her deciding how much to tell me.
“Jeez, Cassie, what is it? Did you see
a zombie or something?” Three beats.
And She Says
Sort of. Except, more like a vampire—
a bloodsucker that just won’t die.
Look, this isn’t a story I share often.
And I’d appreciate it if you don’t pass
it on, especially not to your mom.
She worries about you being around
your dad enough as it is. She takes
a deep breath, then plunges in. I was
going to be a nurse. You didn’t know
that, did you? I was studying at Western
Nevada, making good grades and
everything. And then I met this guy.
Chad’s father, Damian. Typical bad
boy. Drugs. Booze. Rotten temper.
And I saw none of that. Not at first.
I never finished nursing school. I got
pregnant. Damian insisted I keep
the baby. Swore he’d take care of us,
and I had to believe him. I loved him.
That was enough. For a while.
She Turns onto McCarran Boulevard
It’s the long way home, so
I’m pretty sure there’s more.
There is. We lived poor. And we lived
rough. And Damian lived fast—crystal,
crack, ecstasy. Anything he could get
hold of. That made him mean. To me.
To Chad, who was too little to know
anything except Daddy hurt him.
I was working one day—somebody
had to. It was a crap casino waitress
job, but it paid the bills, if not the drug
tab. Anyway, Damian was supposed
to be watching Chad, but he’d been
on a bender, and was crashed out on
the sofa. Chad was four. He decided
he was hungry and was going to the store.
So he took off walking. Alone. In a bad
part of town. Luckily, the woman
who found him was decent. She took
him to her house. Called the cops.
She pauses, catches her breath.
But I have to know, “What happened?”
By that time, I had come home,
found him missing. After a frantic
search, I called the cops, too.
They brought him home, and when
they tried to talk to Damian, he got
all belligerent—first sign of a doper
on the down. Next thing you know,
he was swinging at one of them.
They hauled him in, cooled him off
for a couple of days, then let him
out, awaiting trial. Somehow, in
his demented mind, it was all my fault.
She stops again, and I know it’s hard
for her to relive it when she says,
He beat me bloody. Broke bones. Teeth.
Little Chad tried to stop him. Damian
pushed him headfirst into the wall.
We were both unconscious when he left.
As the Story Goes
A neighbor heard the ruckus.
Called 911. The paramedics found
Cassie shattered and Chad close to death,
with a subdural hematoma—rampant bleeding
in the skull, which squashes the brain. The two of
them were in the hospital for days. Damian hid
out with his brother in Red Rock. Then his
brother’s wife saw the news reports and
put in a covert call to Secret Witness.
They threw every charge they could
think of at him, including attempted
murder. He got fifteen to twenty-five
years. I was there when they sentenced
him, and the look he give me clearly
said, “When I get out, I’m coming for
you.” Well, he’s out. That’s who I saw.
Older. Grayer. But it was definitely
him. I don’t know why I thought
he’d be in for the max ride. But, no.
Early release. It’s weird. But in
my mind, he was dead. Stupid, huh?
I’m Kind of Speechless
But . . . “You don’t really think
he’d try to hurt you, do you?
I mean, he wouldn’t want to
take a chance on going back
to prison, right?” Jeez, I def
can’t tell Mom, or no way
would she let me come over
to Dad’s anymore, even though
I can’t believe this Damian dude
is a danger to me. Or to Cassie.
I don’t know. I would hope not,
and I don’t want to live all paranoid.
Two more burning questions.
“Does Dad know? And does Chad
remember what happened?”
Could explain why he’s a little
chill. I wouldn’t keep it from your
Dad. And how could Chad forget?
When We Get Back to Dad’s
He is all cleaned up, ready to go
out to dinner, and then dancing.
Cassie doesn’t want to spoil
his good mood, so she asks me
not to say anything. I’ll tell
him when the time is right.
And please let me break
the news to Chad, too, okay?
I give her a hug and she goes
to get ready. I hate secrets.
Especially explosive ones.
Ones that feel ready to blow.
Dad and Cassie leave and Chad
is watching an awful Austin Powers
movie. I sit next to him, restless.
In fact, I’m almost ready to spill
when Bri calls my cell. Promise
you won’t tell, is the first thing
she says. I heard Mikki talking
to Dylan. She’s pregnant.
