by Julia Mayer
“Mom, I’m pregnant.” That was all she had to say, and then she’d come back. I would’ve done it; I just couldn’t bear to see the look of angry disappointment that I knew was coming.
I was angry. I was angry at everyone and at no one. I was angry at the whole world for getting me into this mess. It wasn’t just Samara or Jamie; I was just angry. The only thing I can remember thinking about as I sat waiting for Samara to come back was my anger and what anger must look like when it pulses through you. I looked at my arms and wondered where the anger was, where it stopped and where it started.
I hated anger, but I didn’t know what else to feel so I let it consume me as I waited and waited and waited. I watched my eyes, Samara’s eyes, in the mirror, wondering where the anger was in my head at that moment.
When she finally came back, the anger was unbearable. “Took you long enough,” I snapped.
“Sorry,” she said looking down. “I told your mom. And Jamie. Your mom said she wasn’t surprised. Why wasn’t she surprised?”
“That afternoon, Jamie snuck out the window, right?”
“Yeah…” she said.
“Well, she heard him. She told me so. It’s the only way I figured out I was supposed to have had sex with Jamie.”
“Oh.” Samara paused for a moment. “I just…I’m so sorry, Dee.
“Yeah, well, you should be.”
“I just…there’s something I want to say.” I looked at her and waited for her to continue. “If you decide to, umm, to have it taken care of…if you decide to get an abortion, I’ll switch back with you again. I mean, I’ll do it. You shouldn’t have to. I wish there was more I could do for you.”
I stared at her. I hadn’t even really thought about that. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. “What did Jamie say? It’s not just mine or yours, or whatever. It’s his too.”
“He said he’d support whatever decision you make.”
“That doesn’t sound like him. He usually has his own opinions. It’s one of the things I love about him,” I said.
She shrugged and shook her head. “Talk to him about it, I guess. I don’t know. He was kind of in shock after I told him, but he seemed like he’d do whatever you want. Oh, and your mom, she wants to meet Jamie’s parents and talk to them about it.”
“What? Why? Did you say that was okay?”
“I didn’t…” Her eyes got big. “I didn’t realize that was bad. I mean, remember, we need adults involved? Remember telling my dad? If you think being pregnant is entirely just…it’s no smaller than my cutting was.”
“There was someone who knows better involved. My mom.”
“She was the one who said she wanted to talk to them. I didn’t suggest it, Dee. Why are you freaking out?”
Why was I freaking out? Because I didn’t know what Jamie was thinking? Because I didn’t know what his parents would say about me? Would think about me? Because I hardly knew who I was anymore and felt unable to make a good impression on someone else?
“All you were supposed to do was tell my mom. You weren’t supposed to make other plans for me.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
We sat silently and stared at each other. Finally I broke the silence. “Let’s just switch back.”
“Fine,” she said. And we stepped into the mirror at the same time and switched back. When we turned around to look at each other, I realized that this might be the last time we would see each other.
“Samara, wait.”
She looked at me, and I could see that her eyes were watery. It took a moment for me to put my hand up to my face and realize that my face was tear-streaked too. What did I want to say? What could I say? The anger had dissipated. Now it was just me and her. Standing and staring at each other.
“Thank you. For everything. Everything is all messed up,” I said. “This isn’t what I wanted when I started looking for you. I don’t think…I don’t know if we’re going to see each other again.”
She nodded. “You gave me so much, Dee. I’m sorry for everything.”
At a loss for words, I simply raised my right hand and waved to her. At the exact same moment, Samara raised her left hand and waved back. And with watery smiles to each other, we turned and walked away from our mirrors.
***
I walked out into the living room and saw my mom was asleep. I thought about waking her up, but I decided that it would be easier if she woke up without me and had some time to decompress. I went back into my room and left the door a tiny bit open, waiting for my mom to come in. Wondering what I would say to her when she did.
Finally I heard a tentative knock on the door. My mom came in without waiting for a response.
“Come into the kitchen, please. Dr. Bentley has a few abortion doctors he recommends. I’ll ask him, and we’ll talk to Dr. Mensin and try to get this done as soon as possible.”
“Abortion?”
“What else are you planning to do? You’re not in a position to raise a baby. You have no income. The father is an irresponsible—”
“He is not! He’s a great guy!” I felt my anger flare up again. Why was I feeling this way?
“He’s a child. You’re a child. What are you thinking? You used to be so logical. What happened, Lorna?”
“I can do this. And Jamie will help. I know him. I know he will. What right do you have to say I can’t? To decide for me that I have to have an abortion? Maybe I want to keep the baby.”
I wasn’t sure why I was so angry. Not having the baby really did seem like the best thing to do. But everyone always thought of me as being so young and so incapable. It just didn’t seem fair that my mother had decided this without me. It wasn’t a question; it was an order. I watched her eyes roll back in her head, and she stared around the kitchen before finally looking back at me.
