So this is the opening of a short story I have to write for class. The objective is to take a character on a journey that changes them in some way, and I chose to write about Jane, a generally, level-headed, smart teenager who ends up pregnant at a young age. Yes, the idea is a little cliche, but it'll be a piece that I will have a lot of sources for. Please give any feedback and/or opinions that you may have, and edit my beginning if you like.
Pain courses through every inch of my body like a wild fire. I groan and grip my hands to the sides of the hospital bed. I start to pant, desperate for some air in my lungs. Even with the medication pumping through my body, I feel like I’m about to be ripped apart. My eyes are glued shut and my teeth clenched as I ride out the storm a little longer.
Finally, the pain becomes only a dull roar and I peel my eyes open. Everything seems a little blurry from the drugs, but I can make out the few nurses that are holding my hands and trying to make me comfortable. To the right of me the IV pumps liquids into my hand and the monitors show the beat of my heart, steady and strong. I listen to it for a moment, concentrating on the steady beeps that are timed perfectly with the pounding in my head and I think of my very first sonogram and the sound of a little heart beating fast inside me. It wouldn’t be long now before the innocent sounds of a heartbeat would be replaced by the sound of a new life being brought into the world.
“Jane?” the receptionist calls from behind the wide desk of the clinic. I stand up shakily while bile rises into my throat and my lungs constrict. “Just this way, please,” she says, her lips forming a smile in my direction. I nod quickly, feeling dizzy, and head down the hall behind her swaying hips. Every step seems like an eternity in the endless white hallway, and door after door passes me before we reach the end. The receptionist motions towards the door and places a clipboard in a slot just outside. I slip quickly and quietly into the small white room and take a seat.
A few minutes later the doctor slips in the room and takes a seat with the clipboard the receptionist had in her hands. I sit with my hands in my lap, trying to look composed but I’m shaking so hard I have to clench my teeth to stop myself from crying. “Jane, is it? I see you’re here for some test results,” he says as he runs a thick finger down the paper on the clipboard. I watch as his face seems to register my age, his wide jaw clamping shut against a soft pair of lips. When he turns to me, his eyes soften a little, but there is something hard behind those hazel pools.
“Jane,” he says with a voice sweet as honey, “The pregnancy test came back positive.” My breath catches in my throat and I’m sure I’m going to choke, but a minute later I feel pressure rising and I vomit into the little, grey garbage can beside me. I don’t look up at him to see the pity that is plastered on his face; I can hear it dripping from his voice as he hands me a tissue to wipe my mouth. Sensing my devastation, he leaves me alone to let it all sink in, and in a small, white room, I cry till I have nothing left.
I take the city bus home with swollen red eyes and a heavy heart. The eyes of strangers seem to pierce through me, as if already there is a large bump beneath my shirt. I think of my mother as I watch the streets of Pitsborough fly by; I see her face turning into a deep frown as I tell her what I’ve done. “You’re smarter than this,” she’ll say. I’m so scared she’s going to hate me when she finds out.
I stay in my room all day when I get back from the clinic, faltering under the weight of the few options I have. I stand in front of the full length mirror and try to imagine what I’ll look like with a large round mass protruding from my tiny five foot two frame. I can’t picture it. I look just like I always have, just Jane. Messy chocolate curls fall just past my shoulders, touching my pale skin. I look up into my shocking green eyes, my only feature that seems to stand out, and I see Jane, a smart, quiet girl who stays out of trouble. Not the kind to get pregnant at sixteen years old with a boyfriend who is apparently delinquent.
As I stare at the tiny frame in the mirror that has carried me through life, I know I won’t kill this baby. I can’t bring myself to do something so cruel. Still, the thought that I will have to decide the fate of this being inside of me scares me half to death. I weigh the other two options after ruling out the first; I could put the child up for adoption, or I could raise it. Chris and I could raise it.
