Dear 2 Scared,
You definitely sound freaked. But I wonder why you feel so scared about being pregnant My guess is that ifs inconvenient and embarrassing. But stuff like that happens to lots of people, and you just have to face up to it and get over the initial shock. First of all, I suggest you talk to someone-anyone-about what's going on. You need a friend to lean on right now. As far as abortion goes… 1 personally think that extinguishing an innocent human life just to make yourself “feel better” is wrong. Is it safe? According to my research, like any other invasive medical procedure, it has risks involved-but the greatest risks are to the unborn baby. And oh yeah, I've heard that lots of women suffer from guilt and can require counseling for years afterward. My advice to you is to talk to someone-a parent, pastor, counselor, friend. Now!
Just Jamie
My hands are actually shaking as I type my response. I feel almost certain this letter is from Natalie. I mean, she's been so different lately. She's moody and depressed, and it's hard to believe it's all because of Ben's breakup. I know it's crazy, but it seems highly possible that she could've written this letter. Or even if this is a coincidence, she could be in a position like this.
Although I can't believe that Nat would actually consider abortion. She's always been totally opposed to it. She's even gone to protest demonstrations, the kind where they carry posters of photographs of unborn babies.
But when I reread the line where the writer says she might even kill herself, I feel more freaked than ever. What if this is Natalie? And suddenly Friday seems so far away, and I wonder if there's something I can do sooner. So I walk down the street to her house, knock on the door, and after what seems like ten minutes, Krissy answers.
“Hi Kim,” she says. She has smears of chocolate all over her face.
“Is Nat here?”
Krissy nods. “But she doesn't want to be bugged. I think she's taking a nap.”
“I won't bug her,” I promise. Then I go upstairs, tiptoe to her room, and open the door. And Krissy is right; Nat is peacefully sleeping. Well, I suppose that's not such a bad thing—maybe I'm overreacting. Although I think I've heard that women get sleepy when they're pregnant. But maybe I'm just blowing this all out of proportion.
“Tell her I stopped by,” I say to Krissy as I'm about to leave. Then I look around the messy house—TV blaring, clothes and papers and stuff everywhere. “Are you guys okay?”
Krissy just shrugs.
“Where's Micah?”
She shrugs again. “I think he's at baseball.”
“Oh.” Then without saying anything, I start picking up the clutter, the old newspapers and junk mail, food dishes, dirty socks. And Krissy, without saying anything, actually follows my lead.
We end up in the kitchen, which is really a mess, and Krissy tries to help, but mostly she just sits on a stool and watches me as I load and turn on the dishwasher, then start scrubbing the sticky countertops.
“Why are you cleaning our house?” she finally asks.
I look up at her. “I don't know…I just wanted to help.”
“Are you sad about your mom, Km?”
I rinse the dishrag in warm water, then turn and use it on her chocolate-smeared face, and she only resists a little. “Yeah. I'm sad about my mom.”
She nods with wide eyes. “I would be really sad if my mom died.”
“Don't worry, that's probably not going to happen until you're an old, old lady with gray hair and false teeth.”
She smiles. “What's wrong with Natalie?”
I rinse the cloth again. “I don't know. Maybe she's sad too.”
“About your mom?”
“I don't know…”
I finish up, then make Krissy promise not to tell anyone that I did this.
“But Mommy will think I did it.”
I laugh. “Well, don't lie to her, but don't forget, you did help out some.”
She hops off the stool. “And I could go clean my room too.”
I give her a little hug. “That's a great idea.”
Okay, I know my little good deed hasn't solved any of Nat's problems, but I do feel a tiny bit better as I head for my house. Still, I will be so glad when Friday comes, and we can get this thing cleared up.
I probably overreacted to that letter. Of course, I must be totally wrong. That stationery is just a silly fluke. Nat is not pregnant; she's just brokenhearted and depressed over Ben.
And now I can even imagine telling her about that letter (once its in the paper) and how I got so freaked that it might be hers. Then she'll reassure me that it most definitely is not hers, and maybe we'll even have a good laugh over it. And that will be the perfect opportunity for me to remind her that life really could be worse. “Look, Nat, at least you're not pregnant!”
Nine
Friday, May 31
I've almost forgotten about the letter in my column as I grab a glass of orange juice and get ready to head out the door. Its the last day of school and all I can think is—summer, here I come. And man, do I need a break. I can almost imagine doing nothing but vegging for a week or two. And anyone who knows me would know that's a little out of character.
Then I notice today's newspaper by the door, and I pause to flip it open to the page where “Just Ask Jamie” appears. The letter is the second one down, and I skim over it, thinking that it doesn't even sound like Nat to me now. Not that I really know what Nat sounds like anymore, since we hardly ever talk. But as I set the paper aside, I'm telling myself that I imagined the whole thing. Nat definitely did not write that letter. I'm also telling myself that with summer vacation here, I'll have more time and energy to spend with Natalie, and maybe I can get her to go to counseling, maybe even at my church. I think things will be changing for that girl soon.
As I go outside, I see her heading for their old Toyota pickup. Her head is down, and she looks like she's got the planet riding on her shoulders. “Want a ride?” I yell down the street.
