Misunderstandings

by Tiffany King

Page 16

 

  “Weeks,” she emphasized. “You’ve been complaining about feeling puny since the last week of January. Valentine’s Day is on Monday. I know my math skills are shaky, but I can read a calendar, and that means you’ve felt bad for more than two weeks. Maybe you’re anemic,” she pointed out.

  “Maybe,” I answered, grabbing my purse.

  “You should visit the clinic,” she said as I headed for the door.

  “Maybe,” I said, flashing a fake smile as I closed the door behind me.

  The smile faded before the door had closed completely behind me. Two weeks? Could she be right? Two weeks of sickness and five and a half weeks since my last period. For a week and a half I had been trying in vain to ignore the fact that for the first time in my life I was late. It couldn’t be possible. I was a Period Clock. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew something was wrong. I pushed it to the far recesses of my brain and buried it beneath mundane school-related junk, but suddenly the truth hit me like a brick wall, making me gasp for air. I detoured from my usual route to the daycare and sank down on one of the benches along the way. A lack of air made my vision blur and my stomach turn. Leaning forward, I placed my head between my knees. My world was falling apart at the seams.

  After a few minutes of trying to calm my breathing, I was finally able to lift my head. The analytical part of my brain told me I needed to get up and go to work. That I needed to restore my life to some semblance of normalcy until it was ready to digest the news I had been avoiding. At the moment, I could not deal with the fact that my body no longer belonged to me alone.

  Staggering to my feet, I gripped the back of the bench until the last of the light-headedness completely faded. I began the short hike to work, knowing that once I made it there I would be too busy to think about anything else. With each step I took, the band of despair that was encircling my chest loosened slightly so I was able to breathe a little bit easier.

  Breathe, step, breathe, step, breathe.

  Seemingly meaningless words when taken out of the context of this moment, but for now they served their purpose as they rolled through my head.

  Breathe.

  Step.

  Breathe.

  Step.

  Breathe.

  I plastered a smile on my face as I greeted the kind elderly receptionist who sat at the entrance of the daycare. Fellow teachers called out their own greetings as I made my way to the lounge and the locker where I stored my belongings. I returned their greetings, keeping the same brittle smile firmly in place. If they saw through my façade, they refrained from commenting.

  Once I hit the classroom where I co-taught four-year-olds, my smile became a little less brittle and almost appeared normal if you didn’t know any better. The letter Q and number twenty became my best friends for the day as I worked one-on-one with each student. The monotony of the assignment allowed me to shut down the bothersome side of my brain. “Draw a circle and add a tail,” I instructed one student after another. I learned to love those words. After all sixteen of the students made their attempt at a capital Q, I moved to watching them count out twenty Goldfish crackers. Once their counting challenge was accomplished, I would hand them a cup so they could munch on their reward. The morning passed quickly and before I knew it, I was folding mats and stowing blankets and pillows in cubbies after naptime. Every task was completed with my mind occupied only on what I was doing. For a moment, a second, a minute, I convinced myself nothing was wrong.

  Leaving the distractions of work behind allowed the dormant thoughts to once again rear their ugly heads. In order to make it back to the dorm, I focused again on what I could control.

  Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step.

  “Holy shit, Brittni. You still look terrible,” Melissa stated as I staggered into our room.

  I ignored her observation. What did it matter if I looked like hell or felt like hell? Did any of that matter when I was living in hell? Collapsing on my bed, I kicked off my boots and dragged my comforter over my head with one goal: to block out the world. I could hear Melissa asking if I was still sick. I gave her a grunt of confirmation, wanting to be left alone. She went into motherly mode again, giving me advice on what I needed to do. Ready for her to hush, I agreed to go to the campus clinic the next day even though I had no intention of doing it. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me I was pregnant. Peeing on a stick would make it official. I wasn’t ready to make it official.

  During the next few days, I forced myself to pretend everything was okay so Melissa would get off my back. I canceled two dates with Justin, claiming I wanted to catch up on schoolwork. My days took on a surreal feeling as I went through the motions of being a normal person. It began to feel like I was acting in a play that only paused to take an intermission when I was finally able to succumb to sleep. Through it all, I continued to hope I would get my period, putting my fears to rest. Each night I went to bed bitterly disappointed.

