SHINY WHITE PLASTIC
She looked in the mirror at her reflection. Her dull brown hair was tied messily behind her back, and her eyeliner was smudged under her eyes. She wiped the running mascara off her cheeks, and splashed her face with cold water. She couldn’t find a towel anywhere so she used her scratchy green sweater to dry her face and hands. She decided to keep the sweater tied around her waist because the green color drew more attention to the redness of her cheeks and nose.
What was she doing here anyway? She knew she should probably come out soon. They were probably getting suspicious. What excuse could she make when she went back out there? She could say that her contact fell out, and that she was trying to find it the whole time. No. That sounded fake. But it was better than the truth.
Her eyes shifted to the counter. There it was. Her future, covered in shiny white plastic. She stuffed it in her purse along with the wrapping it came in. She didn’t want to leave any evidence behind for some asshole at the party to discover and announce to the entire crowd in slurred words something along the lines of, “Hey everyone, some chick just got knocked up.” Or worse, one of the girls finds it and immediately starts whispering about whom it probably belongs to. She doubted anyone would ever suspect her, but that would make it all that much harder. She would have to listen and pretend to act surprised by the discovery. Act natural. She knew she couldn’t possibly act natural.
So there it was, placed casually in her purse along with her cell phone, pack of gum, and an old movie ticket. She couldn’t stand looking at it anymore. She zipped her purse and threw it over her shoulder. After splashing her face with more water, she reached for the doorknob, but something was holding her back. It was as if her muscles had tightened in protest and would not allow her to twist the doorknob. She collapsed onto the edge of the bathtub in defeat.
There was no way she could go out there. There was no way she could risk seeing him. Things were hard enough on her after they broke up, but this was completely different. She doubted that she could look at him without bursting into tears. What would he say if he found out? She could picture it perfectly. The initial shock would cause him to say things he didn’t mean. Things like ‘it’s your choice’ and ‘I’m here for you.’ But as months pass, his guilt would subside, and he would be back to hanging out with friends and complaining about her and her situation. Because it would not be their situation, it was hers.
She couldn’t put herself through that. She didn’t want to create a false hope that he would be a loving boyfriend and father. It would just make things more difficult when reality kicked in.
Even though she knew it would be painful to tell him, it hurt her to imagine keeping this secret from him. He deserved to know. She would want to know if she was in his position. But if she decided to keep it, he’d eventually figure it out anyway. He’d joke with his friends and say that it probably wasn’t his, but he would know that there was no way it could be anyone else’s.
He’d once been caring and gentle. The way he used to send her letters talking about how in infatuated he was with her, and how he would text her the second they left each other. She wondered if this had happened before all of the stuff with his family had happened if things would have been different. She wouldn’t have been scared to tell him because she wouldn’t have doubted his loyalty to her. He would have held her as she cried and gone with her to tell her parents.
Hot tears began to roll down her face, and her nose began to run. She turned the sink on, hoping to drown out the sound of her sobs. She cried for him, for herself, and for her baby. How could she have let this happen? How could she be so stupid? She thought back to when it all started, when he began to change. Her once sweet and caring boyfriend transformed into a wild, irrational heart ache. His emotions over-powered him, making him jealous, morbid, and angry. She knew his problems stemmed from troubled his home life, but she tried her hardest to cure his problems and restore his sanity. She listened to him, wrote him encouraging love letters, and let him take his anger out on her. She gave him everything she had. Everything.
She hated herself for giving into him, for letting him leave his mark on her. She knew that whatever decision she made, this was one scar that would not fade away. Her breath began to quicken, and she was soon unable to catch her breath. What was she going to do? She first began to understand the weight of either option.
She pictured herself a year from now as a mother. All her friends would be off at college, but she would be at home with her new child. That is, of course, if her parents let her stay home. They would most likely make her leave. They’d be too ashamed to have her around the house and around their country-club friends. They’d probably tell them she moved to England or France for college.
What would she be like as a mother? She was certain that she would love the baby, but was that enough? A child needs support. A child needs grandparents that aren’t ashamed of it. A child needs a father. She couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to raise him or her. She couldn’t forgive herself if something happened, if she failed. How could she possibly raise a child when she was just a child herself?
She heard a loud knock on the door.
“Hey! Hurry up! I have to pee,” shouted the voice outside the door.
“I can’t,” she stammered, “I’m… sick.” She proceeded to make throwing up noises into the toilet. She assumed the girl left to find a bathroom elsewhere because there was no response.
Her thoughts then shifted to her life a year from now without the baby. She’d be in college with all of her friends, but she wouldn’t be able to continue as if nothing happened. She’d probably become a loner and lose all her friends. She would never be able to tell them the truth, so they would not understand her pain or change in disposition. Would she ever be able recover? Would the memories fade with the years, or would the pain continue to feel as sharp as it did the first day?
She looked into the mirror at her reflection once again, but this time she did not focus on her puffy face or swollen eyes. Her eyes were fixed on her stomach. She slowly lifted her shirt, exposing her pale, flat stomach. There was no physical change, but it looked entirely different. It was it looked full, yet empty at the same time. She rubbed her hands over her stomach, attempting to feel a difference, but she felt nothing. Frustrated, the pulled her shirt back down over her body. She stared at her reflection and her reflection stared blankly back at her. Her reflection asked her endless questions, but she struggled to come up with the answers.