“Have you thought about this at all?” she asked me. “Have you thought about it even a little? How are you planning on taking care of a baby? You are apparently not even capable of taking care of yourself.”
“What?”
“You’re pregnant, Lorna.”
“I didn’t do this to you, Mom. Of course, I’ve thought about it.” Actually, I hadn’t thought about it. “I’ll get a job, and Jamie will get a job. And we can…we can work it out.”
“Does Jamie even know about this grand plan of yours? Does he know you want to have a baby with him? Does he know what that means?”
“We might not have worked out all the details yet…” I trailed off at the end.
She crossed her arms and leaned back and closed her eyes. “Sweetheart, let’s stop and think about this. Let’s both try to calm down. What did Jamie say when you told him?”
“He was, umm…” Samara hadn’t told me. “He was surprised. I’m giving him some time to digest. It’s his baby too, you know.”
“I do know. I think I understand that slightly better than you.”
“No, Mom, you don’t.” I felt my hand jump to my stomach, feeling for the thing we, the thing Samara and Jamie, had created out of nothingness.
“Did you remember to tell him I want to talk to his parents? They should be involved in this. It’s their…grandchild too. Wow. Grandchild. You’re making me a grandmother.”
“I’ll make sure he understands that.” I paused and she watched me. “I’m tired, Mom. Can I go lie down?”
“Fine. Go. But if you think you’re tired now, just wait until you have a baby.”
I walked out of the kitchen without looking back at her.
I lay in bed wondering what I was going to do. Why had I gotten so angry with my mom? She was right, wasn’t she? She was always right…but I put my arms around my stomach. I wanted this baby. My baby. Jamie’s baby. I thought about how much my mom loved me, and I wanted something to love that way. She was mad at me, and she still loved
me. I knew that a baby wasn’t a good way to keep a couple together—my parents were proof of that—but I still wondered. I put that idea out of my head.
I wanted to talk to Samara. What had she told him? What had she told my mom? A part of me wanted her advice too. What should I do? I walked over to my closet mirror and saw that Samara was still there. She was sleeping, but I could still get in. I stepped from my bedroom into Samara’s and looked at her. She looked so peaceful. I wondered how she could be so peaceful when so much was going on. I took a step back. I didn’t want to wake her up because she was done with me. I could tell.
I looked around her room for the last time, and something caught my eye. There was a letter on her desk. I walked over to look at it. “Mom,” it read on the front. I don’t know why, but I picked it up and looked at it. I put it in my pocket before walking over to Samara’s bed, kissing her forehead, and disappearing back into my own room.
“Dear Mom…” Even knowing how much worse my own situation was, when I finished reading the letter, I still wanted to take Samara in my arms and hold her and rock her and tell her everything would be okay. Just the same way my mother used to do when I had nightmares. But this wasn’t Samara’s nightmare; this was Samara’s life.
My life…it was my life that was ruined. I wished I could bring her mother back, but I couldn’t. Between the two moms, they could have figured everything out. What had happened to us? What was happening to our lives? How had we gotten here?
How had everything gotten so out of hand? I’d thought I had a plan. I’d just wanted a friend to talk to. And now…I’m a pregnant teenager. And Samara just got out of rehab.
I wondered, only for a moment, if I was Samara’s angel. And my mother was her mother as an angel. I wanted it to be true because I wanted to tell Samara that her mother still cared about her, that she was still watching. But I didn’t want to tell her that I had read her personal letter to her mom. I don’t even know what made me do it. I didn’t go through other people’s personal things. That wasn’t me.
As I read and reread the letter, getting choked up by the end every time, I realized that the real problem was that Samara had never had the chance to say good-bye to her mother. That was what she really needed to do. And that was what she so desperately wanted to do.
chapter 15
Broken Down
Samara
Before long, Tanya and I were spending weekends together. She would come over on Friday afternoons, and we’d watch movies. Tanya was a huge Audrey Hepburn fan, so we watched a lot of the classics.
Tanya was finishing up senior year, so she didn’t have much to do besides show up to school once in a while. I probably should have been working harder. My teachers kept reminding us that junior year is extremely important for getting into college. But since this had all started, I just hadn’t been able to focus on my schoolwork.
One weekend, Tanya went into the guest room and announced, “It’s boring in here.”
“What?”
“Well, I’ve been sleeping in this room two or three nights a week for the last three weeks, and I think it’s boring in here. It needs decoration. Doesn’t look like me at all.”
“Maybe that’s because it’s not yours!” I said, laughing. “This is my dad’s house. We can’t just redecorate his guest room.”
She raised her eyebrows at me. “Would he even notice? I mean, does your dad even live here anymore? I’ve met him twice now, and I’ve slept here, again, how many nights?”
I sighed. “He says he travels so he can save for me to go to a good college. Not like your parents are much better. Do they even know you’re not coming home this weekend?”
“My dad does. He’ll tell my mom,” she said, pausing for a moment to walk over to the wall and run her hands along it. “We could repaint.”
“No, we can’t.” I laughed again.
