a baby. You have a tiny little child, a child I could never have. I have lived 82 years and I will never be a mother. I will never be able to experience what you are going through. You should feel lucky, not ashamed; you should feel blessed that you have this baby. Cherish it, no matter what.” She told me and by now she was crying. She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve and I smiled at her, holding her hand.

“I’m sorry.” I told her, unable to think of anything else and she shook her head.

“God has blessed you with a baby, be thankful not scornful.” She warned me, smiling frailly and I nodded as I cried.