by Shari Ryan
“A week? How is that long enough to see where things are going? I’ve only been out with him once.”
“You could spend the whole day with him this weekend if you would move past your fear of heights,” she adds.
“You’re going to use that against me? I should never have told you.”
“I think it’s the most exciting opportunity in the world and you’re throwing it away. If I were twenty-five years younger, I’d take Layne up on the offer.”
“Ew, Mom. Stop, please.” I pull my covers up and over my head, pulling Aly under with me. “Watch out for Mimi! She’s gone crazy!”
“Just saying,” she replies.
“Stop saying,” my words sound muffled, but I’m sure she gets the point.
“Get up,” she says, yanking the blankets off of us. As soon as I’m out of hiding, I see Mom has grabbed my phone. I jump out of bed to take it back from her, questioning whether she would start scrolling through my messages. Mom is acting feistier than usual. Mom is four inches taller than I am and uses it against me as she holds the phone above my head.
“Seriously?” I grumble.
“Get dressed,” she says.
“You’re going to hold my phone hostage until I get dressed?”
“Hmm. As a matter-of-fact, I think I’ll hold it hostage until you get into the car.”
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, pulling my drawers open to retrieve clean clothes.
“Layne wouldn’t think so,” she adds.
“I have to go brush my teeth and wash my face. Could you please avoid snooping through my messages?”
“I would never,” Mom says. She sounds sincere, and I’m taking her word for it. I don’t have anything incriminating in my messages anyway, but still.
I’m in the bathroom for a matter for five minutes, making myself look human enough to step outside without people wondering if I just crawled out of a corpse. By the time I return to my bedroom, Aly is now dressed, and Mom is putting her shoulder-length curls into pigtails. “I’m taking her grocery shopping while you’re gone. Is that okay?”
“Yes, but watch her sticky hands. She has been dumping extra food items into the cart when I turn away from her.”
“I noticed,” Mom says, shaking her head. “You used to do the same thing at her age.”
“We like to shop. What can I say?”
I spot my phone sitting on top of my bureau and shove it into the back pocket of my jean pants. “Aly, you need to be a good girl for Mimi okay?”
“Mimi,” Aly says with laughter. “Mimi car.”
“Yes, you’re going into Mimi’s car, so you can go to the store. I’ll see you in a little while.” I lean over and give Aly a kiss on the cheek, which she promptly wipes off like usual.
“Just like you,” Mom teases.
Is she just like me, or does she have any part of her father’s genes in her DNA? I worry about this every day, even more, when someone compares our qualities. It was the biggest thought that went through my head when I had to decide on what to do when I learned I was pregnant. It feels like an eternity has passed since then, but it was just twenty-three months ago.
TWO YEARS AGO - I WAS ONLY 16 YEARS OLD
“Just tell her the truth, Dani. We have to be honest.” Mom’s words replayed in my head over and over while we were sitting in the waiting room of my pediatrician’s office. After what I had been through, it felt awkward to be sitting there, surrounded by children and babies. Mom said teenagers usually go to their pediatrician until they are eighteen unless there is a different reason to seek adult medicine. I didn’t think I had a reason to be seeking adult medicine yet. Mom was also in a bit of denial mixed with shocked after the incident, and the pediatrician was familiar, so there we were, surrounded by teddy bear murals, parent-like magazines, kids’ books, and a big circle carpet decorated with multi-colored balloons floating into the blue sky. I wished I was one of those balloons at that moment.
It had been just over a month since I was released from the hospital and given the clear to resume life as ordinary—as ordinary as a sixteen-year-old could live after being attacked on a dark street, raped and beaten, among all the other personal casualties I endured.
“It could be stress, you know,” Mom said quietly, placing her hand down on my knee. I flinched at her initial touch then eased back into my chair. “I’m sure everything is fine.” She had been saying that for the two days leading up to that appointment. Being dizzy, weak, tired, and nauseous were all side-effects of head trauma, though, and I couldn’t take a chance on anything with my head after having a bleed in my brain.