She broke away from the stare of her reflection, grabbed for her bag off the floor, and tightened her sweater around her waist. She hand twisted the cold, brass doorknob, and she walked outside.
Camille Simmons
What was she doing here anyway? She knew she should probably come out soon. They were probably getting suspicious. What excuse could she make when she went back out there? She could say that her contact fell out, and that she was trying to find it the whole time. No. That sounded fake. But it was better than the truth.
Her eyes shifted to the counter. There it was. Her future, covered in shiny white plastic. She stuffed it in her purse along with the wrapping it came in. She didn’t want to leave any evidence behind for some asshole at the party to discover and announce to the entire crowd in slurred words something along the lines of, “Hey everyone, some chick just got knocked up.” Or worse, one of the girls finds it and immediately starts whispering about whom it probably belongs to. She doubted anyone would ever suspect her, but that would make it all that much harder. She would have to listen and pretend to act surprised by the discovery. Act natural. She knew she couldn’t possibly act natural.
So there it was, placed casually in her purse along with her cell phone, pack of gum, and an old movie ticket. She couldn’t stand looking at it anymore. She zipped her purse and threw it over her shoulder. After splashing her face with more water, she reached for the doorknob, but something was holding her back. It was as if her muscles had tightened in protest and would not allow her to twist the doorknob. She collapsed onto the edge of the bathtub in defeat.
There was no way she could go out there. There was no way she could risk seeing him. Things were hard enough on her after they broke up, but this was completely different. She doubted that she could look at him without bursting into tears. What would he say if he found out? She could picture it perfectly. The initial shock would cause him to say things he didn’t mean. Things like ‘it’s your choice’ and ‘I’m here for you.’ But as months pass, his guilt would subside, and he would be back to hanging out with friends and complaining about her and her situation. Because it would not be their situation, it was hers.
She couldn’t put herself through that. She didn’t want to create a false hope that he would be a loving boyfriend and father. It would just make things more difficult when reality kicked in.
Even though she knew it would be painful to tell him, it hurt her to imagine keeping this secret from him. He deserved to know. She would want to know if she was in his position. But if she decided to keep it, he’d eventually figure it out anyway. He’d joke with his friends and say that it probably wasn’t his, but he would know that there was no way it could be anyone else’s.
He’d once been caring and gentle. The way he used to send her letters talking about how in infatuated he was with her, and how he would text her the second they left each other. She wondered if this had happened before all of the stuff with his family had happened if things would have been different. She wouldn’t have been scared to tell him because she wouldn’t have doubted his loyalty to her. He would have held her as she cried and gone with her to tell her parents.
Hot tears began to roll down her face, and her nose began to run. She turned the sink on, hoping to drown out the sound of her sobs. She cried for him, for herself, and for her baby. How could she have let this happen? How could she be so stupid? She thought back to when it all started, when he began to change. Her once sweet and caring boyfriend transformed into a wild, irrational heart ache. His emotions over-powered him, making him jealous, morbid, and angry. She knew his problems stemmed from troubled his home life, but she tried her hardest to cure his problems and restore his sanity. She listened to him, wrote him encouraging love letters, and let him take his anger out on her. She gave him everything she had. Everything.
She hated herself for giving into him, for letting him leave his mark on her. She knew that whatever decision she made, this was one scar that would not fade away. Her breath began to quicken, and she was soon unable to catch her breath. What was she going to do? She first began to understand the weight of either option.
She pictured herself a year from now as a mother. All her friends would be off at college, but she would be at home with her new child. That is, of course, if her parents let her stay home. They would most likely make her leave. They’d be too ashamed to have her around the house and around their country-club friends. They’d probably tell them she moved to England or France for college.
What would she be like as a mother? She was certain that she would love the baby, but was that enough? A child needs support. A child needs grandparents that aren’t ashamed of it. A child needs a father. She couldn’t stand the thought of not being able to raise him or her. She couldn’t forgive herself if something happened, if she failed. How could she possibly raise a child when she was just a child herself?
She heard a loud knock on the door.
“Hey! Hurry up! I have to pee,” shouted the voice outside the door.
“I can’t,” she stammered, “I’m… sick.” She proceeded to make throwing up noises into the toilet. She assumed the girl left to find a bathroom elsewhere because there was no response.
Her thoughts then shifted to her life a year from now without the baby. She’d be in college with all of her friends, but she wouldn’t be able to continue as if nothing happened. She’d probably become a loner and lose all her friends. She would never be able to tell them the truth, so they would not understand her pain or change in disposition. Would she ever be able recover? Would the memories fade with the years, or would the pain continue to feel as sharp as it did the first day?
She looked into the mirror at her reflection once again, but this time she did not focus on her puffy face or swollen eyes. Her eyes were fixed on her stomach. She slowly lifted her shirt, exposing her pale, flat stomach. There was no physical change, but it looked entirely different. It was it looked full, yet empty at the same time. She rubbed her hands over her stomach, attempting to feel a difference, but she felt nothing. Frustrated, the pulled her shirt back down over her body. She stared at her reflection and her reflection stared blankly back at her. Her reflection asked her endless questions, but she struggled to come up with the answers.
She broke away from the stare of her reflection, grabbed for her bag off the floor, and tightened her sweater around her waist. She hand twisted the cold, brass doorknob, and she walked outside.
Camille Simmons