by Sheila Cole
I’ve been thinking about childbirth classes. Dr. Price and Mrs. Zakos keep telling me I should go, but Stacy says it’s all couples. Everyone comes with a coach to help them when they are in labor. If Peter could come home at Thanksgiving instead of Christmas, it wouldn’t be a problem. I don’t know who else I can ask. Mom? Daddy? That’s a joke. They can’t stand the idea of my having a baby. It would be awful. Carrie? Dianne? They’d be more scared than I am. Sandy could do it, but she isn’t here. And I would never ask Nick. I guess there isn’t anyone.
Thursday, October 17
Last night I dreamed I went into labor. I yelled for someone to come, but no one did. Peter wasn’t there. When I tried to call Mom at work, her line was busy. I called Carrie, and she wasn’t home. Neither was Dianne. Finally I tried Daddy. He hung up on me. The contractions were coming faster and harder. They were tearing me apart. I couldn’t stand it anymore. The baby was coming! I woke up all wet and sticky. The baby was pummeling me with kicks.
I can’t get the dream out of my head. What will I do if I’m alone when I go into labor? Call a cab? That’s what Debbie says she’s going to do. But what if the baby is born in the cab? It happens. I’ve seen it on the evening news. I think it would be awful. What if something went wrong?
Oh, Peter, why aren’t you here with me? I need you. Please, please come home before the baby’s born. Please don’t leave us here all alone.
Dear Peter,
One of the girls at school had her baby last week, and she had a really hard time. She had to have a cesarean. I’m scared, Peter. I’ve been having nightmares about it. I keep worrying that you won’t be here in time, and that I’ll be all alone when I go into labor. The baby isn’t due until the end of December—but it could be early. I am begging you to be here. I don’t think I could stand to go through it without you.
I need you, Peter. Please call. I can’t take much more.
I love you,
Val
Saturday, October 19
Sandy came home for the weekend, and the three of us went to see this silly movie. Sandy let me drive, even though she’s not supposed to because I’m not on the insurance. Nick wanted her to let him drive, too. She wouldn’t because he doesn’t have his learner’s permit yet. I was a little scared because I hadn’t driven since they found out about the baby, but I did okay. I’m so proud of myself. Sandy says all I need is a little practice, and I can get my license.
After the movie, Sandy took us to a great coffee-house bookstore in Laguna. There was a classical guitarist. I ordered a caffé latte because it sounded exotic, but it was just coffee and milk.
This morning I found an old high chair for seven dollars at a garage sale. I almost bought it, then decided Mom would freak out if I brought it home. What I’m really going to need is a crib or a bassinet.
I wish I could get the baby a new crib. I’d love to have a white one—with those rounded, knobby slats—or maybe one that’s a light natural wood. There are really beautiful cribs in the stores. But I’ll have to find a cheap used one. The girls at school say you can pick something up at the Salvation Army.
Monday, October 21
I finally got a letter from Peter.
Val,
The last thing I wanted was to upset you. I bought the chain because I wanted to get you something nice for your birthday. I never thought you would make a fuss about the money I spent on it. The chain didn’t cost that much. Not enough to make a difference.
You think I don’t care about the baby—like I’m some sort of flake. I don’t need to be reminded. I think about the baby all the time. And I worry, too. I’m scared, too. But you know, Val, the baby is all you ever talk about in your letters. We can’t stop living just because you’re pregnant. What’s wrong with my doing something special for you on your birthday? I don’t understand what you’re so upset about.
I couldn’t stop crying. It’s so hopeless. He really doesn’t understand. He isn’t here and he can’t imagine how fast the baby is growing. If he could see how big I’m getting or feel the baby move, maybe then he’d understand. But it isn’t real to him. And all I can do is write.
Dear Peter,
I’m sorry I made you feel bad. The chain is beautiful and I love it.