“Danielle, you can come on back with me,” the familiar nurse, June, said from the archway between the waiting area and the short hallway of exam rooms.
“Do you mind if my mom comes in with me?” I asked her. I had been going into the doctor’s office myself for a while, but that day, I didn’t want to go in alone.
“Absolutely. You can have your mom with you whenever you’d like,” June said, smiling with an abundance of care.
Mom stood up with me, and we followed June down to the second room on the right. “I’m going to need a urine sample. You can just go ahead into the bathroom across the hall and leave the cup on the shelf when you’re done.”
“Is a urine sample necessary?” Mom asked, curiously.
June peered down at a folder in her hand as if she was silently referring to whatever notes were inside. “Yes,” she replied with a cautious smile.
Rather than drag out what was necessary, I took the cup from June’s other hand and made my way across the hall, into the bathroom. I had to pee into a cup a few times when I was at the hospital last month, so I was used to it by then.
I returned to the exam room, finding Mom and June having a quiet conversation. June’s hand was resting on Mom’s shoulder, comforting her, or so it seemed. Mom had needed a lot of comfort over the prior weeks, but I understood why since I needed the same.
“Okay, Dr. Riley will be in shortly. You can have a seat, Danielle,” June said, placing her folder in the plastic bin that hung from the wooden door, then closed us inside. I used to hate going there or to any doctor’s office, but I had been to so many doctors’ appointments in a short period that I was beginning to feel numb to the process.
“Mom, are you worried about something you aren’t telling me?” I asked, examining her unwavering expression that was made up of worry and unease.
“I don’t like when something is bothering you, Dani. You’ve already been through enough, and I just want the past to be in the past.”
“Me too.”
Dr. Riley was good about not keeping patients waiting, so she walked into the exam room just a few minutes after June left. “How are you doing, Danielle?” She looked at me the same way everyone had been looking at me … like I was made of paper and had been left out in the rain all night. One wrong touch and I’d tear in half.
“I’m okay,” I told her. I thought I was going to die that night, which made me feel grateful for being alive, despite my body going through hell. I’m not sure anyone has understood my feelings, though. All I knew was, the fear of the aftermath of trauma is nothing in comparison to the fear of never waking-up again.
Dr. Riley took a seat on an empty chair, crossed her legs, and placed the folder June left behind onto her lap. Her fingers intertwined and rested down on the folder. She swallowed hard. It was loud enough to hear. The moment of silence gave me a minute to analyze Dr. Riley’s appearance, wondering why she was still quiet. Her hair was short, dark, and cut into a perfectly even bob, accentuating her pointed chin. She doesn’t wear much makeup, not like Mom. I didn’t think Dr. Riley really needed makeup though. She had freckles and naturally pink skin. She also had caring eyes and a personality that made people instantly relax in her presence. Her white doctor’s coat was the only thing that set her apart from a friendly person walking down the street.
“I want to do a blood test, Dan
ielle. Your urine sample showed a high level of the HCG hormone, which means—”
“She’s pregnant?” Mom shrieks.
Dr. Riley’s lips pressed together, and she swallowed hard once more before responding. “It appears to be that way. While pregnancy tests don’t usually give off false positives, I would like to double check with a blood test.”
Pregnant. At first, my initial reaction was that pregnancy was impossible. I didn’t put myself in a situation where I could become pregnant. However, I was told what my body went through during a time when I couldn’t remember anything at all because I was unconscious. It was my only saving grace—having no recollection. I had been trying to convince myself that if I wasn’t aware of it happening, I could tell myself it didn’t happen, despite the truth. It was helping me cope.