Dylan
Pregnant
The very concept strikes fear
into the hearts of young people
everywhere. In fact,
it’s
right at the top of my Do Not
Tell Me This list, just above
“You’ve got cancer and are
not
a candidate for chemo.”
Un-freaking-believable!
When Mik called to tell me
what
the two-blue-lines thing
meant, I thought she was
joking. Ginormous mistake—
I
laughed, and that made her
cry. Not sad tears. Pissed tears.
Then I asked her what she
wanted
to do, totally expecting her to
say abortion. She said she wasn’t
sure, and that’s not what I wanted
to hear.
Mikayla
To Abort or Not to Abort
I have asked myself that question,
over and over, for the past few days.
First I had to fight the shock of finding
out I’m pregnant. I fought the idea,
even beyond the two blue lines.
But a second test confirmed it,
and the morning sickness is very
real. I am going to have a baby.
Only, wait. Am I? Oh, God. Why
now? If I do, I won’t get to finish
my senior year. No graduation. No
cap and gown. No senior prom.
Prom. Right. I can just see it now.
I waddle in, stomach big as a basketball.
Dylan and I hit the dance floor and
just as we start to slow dance,
my water breaks. (Thanks, Teen Mom,
for that fabulous picture.) Without
warning, my eyes burn and tears
overflow and hormones may be
to blame, but fear is the driving
force. I don’t know what to do.
Dylan isn’t much help. He says
he’ll honor my decision but I know
he wants me to get rid of it. When
I called to tell him, his first reaction
was to laugh. He thought I was joking.
Who would joke about something
like this? When it finally sank in
that I was talking real, he sobered
quickly. Okay. Well. It’s not the end
of the world. We can fix it. Fix it.
Like there’s a patch kit. His
fix would involve ripping me
wider. Digging the wound deeper.
There are no bandages big enough
for that. How did this happen?
We always used condoms, except
for once or twice. How could
two careless times equal a baby?
I Keep Thinking of It
As a baby. I’ve got to stop doing that.
Right now it’s just an embryo. Not
even a fetus. At least, I don’t think so.
An embryo becomes a fetus eight weeks
after conception. Which time did I conceive?
It doesn’t really matter, except if I decide
to have an abortion, it will have to be soon.
What happens to me if I do? If I don’t? What
happens with Dylan, either way? How much
pressure can love take before it pulverizes—
marble, crushed into dust. I need him more
than ever now. But ever since I told him,
he’s unreachable. Even when he’s sitting
right next to me. Like now. We are on
a blanket, beneath a star-crusted sky,
and it’s stifling. Not a blink of breeze
to ruffle the late-August night. Dylan
has been mostly silent. Sucked into thought.
Now he reaches for my hand. I wish
I could make it rain, he says softly.
Okay, that is not what I expected
him to say. Not even close. “Why?”
Well, we need it. Don’t we? And if
I could make it rain here right now,
I would be all-powerful. I could . . .
take things back. You know?
I lean into him, and he gentles his arm
around my shoulder. “We can’t take
anything back. It’s where we go from
here that means everything.”
I leave it there. No decisions. Not
tonight. No ultimatums, ever. What
he really needs to know right now is,
“I love you, Dylan. More than anything.
This doesn’t change that. Nothing
can. You are all-powerful to me.”
That Makes Him Smile
And this is the closest to okay
I have felt for days. I scoot
into his lap, straddle his legs.
Can I reach him this way? I lock
his eyes with mine. “Kiss me.”
He hesitates, and I see a flash
of doubt, so I cover his mouth
with mine, and there is nothing
tentative about the way I move
my body, eel-like, against his.
God, I’ve missed this amazing
rush! I lift my shirt over my head,
wait for him to take his off, too.
And we are skin against skin
in the sage-scented night and I
am overwhelmed with love for
him. He rolls me off him, onto
my back, starts to unzip my shorts.
But Now He Stops
When We Finish
The blanket beneath my head
is soaked with tears. Because I know,
as much as I want it not to be true,
nothing will ever be exactly
the same between us. We’ll grow
closer. Or we’ll be ratcheted apart.
