3 months, 23 days, and 10 hours to go.
Waking up to a mouth full of vomit isn’t exactly my favorite kind of morning… but that’s exactly the one I had. Barely making it to the toilet, I sat on the bathroom floor and threw up my macaroni and cheese dinner. As the last chuncks came out, I remained there. Of course there were mirrors all around forcing me to stare at the ugliest person I’ve ever seen. It was almost 7 o’clock so I showered, got dressed, and tried to make myself look half decent.
Getting in the car was ridiculous today. As my stomach pushed against the steering wheel, I felt him kick back (as if he hasn’t caused me enough pain already). I quickly adjusted it and drove to school. As usual, all I could do was ask stupid questions that I already knew the answers to.
“How could I let this happen to me? What the hell was I thinking?”
Then the lingering one in the back of my head, "Abortion?"
Quickly shot down by the few morals I had left, "Hell no."
School definitely didn’t make my day any better. Friends? Sure. If friends are the ones that walk with me to class then sit in a corner and talk about how much of a hypocrite I am. I mean, who could blame them? Last year, all I did was talk about the importance of chastity and abstinence. Now look at me. In three months, I'll be a mother taking her child to school with her. Sitting in second period, all I could hear were the guys laughing, “Wait till marriage my ass. She couldn’t even wait till she was 17.”
Ouch.
(They knew my birthday was in six days)
School went by as usual—dirty looks, under breath whispers, rude comments. Leaving that parking lot would have been the best feeling if I didn’t see my old volleyball teammates laughing and talking about their last league game today. I miss them. I should have been on that van.
Home was no different from school…maybe even worse. Speaking to myself as I walked through the front door, “How the hell am I going to support a baby? I’m only 16.” Of course my brother looks at me in disgust and needs to add his unnecessary comments, “Who told you to open your fuckin’ legs Macda. Man, in 3 months you're gonna be a mother. You’re a lil’ hoe like all the rest of them, talking about ‘oh I’m waiting till marriage’ yeah the fuck right. How can you even pray at night?”
I stayed quiet of course. He didn’t have the right to talk to me like that, but what did it matter. At least he spoke to me. My parents haven’t said a word to me for 5 months and 7 days. My grandparents blame me for their high blood pressure.
Like everyday, I fled to my refuge—my room.
When will I ever be happy again?
3 months, 23 days, and 9 more hours to go…
No comments:
Post a Comment