I wondered what they would do with people like me? I wondered if they hid teenage girls away somewhere until they give birth? I had watched the videos in health class. I knew how detrimental a teen pregnancy could be. It’s why I never took that step with a boy. I wasn’t ready to be a mother, so I knew not to put myself in a situation that could result in becoming a teen parent. Yet, there I was. Frozen, in shock, unable to comprehend the reality of one-word that would define the rest of my life.
The blood work provided the confirmation we needed. Dr. Riley told me she could no longer see me and that I needed to find an obstetrician because she’s not the type of doctor who delivers babies. She apologized. She hugged me, told me everything would be okay. Then she asked Mom to leave the room and to step into the hall for a moment. I wasn’t sure why.
Mom didn’t argue because she was holding in more tears than she could manage to conceal. I was sure someone would offer her a tissue once in the hallway.
I hadn’t said a word in several minutes, but I had a feeling Dr. Riley was going to want me to speak soon.
“Danielle,” she said, sounding uncomfortable and despondent. “I need to ask you if you want to keep your baby, or if you want to—”
“What?” I replied, sharply questioning the meaning of what she was asking. “If I want to what?”
Dr. Riley pulled a brochure out of the folder that held my records and handed it over to me. “Aborting the fetus at this stage is understandable, especially given the nature and circumstance.”
I knew what she was saying, but I also knew how I have felt about the action of ending a helpless life, and despite how I got to that point, it wasn’t anyone else’s fault either, especially a baby. I didn’t know how I could take care of a child when I was a considered a child, but how could I have agreed to any other way? “No,” I said without giving it much more thought. “I could never.”
“Okay, I wanted to hear your thoughts without influence, just to gage your feelings on the matter. I will support whatever decision you make, and you are welcome to schedule an appointment to talk to me if you need to, but a different doctor will help you with the rest.”
“Okay,” I told her, wanting the conversation to end. I needed to think. I needed to come to terms with what was happening in my life.
I was lucky to get a second chance. I guess I didn’t consider what a second chance meant or would mean.
The moments between Dr. Riley leaving the room and Mom and me leaving the building, everything in my current world was spinning around me in a blurry tornado, and mixed thoughts were shooting at me from every direction. I had to wonder if I was pregnant with a monster’s child. I considered the possibility of my child turning out to be a monster too. Was it a part of a genetic makeup to be a bad person? I wasn’t sure anyone could answer those questions or respond to my concerns with a good answer. I didn’t even know if it was fair to be thinking those thoughts at all.
18 YEARS OLD
Time alone allows me to think. Thinking leads me down a dark path I sometimes lose myself on, and it’s one of the reasons why I don’t enjoy going to my support group. Aly can’t come with me, and I have to spend time with my thoughts, analyzing my feelings, and being honest with the truths in my life.
Everyone is understanding, looking at me with compassion, embracing me as if I’m one of them, but we all have a different story. None of us can relate or understand each other’s unique feelings, but we’ve all been raped, damaged, and had our right to say no taken away from us, so this is where I belong now.
I just want to forget, but I took that option away from myself when I decided to keep a reminder for the rest of my life.
I don’t regret my decision.
Not everyone can say they’ve been to the dark side and somehow found a speck of light, but my baby is the good made from evil. She is proof that some of the best gifts in life come from the shadows of a nightmare.
Fourteen
Current Day
As if just agreeing to the clinical trial isn’t enough activity for one week, Layne is determined to make sure I secure a spot, so that’s what we’re doing today. It’s only the first month of school, and he’s called in a substitute to cover him for this morning. The school has been considerate and supportive of him and the appointments he has gone to with me over the past year, but I’m worried they will eventually get tired of making accommodations for him.
It doesn’t matter how many doctor appointments I’ve been to, the feelings I get are the same when I walk into a new office. It’s almost like someone has their hands wrapped around my throat, and it’s hard to swallow. I think I’m conditioned to feel this way when I just inhale the scent of ammonia.