  25.

  Present Day

  3:55 PM

  Turning away from Justin, I sank down to the elevator floor, exhausted that we were back where we had started. I brushed away the tears from my eyes. It’s not like they could rewind time or change the past, and they certainly couldn’t undo the harsh words.

  “You should have told me,” Justin accused.

  “It was my body,” I countered.

  “That’s bullshit. It was my baby too. ”

  I cringed at the word. Baby. I never allowed myself to think of it that way. It was the only way to ease the pain. Hearing him say it now was like a sword being rammed through my chest.

  We were entering territory I had not forged into. Not with Melissa when she begged me to tell Justin everything. Not with Justin, who refused to hear my side when I needed support. And definitely not with my mom, who could never have handled the truth. Only one person knew all the sordid details. Tressa had met me at the airport more than two years ago and, with one look at me, detoured to the airport bar, where she ordered us several drinks in a row. Somehow we avoided being carded. Maybe the bartender, who was also a woman, could sense the grief I was experiencing. Maybe it would have been obvious to anyone. Either way, I was grateful. With the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream, my tongue loosened and my tears fell hot and fast as I poured my heart out to my best friend. She listened as I explained how Justin had ripped my guts out in front of everyone. How he’d refused to listen. At times Tressa’s face twisted with anger, but through it all she held my hand, giving me what I needed, someone to hear my side. As the last words left my mouth, I vowed to never utter them again. The pain was too unbearable. Tressa offered the support I needed with no judgment. She was loyal to the core, even offering to fly to Seattle to make Justin suffer.

  Now, two years later, Justin and I were stuck together in this elevator, like two dogs forced to fight each other in some illegal backyard brawl. I couldn’t fault him for his anger any more than I could fault myself for the choices I had made. I could have pushed harder two years ago, forcing him to hear me. Even through all his resistance, I could have provided evidence that would have explained everything. At the time, I’d been so hurt by how quickly he had turned on me that I couldn’t find the will to do any more than walk away with the small amount of dignity I had left. Maybe if things hadn’t gotten so screwed up, so ugly, they could have been different. We would never know that outcome, though.

  26.

  February 2011

  “Is there something wrong with your chicken?” Justin asked, looking at the mangled uneaten mess on my plate.

  “No. I’m just not hungry,” I said shortly. I was afraid if I said more, the secret I was holding would leak from my mouth, and I wasn’t ready to tell him. I was still trying to come to grips with the situation myself. A situation that had been confirmed in the bathroom just a few hours before Justin picked me up. The pee stick delivered the news in seconds. For wha
tever reason, I thought it would take longer. Instead, I glared at the offending stick, which had instantly stolen any last bit of denial I had left.

  “Are you done? I really have to pee,” Stephanie, from the room we shared the communal bathroom with, called through the door.

  “Yeah, give me a sec,” I answered, washing my hands after hastily wrapping the test stick in toilet paper. Before exiting the bathroom, I unlocked the door adjacent to Stephanie’s room so she could get in. I was already exiting the door to my room when she called out a greeting. I pretended I didn’t hear her, not sure I could stomach a conversation centering on who was hooking up with who. I liked Stephanie a lot, and most days her idle chitchat was entertaining. She had a way of spinning every story into a mock standup comedy act. It was all in good fun and everyone found it worth bragging about when she decided to add you into her act. At the moment, though, laughing was not on my agenda.

  “I can order you something else,” Justin asked, sounding aggravated.

  “No. I’m really not that hungry,” I answered. I wasn’t surprised he was losing patience with me. My end of our conversations over the past week had been reduced to one-word answers. I told myself I was waiting to tell him the truth until I knew for sure. Now that the life-changing stick had verified the news, I couldn’t find the courage to speak up. He was obviously confused over my sudden standoffishness and broken dates, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to fix it.

  “You haven’t been in the mood to talk either. What’s with you lately?” he probed.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, you’ve been pretty self-involved for days now. Is this your way of telling me you want out of this relationship? Because if that’s the case, all you have to do is say the word,” he said, expressionless.

