So . . . That Happened

by Laci Maskell

  “Yes, sweetheart?” she asks, not turning to me.

  “I’m bleeding,” I say.

  Still she doesn’t turn around. Maybe I haven’t killed my baby. She doesn’t seem concerned. And yet, maybe she doesn’t know what I mean. “Lux, you know where we keep the Band-Aids,” she says.

  I want to cry. She really doesn’t get it.

  “Not that kind of bleeding, Mom,” I say, my voice wavering.

  Finally my mom turns around. She sees something in my face that makes me scared, more scared than I already am.

  “How bad is it?” she asks, her voice quiet.

  “I don’t know, there is bleeding where there should not be bleeding.”

  My mom looks worried. This is so not good.

  She doesn’t admit that though and says, “I don’t want you to worry, but we’re going to go to the hospital.”

  “Did I kill the baby?” I ask, tears not streaking my vision.

  “It’s going to be okay,” my mom says, placing her hands on my arms.

  I don’t believe her, but I’m not about to tell her that.

  On the way to the hospital my dad drives and my mom sits in the passenger seat. She calls the hospital and then my doctor. They tag team looking back at me, my dad in the rearview mirror and my mom full body turning around. Neither of them says anything, nor do I. I don’t know what to say. I don’t feel connected to my body. I don’t feel connected to my baby.

  What if the baby is dead? It would be tragic. I’d be the worst mother ever, without actually being a mother.

  But what if the baby is dead? I wouldn’t have to worry about being a mother. I wouldn’t have to be harassed at school anymore. I wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to go to college. My life would go back to the way it was. I’d be a little wiser and a lot more careful.

  My mom turns around to make sure I’m okay and I am struck with such guilt I might throw up. How could I even think about that? How could I possibly be okay with the child inside of me, the child that is part of me, being dead? Bile rises in my throat. I’ve got to be the worst person ever. Being okay with the death of an unborn child so I don’t get picked on at school anymore. I am so afraid I am not ready to be a mother. But I also fear I may not get the chance now.

  When we get to the hospital I am placed in a wheelchair and taken to an exam room. I have to change into a hospital gown and lie on the crappy paper covered table. I try to calm down, knowing they will have to take my pulse and my blood pressure. But knowing that my baby may be dead is reason enough to have high blood pressure and a racing pulse. I want to cry so hard. But at the same time, I feel void of emotion. I have to remind myself to draw and release breaths. I don’t know that I will be able to breathe until I find out whether or not my baby is alive.

  The nurse comes in and does what she needs to do. I answer her when she asks me questions, but otherwise do not talk. My parents answer questions I don’t have a response for. Then the nurse leaves and silence fills the small room. My heart pounds in my ears. My hands sweat where they hold onto the exam table. I stare up at the cutouts on the ceiling. They are not as comforting as they had been before.

  My head snaps up when Dr. Coughlin walks into the room. The tension eases a bit, but not much. Dr. Coughlin smiles but it is weak. She is worried too.

  She reads the numbers off the chart the nurse took. She sits down on the wheelie chair next to the bed and places her hand on my arm. My breathing becomes faster. This is it, she is going to tell me I lost the baby. The pounding in my ears becomes louder. I can’t handle this.

  “Can you tell me what happened, Lux. Did something happen? Were you too physical? Are you too stressed out? Was this just random?” Dr. Coughlin asks. I can’t tell if she is blaming me, asking if I’ve been abused, or just asking routine questions.

  “When school got out today, I was by my locker and some of the football boys were throwing the ball around. One of them missed a throw and knocked into me. I fell on the ground. I thought I was okay. I felt okay after it happened. But when I got home I started to feel worse. Then I went to the bathroom and noticed the blood.”

  “It was good of you to come in as soon as you noticed something was wrong,” Dr. Coughlin says. “Here is what is going to happen. I am going to check your cervix to see if you are dilated. If you are, you have more than likely miscarried. If your cervix is not dilated, we will do an ultrasound and check for the baby’s heartbeat. If we can’t find a heartbeat, you have more than likely miscarried. I don’t want to scare you, but I need you to be ready for the worst case. Are you ready?”