“Are you okay?” Layne asks. I miss the days when he would greet me with a term of endearment or ask me what I’m thinking about, instead of a question full of concern. He’s worried about me, because however I look right now is giving him reason to worry. I want to tell him I’m not okay, and despite agreeing to see if I’m a match for this trial today, I still don’t want to take part in this plan. However, I’m not doing this for myself. I’m doing this for Layne and Aly.
“Yup,” I respond.
I set my gaze on the dingy elevator button that’s cracked in half. I wonder if the embossed arrow is hot from the small light illuminating the symbol. I’m interested to see if a light that small can heat up an object. If the light can produce that much heat, I’m curious of how hot it would be, so I press my finger under the cracked plastic, reaching for the arrow, but Layne pulls my arm away. I feel like a child being told not to touch a hot stove. How is a child supposed to understand what the sensation of heat feels like if they haven’t experienced it though?
“What are you doing?” His voice is quiet and in the background of my thoughts. I continue staring at the button wondering how someone could have such perfect aim to break a small piece of plastic in half like it is, and why someone would have a desire to crack a button of all things. “Dani?”
I guess it’s good that the button isn’t made of glass or people would be slicing their finger every day without another option if they need to use the elevator. How long has the button been broken, and why wouldn’t someone have fixed it by now? I assume it shouldn’t cost too much to something so small and insignificant.
My head jolts to the side and a wave of dizziness overcomes me like a quick passing breeze before my eyes refocus, but my gaze lands on Layne’s eyes this time. “Wh-what?”
“What’s going on?” Layne looks wild with confusion, and his eyes are flashing around, observing me as if I’m disintegrating before him.
“Nothing,” I tell him.
“You were just sticking your finger into a broken button,” he says.
“No, I didn’t. I’ve been standing right here, looking at you.” He thinks I’m losing my mind, but I’m beginning to wonder what’s going on in his head too.
“Jesus Christ, Dani. You just pressed your finger under that jagged piece of plastic. Are you trying to hurt yourself?”
“My finger?” I question. “How can I hurt myself by cutting my finger?” Layne drags his hands down the side of his face, his brown
, leather bracelet dangles around his wrist, and I notice one of the button clasps have broken off the band. “What happened to your bracelet?”
Layne presses his hands against my shoulders and lowers his head, bringing his face closer to mine. “Dani, I need you to tell me what’s happening when you lose focus.”
I stare into the golden flecks scattered along Layne’s piercing green eyes. His pupils grow larger as if he’s staring through me, still trying to understand the scattered thoughts inside my head, but I don’t know how to explain it all. “I just lose focus for a minute. It’s not a big deal. Everyone daydreams, Layne.” I lost focus all the time when I was a kid. In fact, my teachers were sure I had an attention deficit disorder, but it was ruled out after some testing. It turns out that people with creative minds tend to drift off in thought more than those who think in a more linear fashion.
Layne doesn’t push the issue. Instead, he weaves his fingers through mine and squeezes my hand as the elevator doors part. The ride up is quiet, but my thoughts are loud.
* * *
Tell him the truth.
But, I’m fine.
He should know.
I don’t even know.
Yes, you do.
* * *
In the reflection of the mirrored doors, I watch my head shake, dismissing the fight I feel inside.
I don’t look right. My skin is pale. My hair looks dull and limp, and my clothes are baggier than normal. I’m beginning to look sick, owning my illness, wearing it like a disguise.
“These moments are happening more frequently,” Layne says as we step out of the elevator. His statement makes me wonder how often he knew I was having these moments throughout the past year. I could conceal the occasional unfocused episode with the impression of being lost in a daydream. “Something isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?” I ask him.
Layne reaches for the door with the suite number fifty-two embossed on a gold plaque. “I don’t know what I mean anymore,” he says. I was wondering how long it would take for Layne to reveal the frustration he’s been feeling for me. I knew it was going to happen. I just didn’t know when. It’s hard when I always ask myself if there’s something I should be doing differently, but I always fall back to the same answer that involves no other option.