She glances my way with what appears to be a blank expression, like she doesn't even recognize me, which is ridiculous. So I walk over there. “Want a ride?” I say again, smiling. “We can celebrate the last day of school.”
She still looks pretty blank. “Yeah, okay, I guess. she mutters as she puts her keys back in her purse.
As we're riding to school, I attempt to make small talk about the warm weather and how great it is that summer vacation is finally here, how much I'm looking forward to just kicking back. Regular stuff. Stuff to fill up the empty airwaves that surround us. But as usual, she's not responding, not participating, not really there even. Finally, I'm parking my Jeep in the school parking lot, and I turn to her in desperation. “Natalie, this is really starting to bug me.”
She gives me that blank look again. “What?”
“You. The way you're acting.” Then I remember the column. “In fact, I was reading that “Just Ask Jamie” column this morning, and there was this letter that I almost thought—” I stopped to laugh and brush it off. “Never mind,” I say quickly, knowing I am going too far.
“What?”
“It was nothing…”
“No, Kim, what was it?” Her voice sounds a little anxious, like I'm actually getting a reaction from her.
“Oh, there was this letter in there. Some girl was afraid she was pregnant and was thinking about getting an abortion, and I…” I stopped talking to study her expression now. But I was surprised to see that old proverbial deer-caught-in-the-headlights look, like she knew exactly what I was talking about.
“It wasn't from you, was it?” I manage to ask.
She takes in a breath as her hand flies up to her mouth.
“Natalie?” My voice actually cracks. “Did you write that letter? Are you…” I try to pull my words together. “Nat, are you pregnant?”
And now she bursts into tears. I don't know what to say, how to act. But I think I have my answer. And it makes me feel sick inside.
We both just sit there in si
lence, well, other than the sound of her quiet sobbing. But I really don't know what to do or what to say Admittedly, I am stunned. Totally stunned. And yet a small part of me feels a sense of satisfaction to have finally reached the truth, like a detective who's finally found the missing clue. But another part, a much larger part, is very frustrated and, I hate to admit, angry. Fm thinking, why did she do this?
“It's going to be okay,” I finally manage to say. “You'll get through this, Nat.”
She looks up at me with reddened eyes. “How can you even say that?”
“You will. You're a strong person.”
“I am not.”
“Okay, fine, you're not. But God is strong. And if you let Him, He'll make you strong too.” I glance at my watch. “And even though this is the last day and Fm sure no one much cares, I don't want to be late for class.”
“I don't know if I can go to school now,” she says in a small voice.
“Whatever,” I toss back at her. I cannot deal with this.
“Kim?” she calls out the open window as I start to walk away from the Jeep.
“What?” I turn and look at her, exasperation written, Fm sure, all over my face.
“I need to talk.”
And then it hits me. I told her, rather Jamie told her, to talk to someone—anyone. And now Fm just walking away? Fm supposed to be her best friend, and Fm just walking away and leaving her with all this crud heaped on her. What kind of person am I?
“Okay.” I go back to the Jeep and stand by the passenger side and try to think of what I should do. “Just let me go inside and let the office know…so I'll be excused, you know?”
Nat looks at me like I'm crazy, and okay maybe I am a little obsessive, but I like keeping a good attendance record at school. Of course, the receptionist doesn't seem the least bit concerned when I ask to be excused. As I fill out the form, I tell her its a personal matter, and she says, “Fine, have a good summer, Kim.” Like no big deal. So I just leave. That's it. School's out for summer.
We drive around for a while, but we're both being quiet, and finally I think, why not save my gas and just go home since neither of our parents are around anyway? We end up at my house, sitting in my living room but still saying nothing. Somehow I know it's up to me to get her to talk, but I have no idea how to handle this. Suddenly I'm thinking, where is Jamie when I need her?
“Are you certain you're pregnant?” I finally ask. Okay, I guess I'm hoping she might just be imagining the whole thing. Maybe her big guilt trip has made her psychotic enough to believe that God has smitten her by allowing her to be pregnant when she really isn't. Who knows?
“I haven't done a test.”
Okay, there's a small ray of hope. “Then it's possible you might not be pregnant, like maybe you just think you are.”
“I missed my period in April and May.”
“But you've always been irregular, Nat. And you've been under a lot of stress lately. I've heard that stress can mess with your cycle. Like women who are serving in the armed forces in the battlefield, sometimes they just stop having periods altogether.”
“Really?” she looks hopeful now. “Do you think…?”
“I think you need to do a test.”
She sighs.
“Do you have one?”
“A home pregnancy test kit?”
“Yeah,” I say it like “duh.”
She shakes her head. “No, I cannot imagine going into a store and buying one, Kim. That's like saying I've done it for the whole world to see—I'd be so embarrassed.”
“Look, Nat, if you are pregnant, the whole world is going to see anyway…eventually.”
She doesn't respond.
“Lets go get one.”
“A pregnancy test?”
“Yes, Nat. A pregnancy test. Come on, get up.” I have to grab her hand and pull her from the couch. “You need to know for sure. I mean, what if you're not pregnant? What if you're putting yourself through all this worry and stress for nothing?” Fortunately, I have enough wits about me not to mention she's putting both of us through this worry and stress.