“Fine. Then let’s do your room.”’
I shook my head. “I like my room. Although…”
“Although?” she perked up.
“I was thinking about…” How could I phrase this without arousing suspicion? “Changing the closet around a little bit.”
“The closet? That’s all you’ll give me?” she asked. “You can just close the door on everything I do.”
“Well, we can cover the whole door, inside and out. You know, over the mirror and the whole rest of the door.”
“Cover up your mirror? But you’re so pretty.” She stuck her lower lip out. “You don’t want to see yourself anymore?”
“I would rather see your fancy decorations.”
“Okay. I’ll do it,” she said.
“Awesome. Okay. Bedtime. But let’s do my room tomorrow.”
“Fine. Good night,” she said, pulling her pajamas out of the top drawer. “My toothbrush is the…”
“Orange one,” I said, knowing that she already knew.
I woke up the next morning and went out to buy muffins. When I walked back in, Tanya was making coffee. “Honey, I’m hooome,” I called.
She turned around. “Massive headache. What were we drinking last night?”
“I was drinking Coke. What were you drinking?” I said, watching her sip at her coffee.
“Whatever was in the flask I swiped from my dad,” she said.
I took the muffins out of the bag and grabbed a plate from the cabinet, pushing the pizza box from the night before behind the trash can. “So, have you thought about what we can do with the closet door in my room?” I asked, attempting nonchalance.
“Yes, I have!” she said. “I think we should do a collage of posters. Audrey Hepburn, of course, and then Marilyn Monroe. Did you know she was like a size 12 or something? Come on,” she said, grabbing the coffeepot and the plate of muffins, “let’s go eat outside.”
I guess Tanya had enough quirks that my wanting to cover up my mirror didn’t really bother her. I pulled my coat on and followed her out onto the porch. It was still cold, even if it was warm for February.
We spent most of that Saturday wandering around trying to find enough posters to cover up my mirror. When we had enough, Tanya taped them all together and then taped them above the mirror as a sort of curtain on that side. She painted a small mural on the other side, a neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses all in a row. Like Dee’s neighborhood. But not like her house. Not like Dee herself.
***
By the time my dad got back from his trip, I had covered all of the mirrors in the house except the one in his bedroom. For some reason, I guess I didn’t think my dad would notice. He didn’t notice much else lately. I was rinsing makeup off when he walked past the bathroom Monday night and popped his head in.
“Samara, what’s going on here?” he asked, tugging at the light blue curtain I had put over the bathroom mirror.
“Hmm? Oh. I covered the mirrors,” I said, trying to sound light and cheerful and to walk away before he figured out how to respond.
“Why?” It was a logical question. But I couldn’t come up with an answer fast enough.
“It doesn’t matter to you. You’re never here anyway. I left the one in your room. You can look in the mirror there.”
“Well, I appreciate that, but why are the rest of the mirrors covered?”
“My support group,” I blurted out before I was sure where the explanation was going. “They told me to focus on my inner self by not seeing my outer self.” My support group—Tanya—had helped me. And that was what they’d said in rehab. So it was kind of true.
His hand dropped and he said, “Oh. I guess that’s a good idea then.”
***
I tried to focus on my schoolwork. A new semester was starting and I settled back into the mundane pretty well, but I had trouble keeping Dee and Jamie out of my mind. A few weekends later, I tried to explain my situation to Tanya without really telling her any
thing.
We were sitting in my living room, and she was painting my toenails bright green. She says that one of the awesome things about winter is that since you always have to wear shoes, you can paint your toenails any color you want. I almost hadn’t let her. I was actually that embarrassed by how long it was since I’d shaved my legs. But it was winter, and, well, I had run out of razors a long time ago.
I had taken down the mirror hanging over the fireplace instead of covering it since that one seemed too conspicuous to cover. It was behind the piano facing backward. I looked over and saw it and felt a small shudder between my shoulders.
“There’s something I wanted to tell you. I’ve been having kind of a hard time lately,” I began.
“I’ve noticed,” Tanya replied. “And lately? It’s been what, three or four months now? And you’ve looked horrible since we covered your mirror. I mean, come on, have you even seen yourself? I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up because I felt bad, but what happened in the last few months?”
Four months, I thought. Four months since I had seen Dee. Since I had seen Jamie. Heard about the baby that they would be having together. Without me. But instead of saying all that, I said, “Yeah. See, I have this friend, and I got her into some trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.”
“Some trouble with a guy and her mother. Life trouble. Then I tried to fix it, but she seems like she doesn’t even want my help anymore. I haven’t seen her in months. And I can’t talk to her now because she wouldn’t listen even if I tried.”
“So you just gave up on her? You just gave up on your friend? Were you two close?” she asked.
“Yeah, we were, but I don’t know, things just went downhill.”
“If things got tough with us, would you just give up on me?”
“No, of course not. It’s totally different with you and me.” I looked down at my toenails. “Wanna do the same color on my hands?”