  I don’t move. I don’t nod. I don’t answer her.

  She starts anyway.

  Dr. Coughlin lifts up the bottom of the gown and slips her hand underneath. “Are you ready?” she asks. When I nod she slides a gloved finger into me. I clench my legs then relax. I hope I never get used to this.

  I hold my breath when she pulls out, afraid of what she will say.

  “Your cervix is slightly dilated. But only slightly. This is a good sign but I still want to run an ultrasound to find the baby’s heartbeat.”

  I nod because I have no breath.

  I want so badly to hope that my baby is still alive. That I am a good enough mother to keep it alive. But if I allow myself that hope, and the baby isn’t alive, I will be crushed. I’ll be devastated. How could I possibly go back to school knowing I killed an entire human being.

  Dr. Coughlin squirts the blue jelly goo on my stomach then presses the ultrasound tool to my belly. Immediately the sound of the ocean fills the air. Who knew the inside of a pregnant belly could sound like the ocean. I try to breathe through my nerves, but end up holding my breath. Dr. Coughlin moves the tool around to locate the baby, and its heartbeat. My heart hammers against my rib cage. I have never been more scared in my life.

  The silence in the room is deafening. Everyone holds their breath.

  What is mere seconds turns into minutes. I can’t bear the silence. When it has stretched on too long, I know I have killed my baby. I close my eyes and lie my head back on the crinkly pillow. I am a failure. I didn’t deserve to be a mother.

  Tears form at the corners of my eyes.

  Dr. Coughlin continues to move the tool around my baby. But there is no heartbeat.

  And then there is.

  My parents suck in a large collective breath. My eyes snap open to see Dr. Coughlin’s head lower in relief. My head swivels in the direction of the TV screen and I lose sight of it through a veil of tears. Breaths struggle to come out of my lungs and function properly. I gasp in relief and fright. Never have I been happier in my life to hear a heartbeat. Never have I been happier in my life.

  I lie back on the bed and let the emotions envelop me. Tears stream down the sides of my face. My heart still hammers in my chest. My body tremors from nerves. I can hear my mom crying a few feet from me. Though I am not alone, I wish Leah was here with me. But more than wishing Leah was here with me, I wish Greyson was here with me. It makes me sound like a pathetic school girl, but I wish it nonetheless.

  When I have recovered from my meltdown and am able to focus on breathing normally, Dr. Coughlin says, “There you have it, Lux. Your baby is alive and healthy. However, I would like for you to take a week of bed rest. I know you have school, but I feel with the dangers of the other kids, and the stress it inflicts on you, I would at least like one week of bed rest. After one week, we will see how the baby is doing and how you are doing stress wise.”

  “Of course, Dr.,” my mom answers for me.

  I nod in consent. I don’t like going to school anyway.

  I am cleared to go home with a cleanish bill of health for me and my baby.

  On the way there Leah texts me and tells me the team won the game. She says Greyson and Jesse played a great game and she wishes I would have been there. I would have rather been at the game then where I was. Leah asks how my night was, and though she is my best friend, I don’t want to tel
l her about what happened. First, she will feel like it is her fault or like she should have been a better friend and protected me. Then she will get angry and yell at Tyler which will only get Greyson involved. And I really don’t want that. I had a momentary lapse at the hospital wanting him there, but the more distance he has from me and the baby, the better. Every time I think I want Greyson in my life or the baby’s life, I can’t help but remember the relieved look on his face when I told him I didn’t want anything from him and that he didn’t need to worry about either of us. That look broke my heart.

  I could tell Leah my night was fine and that I didn’t do a whole lot, but when Monday rolls around and I am not in school, she will know I have lied to her and be mad. Either way it is a lose lose situation. So instead, I ask her if she can come over for a little bit. Almost losing a baby is not something you can text or say over the phone. She is going to flip shit, but at least I will have her beside me if I lose my shit again.