The Jeep is very quiet as I drive to the nearest Walgreens.
“I can't do this,” she says as I park and turn off the engine.
“Can't do what?”
“I can't go in there and buy that thing, Kim. People will look at me. What if someone I know is in there?”
Well, this just makes me want to scream. “Fine,” I practically shout. “I'll go get it.” Then I slam the door and march inside.
Okay, once I'm in the section where the birth control goodies and whatnot are kept, I do start to feel uncomfortably conspicuous. I mean what if someone sees me here, sees me with an EPT kit in hand and a slightly guilty expression on my face? What would they think? What if I ran into a friend or co-worker of Dad's? What if it was Charlie Snow, owner of the paper and the only other person who knows that I write the teen advice column? What a great role model!
But I shove these thoughts aside as I pick up a box and walk to the back counter, the area where you pick up prescriptions, since it seems less busy and less visible back here. I put the kit, facedown, in front of the register and wait.
After what seems like more than five minutes, a man in a white pharmacist's jacket appears. “Can I help you?”
I point to the box. “Just that, please.”
His brows lift, ever so slightly, but he turns it over and rings it up, and I'm somewhat surprised at how much the kit costs. I dig in my purse for the bills, avoiding his eyes as I do this, wishing that he would hurry and put that stupid box in a bag so I can get out of here ASAP. I push the cash toward him and wait as he counts it out, the box still sitting upright and visible—for the whole world, or at least the woman standing directly behind me, to see.
“You have to be very careful with this kind of home test,” he says as he puts the bills into the register and removes my change. “Follow the directions precisely, or it might not give you accurate results.”
“Its not for me,” I say quickly, realizing he's probably heard this line before.
He finally counts out my change and slips the box into a white bag, concealing the personal nature of my purchase. Even so, as I walk through the store it feels like the bag is see-through, and I imagine that everyone knows, just by the shape and size, what s in that bag. And I feel totally humiliated.
Is this what Jesus meant when he said to “lay down your life for your friends”? Then it occurs to me that we could've ordered this item online and saved all this discomfort and embarrassment. But on second thought, that probably would Ve taken a few days to get here. And for some reason, time seems important right now.
“Here.” I shove the package at Natalie. “You can thank me later.”
She says nothing as I drive toward home. I am trying not to be mad as I consider how I could be at school right now, enjoying the last-day perks that they bring out as rewards for the kids who actually show up. They usually have goofy games and junk food, and its more like a party than school. Instead, I feel like I'm being tortured. Why is life so hard? I decide to pray as I drive, asking God to make me a better person, a more understanding friend, and a less selfish human being. I hope He's up to the task.
Finally, were back at my house. “You know where the bathroom is,” I say Then thinking I don't want her to botch this expensive, not to mention embarrassing-to-obtain, test, I add, “But lets read the instructions first.” I do this aloud, but they seem pretty straightforward. “Got that?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She takes the box from me and heads for my bathroom.
“Good luck,” I call after her. Like what does that mean?
She comes out a few minutes later, but it does not look like good news.
“What?” I say with impatience. “Did the test work okay?”
“Apparently”
“What then? What are the results?”
“I'm pregnant.” She flops back down on the couch and leans he
r head back.
“Really?”
“I knew it.”
“You're really pregnant? You're certain?”
She nods without speaking. And I can see two trails of tears coming down her cheeks.
“It's going to be okay, Nat.” I go over and sit next to her, putting a hand on her shoulder.
She just shakes her head. “No, Km, its not.”
“I know it looks impossible right now, but God can help you through this. You have to let Him help you.”
But no matter what I say, Natalie refuses to be encouraged. To her, this is the end of her life.
“What am I going to do?” she finally asks me, as if I should have all the answers.
“You're going to survive this, Nat. But you'll have to lean on God again. I'm certain that you will never make it on your own.” Then it hits me. This isn't just Nat's problem. Ben, I assume it's Ben, has some responsibility here too. “And you'll have to tell Ben,” I finally say.
“How do people do this?” she mutters. “How do you just walk up to someone, someone you once thought loved you, but now you know doesn't… How do you walk up to him and say, ‘Hey Ben, you're going to be a daddy?'”
I shake my head. “I don't know. And come to think of it, maybe you shouldn't say anything just yet. I mean, until after Caitlin's wedding tomorrow.”
Natalie almost laughs now. “That's right. Caitlin's wedding. Can you believe it? I was actually invited. Maybe I should go to the wedding and tell everyone that Caitlin's going to be an auntie. How do you think that would go over?”
“That would be cruel.”
“I know. I'm not really going to do it.” She starts crying again.
Now I put my arms around her. “Look, Nat, I know you're hurting. And I know it's going to be hard. But I'm here for you, okay? And even more than that, God is here for you too. You've got to start leaning on Him again. He's just waiting for you to come and tell Him how much you need Him, that you're sorry…you know this stuff.”
She pulls away. “I might know that stuff in my head, but I'm not ready to go there yet, Kim. Right now, I'm just very, very confused.”
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