I was relieved you wrote that you think about the baby all the time. I was beginning to think I was the only one. I should have known better, but you never mentioned it in your letters before. I know you are afraid, too. Still, I really believe that the two of us can make it if we’re together. We can’t let this separation tear us apart. It’s what our parents want, and we can’t let them win.
Writing is so frustrating. We would never have had this misunderstanding if we were together. I can’t wait until you come home at Christmas. I need you. I miss you so much it hurts.
Love,
Val
Tuesday, October 22
Went to see Dr. Price for my seventh-month checkup. He brought up adoption again. But he saw how upset he was making me and he stopped. He’s been so nice that I had to explain how I feel about it. I told him just because I’m only sixteen and we don’t have any money, it doesn’t mean we don’t love our baby. I could never have the baby, hand it over to some stranger, and forget about it.
Then he told me about these adoptions where it’s not just giving up your baby and walking away. The mother knows the people who adopt her baby and can even keep in touch with the baby if she wants. I said I still wasn’t interested because Peter and I were getting married. I thought Dr. Price was going to say something about our being too young, but he didn’t. He just wished me luck.
Thursday, October 24
I have to remember to thank Mrs. Rykoff for talking me into playing with her chamber group. I was really nervous when the guy came to pick me up yesterday, but as soon as he opened his mouth I forgot about myself. He stutters so badly it took him a full minute to tell me his name: Bret Arneson. Once we started to talk about music, though, he didn’t stutter at all. Bret’s a really good cellist. He was the only one who knew the music. The rest of us were lost most of the time. First violin is Gwen Matsuda. She didn’t have a chance to go through the music beforehand, and she doesn’t sight-read very well. Even I knew the music better than she did. Robbie Cohen, the viola player, picks up on things quickly, and he was very impatient with Gwen. He didn’t say anything, but it was easy to tell because he rolled his eyes every time she messed up. Bret would be really nice-looking if he didn’t have this awful carrot red hair.
I want to have my part completely under control next week. I love the music, and it’s good for me because it takes my mind off things.
Friday, October 25
Carrie called to ask me what I was going to wear to Dianne’s Halloween party. When I told her Dianne hadn’t invited me, she got all upset and said she was going to talk to Dianne.
“Don’t say anything to her, please,” I begged her. “I wouldn’t go even if she asked me.”
Carrie shouted at me, “Stop being such a damned martyr.” Then she started lecturing me about how I was feeling so sorry for myself that I was cutting myself off from everyone.
Boy, did that make me mad! I told her off. It’s not me doing the cutting, it’s them. Dianne doesn’t know how I feel about going to her party—she never asked me to come! She just doesn’t want to be seen with me.
Now I’m so upset, I’m crying again. And it isn’t because I want to go to Dianne’s damned party. It’s just … because.
Saturday, October 26
I thought about it and decided Carrie was right. I need to stop cutting myself off. What I really need is to be with people who are going through the same things I am. So I asked Stacy if she wanted to do something tomorrow. I think she was sort of surprised that I called. She said she had to watch Tyler and her little brothers, but I could come over there.
I feel a little funny about going to her house. I really do like her, and she’s been very nice to me at school. At the sam
e time, I know I would never have anything to do with someone like her if I wasn’t pregnant.
Hey, wait a minute. Look who’s talking.… I’m not any better than she is. I’m an “unwed mother,” too, and I’m younger than she is. Time to get real! I’m not Daddy’s little princess anymore.
Sunday, October 27
Went over to Stacy’s. She lives in a teeny tiny apartment with her mother and stepfather and her two little brothers. She and Tyler have one bedroom, and her mother and Joe have the other. Her brothers sleep on the couch in the living room. I don’t know how they do it, but they all seemed to get along. I tried to feed Tyler while Stacy was fixing supper for the boys. Every time I got the spoon in his lips, he closed his mouth and turned his head away. I kept feeding his cheek or his ear. He was a real mess!