  Tremors continue to rock my body. Dr. Coughlin said that will happen because of the shock and my shot nerves. But she assured me they won’t last very long.

  I’ve always heard stories about how pregnancy is supposed to be this beautiful thing. A magical time for you and your baby. A time of bonding and learning about your body. A time of happiness and pure bliss. So far, I have not encountered anything beautiful or blissful. As of right now, I want it to be over and done with. Nothing about my pregnancy has brought me joy or happiness. I love my baby, but I am in agony and I want out.

  Chapter Six

  Fourteen Weeks

  Lux

  Coming back to school after a week is like coming back after summer vacation. Disorientation doesn’t begin to explain how I feel. My peers stare at me even more than they did a week ago. They turn their heads when I catch them staring at me even quicker than they did a week ago. I’m even more of a social pariah than I was just one week ago. Great. Yet no one has made fun of me for being pregnant. They usually sneer and call me fat. They usually laugh, point their fingers at my belly and call me Prego. There is a lack of the jabs today.

  I was right about the way Leah would react when I told her about almost losing the baby. I did make her promise that she wouldn’t go after Tyler or Greyson. She wasn’t happy about it, and I’m convinced that she will break my promise and do it anyway. She cried. I cried some more. She swore voraciously and promised to castrate Tyler. She punched my pillows. And then she laid her head on my protruding belly and told the baby she would never again let anything bad happen to it. And I cried again.

  The first day back is so exhausting after spending a week on my back I can’t wait for it to be over. I just have to get through AP English. Which means I have to see both Greyson and Mr. Rush. Not something I am looking forward to. One thing about bed rest, you have a lot of time to think. I had a lot of time to think about what Leah said about Greyson and Mr. Rush having feelings for me. It would be one thing for Greyson to have feelings for me, I am nearly his age and I happen to be carrying his baby. But Mr. Rush is my teacher, at least six years older than me, and I am carrying another guy’s baby. That doesn’t stop me from fantasizing about him.

  I walk down the hall towards the English room when the door to the janitor’s room opens and someone grabs my arm. I look from the hand to the shoulders and see it all belongs to Greyson, who pulls me into the closet. My heart slams into my chest from his touch. Clearly I am not as over him as I have led myself to believe. My breathing quickens when he closes the door. I have no delusions that he pulled me in here to make out, but I am curious why he would risk being seen with me.

  Greyson leaves the light off, but I have walked past the janitor’s closet enough times with the door open to know what is inside. Brooms, dustpans, and mops hang from hooks along one wall. The mop buckets sit right underneath. Shelves of toilet paper, paper towels, extra towels, cleaning products, etc. cover two of the other walls. The janitor’s desk is placed up against the last wall. It is a small room that smells of dirty water and cleaning products. I know for a fact people have sex in this room. A shudder passes through me just thinking about it. Gross.

  “We need to talk,” Greyson says, his hand still grasping my arm.

  “Why?” I ask. I try to make my voice sound tough, but it comes out weak. Greyson makes me weak.

  “Did you really have an abortion and that’s why you were gone for a week?” Greyson drops his hand from my arm and then crosses his arms over his chest. He looks mad, like he would have any right to. He uncrosses his arms letting them dangle at his sides. When they begin to shake he recrosses his arms. His jaw continuously works. I’ve never seen him this upset before.

  My jaw falls open. So that’s why I haven’t been made fun of today for being pregnant. Everyone thinks I had an abortion then spent a week recuperating. I am flabbergasted. Who would think that? And why hasn’t Leah told me about it? Surely she would know about this. Angry dots blur my vision. Who could possibly believe that I would kill an innocent unborn child. Guilt eats me because for a second I contemplated my life going back to normal. But anger red hot surges through me. I went through emotional turmoil that night because they are all careless and callous and then they go and think I could do something like that. And Greyson thinks he has the right to question me about it? I really hate being pregnant.

  I have to clench my jaw together to keep from crying. Damn Greyson for doing this. Damn him for being selfish and stupid enough for getting me pregnant. Damn him for wanting nothing to do with me and the baby. And damn him for whatever reason it is that made him drag me into this disgusting, smelly closet.