We lie facing each other and
he kisses me sweetly. Don’t cry.
He licks the wet from my eyes,
and the gesture is at once kind
and sensual. I flip over, draw back
into him, loving the way I fit so well
in the harbor of his body. He sighs
as he strokes my still-flat belly, high
smallish breasts. I wish we could stay
just like this forever. Warm. Secure.
Indivisible. But I’m not safe now.
And winter always comes. “I’m scared.”
I know. I’m scared, too. We need
to decide what to do, and then it
will get better. I . . . I’ve asked
around. An abortion costs about
five hundred dollars. I’ve got more
than that in my savings account.
Abortion would be the easiest
way out. But I keep thinking about
Audrey. I can’t get her out of my head.
How could I live with that kind
of regret? “What if I can’t, Dylan?
What if I decide I want to have it?”
Every muscle in his body tenses.
He grows corpse-stiff. It isn’t all
your decision, is it? Don’t I get a say?
I sit up, reach for my shirt. “Of
course you do. But it’s my body.
And it’s my . . . our . . . baby inside.”
He Jolts Upright
Don’t, Mikki! It’s not a baby.
It’s just a little glob of cells.
It never has to become a baby.
“A little glob of cells? What
is that? Internet research?”
I should know. I did it, too.
What did you expect? Total
disinterest? Sweetheart, I’ve been
stressing as much as you have.
He reaches for me, but I yank
away. “Really? I guess you’ve
been throwing up every morning?
Worrying about what to say to
your mom and dad? Thinking
about school, how friends will
gossip, or even if you’ll have any
friends if someone finds out?”
He Is So Sincere
That I smile. Almost feel sorry for him.
But not as sorry as I feel for myself.
“I’ve been over and over this a million
times. I know the smartest thing would
be to get rid of it. But I don’t think I can.
I’ve seen the pictures, too. I know it
doesn’t look anything like a baby yet.
But it’s more than just a little glob
of cells. It’s you and me, and it’s alive.”
Sounds like you’ve made your decision.
And that I don’t have a say at all. Get
dressed. I’ll take you home. He is angry,
and now so am I. “Dylan, your decision
would be for some doctor to stick a tube
up inside me and vacuum our little problem
away, like dog hair and dust. I still might
choose to do exactly that. I’ve got a couple
of weeks. Either way, I need your support.”
It’s a Silent Drive Home
When we get there, he kisses
me good night, just like always.
Just like always, I say, “I love you.”
And he tells me he loves me, too.
The house is quiet. I tiptoe upstairs,
use the bathroom, slip between crisp,
cool sheets, scented like detergent.
Clean. Like I can never be again.
It is one of those nights when real
sleep doesn’t come, j
ust that space
beyond true awareness. That place
where you wander through dreams,
knowing you’re there. I know I’m here,
waves licking my ankles, and somewhere
beyond the breaks a baby is crying.
Floating, for the moment. The choice
is mine. Stand here and let it drown,
or dive, swim like hell to save it.
Dylan
Drowning
Can’t float. Forgot how to swim.
Tired of treading water.
Going down. Down.
Down.
I have never loved her more.
Can’t imagine being without her.
What will it take
to
make her see that we cannot
possibly become “three”?
What does she want from me—
the
promise of marriage?
After witnessing my parents’
freak show, that kind of
hell
is something I hope never
to suffer. Anyway, we’re just kids.
No diplomas. No jobs. No hope
of
winning the lottery. Even
if our love could survive,
how would we pay for
diapers?
Shane
Paying
For mistakes is a regular bitch,
defining the word “mistake” as:
error
blunder
slipup
oversight
gaffe.
Or things you didn’t necessarily
mean to do. But when there is
intent, a clear objective to
injure
wound
insult
abuse
harm
or sin against someone,
especially someone you’ve
sworn to honor, cherish and
protect, payback is likely to be
devastating
disturbing
distressing
damaging
disastrous.
My Parents
Don’t think I know what’s going
on. Don’t have a clue that it doesn’t
exactly take over-keen observation
to comprehend the less-than-abstract
idea that Dad’s been fucking off on
Mom for quite some time, and with
one person, some Skye woman, who
he works and travels with. In fact,