Then Stacy’s mother came home, and Tyler started bouncing up and down in his high chair and wouldn’t calm down and eat until his Nana took over. He loves his grandma. Stacy says she takes care of him all the time. She’s lucky.
When I told Mom how much Stacy’s mother helps her, she said, “Don’t get any ideas, Val. Just because Stacy’s mother does something doesn’t mean we will. We want something better for you and Sandy and Nick. If you insist on throwing your life away, though, you’re on your own. We love you, but that’s how it’s got to be. I wish you’d listen to Dr. Price. He says he knows a couple who have been trying for years but can’t have children of their own. They would love to have your baby, and they would give it the stable home it deserves. We can’t afford to do that, Val. You know that.”
They’re really not going to help me. I guess I always thought they’d change their minds, but I can see that they won’t. I don’t know what I’m going to do. What am I going to do? Oh, dear God, I wish I knew.
Dianne called. Carrie probably made her.
Monday, October 28
Sarah came over for her lesson today. She played “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star.” I like teaching her. And even if I say so myself, I’m not bad at it.
I saw Peter’s mother. She came into the cleaners while the lady was making out the ticket for my clothes. My back was to her, and I don’t think she recognized me. But I saw her in the mirror over the counter. I have nothing to be ashamed of, so I turned around with this big smile and said, “Hello, Mrs. Winder. How are you?” And she didn’t even blink. She looked right through me like I was a piece of glass and walked out without getting her dry cleaning.
I don’t know why, but it made me feel real good.
Tuesday, October 29
I can’t believe it. Mrs. Rykoff nominated me for a scholarship to ProMusica. She called last night when I was practicing. I was so excited when she first told me that I was stuttering almost as much as Bret Arneson. It’s such an honor. It’s one of the best music camps in the country.
Then, when I was listening to her tell me about it, it hit me. What does it matter if she puts my name in now? I can’t go.
I started to say so, and she interrupted, “I know, the baby. But I’m putting your name in anyvay. Let’s just vait and see vat happens. If you get in, ve’ll vorry vat to do vith your baby.”
She said she’d help me get ready—I have to make an audition tape. It’s incredible! I hope I get in, even if I can’t go. It would be so great. Mom was really pleased. She kept telling me what an honor it was, as if I didn’t already know, and that we had to call Grandpa. Then Nick came into my room and promised that he’d take care of the baby if I got in.
Daddy didn’t say a word. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. He doesn’t even look at me.
Wednesday, October 30
Chamber group again. I didn’t say anything about the scholarship, not even to Bret. I’m afraid talking about it will jinx it.
I’ve never heard anyone talk as much as Gwen does. She must know everything there is to know about Haydn string quartets—except how to play them. We kept having to stop because she was messing up. Robbie was really impatient with her. At one point this evening, he even said we should switch chairs. Bret and I laughed it off, but it’s true, she’s holding us back.
Even so, it was probably the most fun I’ve had all week. I love playing with them and wish I could be a permanent member. I suppose I won’t have time once the baby is born. Oh, great, now I’m feeling sorry for myself! Sometimes, though, I just can’t help it.
Dianne called again. I told Nick to say I wasn’t home.
Thursday, October 31
I finished doing my English already. The workbook is so easy, I could do it with my eyes closed. I can’t wait until the bell rings and we can start our Halloween party.
Everyone is acting silly. I think it’s because we are all wearing these ridiculous costumes. I didn’t want to wear one, but everyone else did, so I felt I had to. I’m a jack-o’-lantern. It was Nick’s idea. He said I was shaped like a pumpkin already—all I had to do was wear orange. I was mad at him for making fun of me, but then I thought: Hey! Wait a minute! It’s not a bad idea. All I needed to be a jack-o’-lantern was to wear my green leggings and Daddy’s old orange sweatshirt. I painted a jack-o’-lantern face on the shirt and stuffed it so that it’s round in back, too.