I conjure a picture of Chris in my head; blue eyes and sandy brown hair that always looks a little too long. We’ve been together for six months, sneaking around behind the back of my disapproving mother. I imagine what it would be like, the three of us together in our own home. We’d struggle to pay the bills and put ourselves through school, but somehow, we’d find strength in each other. Together we would try to make the best out of this mistake.
Then I think of adoption as my third and final option. For another nine months, I’d carry this life inside me, nourish it, and share with it, and in the end, I’d hand over something so precious to someone who could care for it better than I. As I debate this, I take another look at myself and place my hands over my stomach. I can’t imagine what it would be like to give the baby up just yet. Nothing feels real. Still, I try to imagine what it would be like to go to college like my mother and I have planned if I give the baby up. I imagine having my whole life ahead of me, able to take any opportunities.
“Janie?” I’m instantly taken from my thoughts back to the present, and when I look out the window, Chris is standing just below with that gorgeous smile on his face. That smile just for me. “Can I go through the back door, or is your mom home?”
“No, she won’t be home till seven tonight. Come on in,” I say, closing the window and shutting it tight. A minute later, Chris strolls in my room wearing his worn leather jacket and jeans. He kisses me roughly on the lips and despite my anxieties I melt into his embrace. Beneath the leather jacket I can feel the muscles in his arms as they pull tight around me, and the smell of his cologne fills my nose. His hands move slowly down my back as he begins to press harder against my lips.
“Chris,” I say, pushing back on his chest gently, “we have to talk.” Chris’s blue eyes look worried for a moment, but he puts it aside to hear me out. I watch for any sign that he knows what’s coming, but I see nothing. He looks simply clueless about the bomb I’m about to drop.
“I…,” I hesitate for a moment, starting to feel my throat constrict around the words, “I’m pregnant, Chris.” I watch as my words reach his ears, and his face drops suddenly as this fact registers. His arms, too, drop to his sides, and his eyes are wide in disbelief.
“Did you take a test?” he asks, becoming animated and frantic. His eyes search me for some proof that this is all a joke, but he doesn’t find one. I simply nod my head, feeling the same fear that is building up in him. Talking about it out loud makes it feel so much more real that I’m starting to shake again.
“I saw the doctor today and the results of the test were positive,” I tell him, hoping this will help me calm down, hoping he will calm me down. Once again, Chris’s eyes seem to gloss over in disbelief and his mind is somewhere else entirely. I wait with my hands resting over my stomach, as if to hide our secret, while the silence between us spreads.
“I don’t want it,” he finally says, dropping a bomb of his own. In my limited choices, I had not considered what Chris wanted. I hadn’t thought if he’d be willing to keep it, or even willing to be with me any longer. When I finally look at him with wide, green eyes, his face answers all my questions. If I keep this baby, I’ll lose Chris.
After he leaves I lay in my bed wondering what else could possibly go wrong right now. I went and got knocked up, hadn’t taken any information on pregnancy, and was now on the verge of losing someone really important to me. For someone who was renowned for being a respectable and mature teenager, I was sure screwing things up. My life was about to take a three hundred and sixty degree turn, and I wasn’t naïve about that.
When I hear the lock of the front door click, I quickly flip open some books from school and pretend that I’m swamped with homework. I listen as the heels of her shoes hit the floor in the entryway and her large designer bag lands with a thud beside them. I can hear her then move into the kitchen, where there is the sound of crystal clinking against the bottle of her expensive pinot noir. It’s always been my mother’s routine, though she likes to pretend I don’t see how quickly she empties those bottles. She drinks most of it while she thinks I’m asleep, crying on the couch because she misses my dad.
He died when I was nine years old in a car accident. I was in the car, too, but I somehow escaped with minor injuries. I can’t remember how it happened anymore, and I don’t try to. When I do think about it, I just see blinding lights and the world spinning as the car rolls into the ditch. Sometimes I think my mother resents the fact that I lived and he didn’t.