  “Are you serious?” I stewed. “Are you trying to break up with me?”

  “Is that what you want?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “Is it what you want?” I asked, throwing his words back at him. The nausea that plagued my body swirled inside me until it lodged in my throat.

  “Hey, I’m not here to force you to stay in a relationship if you’ve lost interest. Last week you broke all our dates, claiming to be sick or busy. This week, every time we’re together, you’ve got a vacant look on your face. Obviously, I’m boring you. If that’s the case, there are plenty of other chicks I can hook up with. ”

  His words made me feel like I was being dragged under water with no way to return to the surface. How had we gotten to this point so quickly? I had been moody and a little vacant recently, I got that. Was that really all it took for him to throw in the towel? How could he handle the responsibility of a pregnancy when he couldn’t handle a week of not being the center of attention?

  “Hook up? Did you really just say that to me?” I asked. I didn’t care that my voice carried across the restaurant. He had pushed the wrong button and was being unfair. I was trying to deal with a life-changing event and he was thinking about who he could hook up with next. I clenched my fist, wanting to punch the snarky look right off his face.

  “Chill,” Justin said in a lower voice, looking uncomfortably at the other patrons sitting near us.

  “Chill? You want me to chill? How about you chill,” I said, picking up my glass of water and throwing it in his face. The other diners chuckled at the free show, but I paid no attention. “You go hook up with those other girls. I need nothing from you anymore,” I said as my voice shook with rage and hurt.

  I was halfway home before the tears finally made it past the rage and into sorrow. As they poured down my cheeks with no end in sight, everything inside me turned to burned ash. Why should I be so surprised that it would end this way? Justin wasn’t the type to stick to a relationship. Hell, neither was I. Could I really blame him for getting bored with me, especially after my behavior these last few weeks? We were both anticommitment.

  “Holy crap, Brittni. What happened to you?” Melissa jumped up as I burst into our room. “You’ve been crying,” she stated, unsure how to handle this anomaly.

  I nodded, sinking down on my bed. Scooting back, I picked up my pillow and clutched it against my chest, hoping it would help the pain.

  “What happened?” Melissa asked, joining me on my bed. “Did you and Justin have a fight?”

  I nodded again. I wasn’t sure I would be able to talk around the new wave of tears I was trying to keep from flowing.

  Melissa patted my hand. “I’m sure it’ll be okay,” she said confidently. “By morning, I bet he’ll be calling you, wanting to make up. ”

  “We broke up and I’m pregnant,” I said in a rush as tears coursed down my cheeks.

  “Pregnant?” Melissa whispered, looking horrified.

  I nodded through my tears, relieved to finally confess to someone.

  “And that asshole dumped you when you told him?” she asked disgusted, snatching up her cell phone. “Rob is going to kick his ass. ”

  “I didn’t get to tell him about the baby,” I said, stalling her hands before she could text Rob. “Things fell apart before I could tell him, and now it’s too late. ”

  “Brittni, you have to tell him. He’ll change his mind. I know he’ll stick with you through this. ”

  I looked at her incredulously. She had to be kidding. “Melissa, he couldn’t even stick it out because I wasn’t quite myself lately. He was ready to call it quits because of a few broken dates and my moodiness this week. What in God’s name makes you think he’d stick with me over the next nine months and all the decisions we’d have to make afterward? He threw away what we had when it was no longer fun for him. ”

  “He’s going to find out, honey. It’s not like you’re going to be able to hide it,” she said, patting my hand.

  I looked at her without saying anything as mixed thoughts continued to race around my head.

  “Brittni?” she asked, taking in my silence. “Are you going to have it?”

  I couldn’t answer her. I had no idea how I’d ended up here. I didn’t believe in abortion, but it wasn’t something I’d thought I would ever have to face. My views had always been black or white. If you were dumb enough to get pregnant, then you sucked it up and had the baby. If you couldn’t handle the responsibility, there were thousands of couples out there dying to adopt. Suddenly, nothing appeared black and white anymore. Everything was gray and cloudy with no right answer. If I decided to have the baby, it would come after my junior year started. There was no way I could attend classes. I would lose my scholarship and everything else I had worked for, but the alternative made me ill.