  Through my teeth I say, “I don’t have to dignify that with an answer.”

  I try to walk away from him, but again he grasps my arm.

  “Yes you do, that was my baby.”

  I spin around and hit him in the chest. “How dare you,” I yell then remember we are still in a school building with hundreds of kids who like to listen in on things they shouldn’t. “How dare you. This is not your baby. It never was your baby. And it never will be your baby. This is my baby.”

  “Is?” Greyson asks.

  I throw my hands into the air and say, “Does it look like I’m no longer pregnant? Jesus.”

  “Then why were you gone for a week?” There is a strange change in his voice. It’s not concern, but it’s something like it. I don’t like it.

  I shouldn’t tell him. It will only bring him farther into this, when I want him farther away. But I am angry. And I want him to suffer like I did. “Because I thought Tyler killed the baby and I had to be on bed rest for a week. Happy? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with it.”

  Greyson’s face contorts on itself. “What do you mean you thought Tyler killed it?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Lux, answer me,” Greyson says. His voice is powerful, but not scary.

  “After Tyler knocked me down Friday I thought I had a miscarriage. That’s why I was out for a week.”

  “Are you okay? Is the baby okay?” His eyebrows are fused together. He looks worried.

  “What do you want from me, Greyson? Why did you pull me in here? Why do you care?”

  Greyson stands in front of me and stares at me. His face is pinched together, his brows severely creased, his mouth a tight thin line. After a long silence he says, “I don’t know.” He stares at me for three more seconds, then walks out of the closet.

  I let out a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding, then thrust my head backwards. Damn him. I clench my jaw so hard it hurts. But I will not cry. He cannot make me cry. I breathe deeply and try to calm myself. Tears sting my eyes but they do not run down my face.

  The bell rings and I know I have to go to class, but now I dread seeing Greyson there. Now more than ever.

  I walk into a full English room. Everyone stares at me, as per usual. Before it made me embarrassed, self-conscious. But now I am mad. I hate them all. How could everyone be so ju
dgmental? Let them stare, maybe they will figure out that I’m still pregnant and that they are all idiots. Unlikely.

  I take my seat in the front and feel their eyes bore into the back of my head. Despite my anger and self-righteous attitude, my cheeks blush with embarrassment.

  “Everybody focus,” Mr. Rush says. “We are still talking about Pride and Prejudice. Now, we left off talking about Mr. Darcy’s character. What type of character is he? Round? Flat? What drives him? What concerns him? What makes him tick? Would anyone like to share?”

  I have many thoughts on the subject. I was able to read the book twice while on bed rest. I even read its counterpart, Mr. Darcy’s Diary twice. However, I don’t want to speak in class. Anything I say could be used against me. Anything I say could set off any one of my classmates. Anything I say could make Greyson think a myriad of things about me. I don’t have the energy for that today.

  “Anyone?” Mr. Rush asks.

  I can feel his eyes on me. He knows I have an opinion. He wants to hear it. But I bite my tongue and wait for someone else to speak.

  Jenn, a romantic if I ever saw one, says, “He is wonderful. He knows what he wants and he goes after it. His love for Elizabeth conquers anything that may stand in their way. He is extremely protective of the ones he loves. He is perfect.”

  “Are you kidding me?” says a guy named Tad that I have never talked to. “The guy is a misogamist. He only cares about what he wants. He dismisses the whole Bennet family merely because they are poor and a bit eccentric.”

  “But he makes up for it,” another girl I have never talked to says.

  “He’s a total dick,” Greyson says. I think it’s the first time he has ever spoken in class. Unless in my week of absence he became suddenly invested in English. Not likely. “He thinks he and Bingley are so much better than the Bennets and that they should get as far away from them as possible. He doesn’t want his best friend to marry someone beneath them even if Bingley loves her, but yet he can fall in love with someone beneath him? He is two faced. He is self-centered. He’s a total dick.”