Mrs. Zakos, who can be a witch, came as one, with her front teeth blackened and this green makeup all over her face and a real-looking wart on the end of her nose. Yolanda was a magician in a black cape and top hat. She dressed up Esteban in a bunny costume with long, floppy ears. He was adorable. She let me hold him for a while. He has these tiny little fingers and beautiful translucent fingernails. But what a grip he has! Yolanda took him from me when he started fussing. She says he’s always hungry. He wakes her up twice during the night to nurse. She’s exhausted.
Listen, You-in-There, you better not cry all night so I can’t get any sleep. You won’t, though. You’ll be my little angel, won’t you?
Tuesday, November 5
I’ve opened this diary every day for the past five days, but I couldn’t write. Every time I read how dumb and trusting I’ve been, I started to cry.
Peter is never coming back and we’re not going to get married. He says it’s crazy for us to try to raise a baby by ourselves. We’ll ruin our lives and the baby’s if we try.
His letter was waiting for me when I came home from school on Halloween. I was still wearing that stupid jack-o’-lantern costume.
Dear Val,
I know it was my idea for us to get married and raise the baby ourselves. But I’ve thought about it a whole lot since I’ve been here, and I don’t see how it would work. The way I see it, it couldn’t be anything except grim. We’d always be broke. And what about the kid? What would it be like for him? The kid wouldn’t appreciate it because he would never see us—we’d have to work all the time just to cover the rent. College? Forget about it! Who’s going to pay for that? And what about my brother and my mom? If we got married, my dad would cut off their support. It would ruin everyone’s life. I can’t do that, Val. I guess you think I’m a liar and a coward.
Maybe I am. But I’m just being realistic.
I don’t know what you are going to do now. And I probably shouldn’t ask. I do still care about you and want to help. It’s my baby, and I owe it to both of you. I have some money saved up, and as soon as I can get my hands on it, you can have it. It’s not a lot—I’ll send more when I can. It won’t be much until I’m through medical school, but it will be something. Although I know it’s selfish, what I can’t do is give up my future.
It would be too much for me to expect you to understand my side of it. You will probably hate me forever. I guess I deserve it. But if it means anything to you, you should know that I am sorry.
Love,
Peter
He’s gone. He says he loves me, but he doesn’t, not anymore. You don’t love somebody and leave her the way he’s left me. He says he’s sorry. But how sorry can he be if he’s not coming back? He’s going to go on with his life. He’ll graduate from his fancy school, go to col
lege, even go to med school. He’ll just walk away as if it never happened. But I can’t walk away, can I?
Can I?
Wednesday, November 6
I dreamed I was on the bus and there was this bundle on the seat next to me. I got off and went into a place that looked like Penguin’s, and everyone from Irvine was there. They were all staring at me—for what seemed like forever. Carrie came over and asked me where my baby was, and I realized I’d left it on the bus. Suddenly I was racing down the street after the bus in a panic. Then I woke up.
Now I can’t fall back asleep. I keep having these weird thoughts. I try to form a picture of the baby in my mind, but all I see is this bundled baby blanket, and when I open it up, there’s nothing inside.
Thursday, November 7
At lunch today, this girl whose baby is due the same time as mine was telling us that she and her husband were painting the crib they got from her sister. I had to leave the table because I was afraid I was going to start crying.
I haven’t been able to think straight since I got Peter’s letter. But I have to go on. I can’t stay in my room and cry for the rest of my life. There’s this baby growing inside me that wasn’t there before, and I have to get ready for it. I can’t just wait and let things happen anymore.
Stacy was right when she said I don’t know anything. I don’t even know what it costs to rent an apartment or to buy food. What if I can’t do it by myself? What will I do then? Go on welfare? Where will I live? I have to be realistic and have a plan.
Hey, what about Grandpa and Grandma? They love me. They’ll help us. And I can help Grandpa run the house and take care of Grandma. Mom says he’s having a hard time. And Grandpa can coach me on the violin. Why didn’t I think of this before?