She stood just as erectly as she had before. She had lost the pedestal that held her high, but the expression of her walk was the same. How she carried herself hadn’t changed. It was as if, though her sin was acknowledged and was the object of gossip, it had no consequence in how she should feel about herself.
The truth was, sin weighed heavily on her mind and heart and affected every area of her life. The protruding bump under her maternity clothes was the cause of so much hurt, you would have thought it was cancer. It hurt enough to suffer alone, but other people around her let it fester, let it burn and bleed. She considered leaving school when the girls became catty, vindictive, and ostracized her from high school society. “No, don’t do it,” her mother urged. “It’s giving them the satisfaction that they won. If you leave, they win. They have beaten you.”
The bitterness wouldn’t go away. More high school drama came, and soon, she became old news, but there was always a sneer; always a snort of derision. And as her stomach grew, and fluttered, and what caused it to begin healed, the nasty comments rolled in.
He didn’t talk to her. He didn’t look at her. No one knew who He was-a father. She sat alone, and He went out to lunch. She hibernated in her room, and He was working, playing; unaccountable for their actions.
She called Him and called Him for weeks after it happened. He never answered. She knew she was looking desperate, but honestly, she had given in, and she thought He would come back. He said He loved her the whole night. She had felt so beautiful and (she hated to admit it) wanted.
Then when she found out…she needed Him.
Months and months passed by and she had to come to grips with the harsh reality-she was pregnant. She was alone. She was a senior in high school, graduating in June. She was pregnant. She was alone.
Pregnant.
Alone.
Alone.
Alone.
No one could tell at first. She bought baggy clothes, but gossip doesn’t need evidence.
She didn’t go to church. She was abhorred by prayer. No one at church was cordial, anyway. And they should be, she thought. I had everything.
Her parents were married young and sealed in the temple. Many years went by before they had her, feeling like they should be out of debt before starting a family. Her mother had gestational diabetes with her, and when in labor, hemorrhaged. Her mother took care of herself as best as she could and the baby was healthy. They never tried again, it was too risky.
Her mother and she were very close, up until high school. The perfect family behind the white picket fence was a picture on the wall, but the reality was that she couldn’t stand to live there.
Don’t date until you’re sixteen. Why are you wearing that? Who are you going with? I haven’t met him. You can’t date anyone we don’t meet. Your curfew is ten-thirty on weekends, nine on school nights. You can’t do anything until your room is clean. We’re going to be late for church…
Being the only daughter, the focus was constantly on her. She felt she had drill sergeants as parents. She was a good girl. She got great grades, had lots of friends, and never did anything illegal. Couldn’t they appreciate her good qualities and stop nagging??
Then she met Him, and it didn’t matter anymore. They talked when they could. She knew it wasn’t what her parents wanted, He wasn’t the kind of boy they would approve of, but it was her life. And they would just judge Him instead of seeing all the good things He had to offer.
She would sneak out, she would lie. She would be dressed one way, but once out into the night, be dressed another. She hated the designer sweaters and the pretty little dresses. She looked good in black. She looked good in tight shirts. There was nothing wrong with wanting to like yourself and showing how good you looked to people who’d appreciate it.
He mentioned sex after awhile, and she was apprehensive. Did He love her for her? She knew she loved Him, and it would be pretty okay with her. He started doing romantic things and complimenting her. It was evident in His eyes and actions that He wanted her, and she liked it.
After a few weeks of talking, she agreed. She felt there was freedom in that choice. It was a choice that parents couldn’t observe, couldn’t make for her, a choice she could hide, but unfortunately, not the consequences.
Her mother was hurt, her father was silent. She explained it calmly and rationally. She didn’t respond to their comments, and answered their questions methodically.
Yes I am sure. No I don’t want to talk to a bishop. I won’t tell you His name. It’s been happening for a few months. I don’t know why.
I don’t know why.
Slammed back to reality walking down the hall, He passed by. He watched her. He waited. She didn’t speak, she didn’t glance, or so much as blink an eye, but kept a steady gaze ahead, a firm step, until her vision was blurry and He was gone.
It was May. It was warm, breezy, relaxing. It was as if the season was building up momentum for summer; just like school was building up for graduation; just like her hurt was building up and she was ready to implode; just like her body was building up for birth.
She had only gained twelve pounds with her baby, but being pregnant was a whole different feeling than the one that started this all. She felt fat, unloved and ugly. She felt used, trashed, trashy, sinful, and she knew she deserved it.
I deserve it
I deserve it.
She felt like running away and hiding in the world somewhere. She felt like sleeping forever. Nothing got better.
He saw her. He watched her. He probably laughed with the rest of them. He probably moved on, doing just fine with His friends, having fun, being pure again.
All I can do is try.
I miss the way you taste, I miss being the one to make you smile. I hate the unsure glances. You hurt me real bad. Real bad.
They were stars. Good grades, good friends, good families, good connections. She used to be the one that would talk with feigned pity about the “messed up” girls. Cutters, Stoners, Anorexics, bad backgrounds, poor kids, Dumb Girls, and of course…the Pregnant ones.
She kept quiet.
So quiet.
Her graduation robe was a tent, and she wished she could pull a bag over her head and plug her ears when she walked across the stage. There would be two scenarios; they would either call her names or make fun of her as she crossed the stage, or they would be completely silent and that walk across the stage would be a minefield. Seven months along and everyone knowing it.
