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Veneta’s Young Mothers Shelter
Veneta’s Young Mothers Shelter was different than I had predicted. I had formed this mental picture of a poorly carpeted building, with peeling wallpaper and cheap furniture, but I was wrong. Well, I was wrong about everything but the furniture. It looked like it had been salvaged from the streets. Most of the walls were painted in pastels of yellow, green and peach and the floors were covered in a light tan tile.
We entered in the main lobby. There were many decorative plants and light fixtures, attempting to create a welcoming environment. The room was furnished with a big front desk, and some couches, there was also a magazine rack. My mom immediately picked up a magazine with a mansion on the cover and sat down. My dad accompanied me to the desk.
The woman behind the desk looked to be about forty years old. She had brown hair, which was in need of a dye treatment, and a pale wrinkled face. Too many days in the sun, I said to myself. Her lips were masked in a bright fuchsia lipstick and she had bright green eye shadow on.
“How may I help you?” she asked with a wide smile.
“She’s going to be staying here,” my dad roughly said, straightening the tie on his suit.
“Oh, well welcome dear,” she said to me; “You’re going to need to fill out this form, then I can bring you to the doctor.” She picked up a piece of paper from the desk, fastened it to a clipboard, and handed it to me.
My dad turned on his heel and went to sit next to my mother. I thanked the woman and walked over to the couch that wasn’t occupied by my parents. The walk seemed to take forever. I could feel three pairs of eyes on me, the eyes of my parents and the eyes of the woman. My mother had a look of disgust, my dad looked disappointed and the woman was probably thinking; here’s another one. Poor girl, she’s so young and she’s already ruined her life.
I tried to calm myself as I started to fill out the form.
Name: Isabelle Bailey, Age: 17.
They asked for my contact information. I considered putting non applicable, but I decided to put my parents’ numbers. Two of the questions caught me off my guard. They asked for the father’s name and his number.
Father’s Name: ?
Number: If I didn’t know his name how would I know his number?
The last question asked:
What you plan to do with your baby once it’s born: Once this baby’s born, I’m putting it up for adoption.
I signed my name at the bottom and handed the clipboard to the woman behind the desk.
“Thank you… Isabelle,” she said reading my name off of the paper, “well, Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, you can come anytime day you want to visit between four and six and you can tell her friends they’re allowed to come on the weekends at any time between eleven and eight. I assure you, you’re daughter will be very happy here and she and her baby will be very healthy. Isabelle, you can say bye to your parents then I’ll take you to the doctor.”
“’Bye, Mom,” I said turning towards her.
“Isabelle,” she said, without any emotion.
“’Bye, Dad.” My voice was trembling as I fought back the tears. He just grunted and walked out of the building. My mom flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and followed my dad. They didn’t even hug me. I cleared my throat, dislodging the lump that formed when I refused to cry.
“Okay, dear,” she said to me once they were out of the building. She reached down under her desk and pulled out three pieces of paper, “You’re going to need these,” she explained. I didn’t have a chance to look at the papers because she started to move again.
The woman behind the desk picked up my two suitcases with muscular arms, and led me through a maze of hallways. There weren’t any girls in any of the rooms that we passed. I couldn’t imagine why. It was six o’clock, both too early and too late to be sleeping, even for a Saturday, and it was really quiet in the hallway. I cold sweat broke out on my neck; I was nervous.
“Um, where is everyone?” I quietly asked.
“Oh, dear, they’re just in the Rec Rooms,” she explained with a chuckle. She led me into a room with a gurney covered with paper and told me to wait here for the doctor, dropped my suitcases, then left the room.
I stood in the doorway for a little while, in complete shock. This wasn’t what I expected, I thought there would be people all around me all the time, but I was alone. The woman hadn’t even told me her name.
I put the three papers on my suitcases without reading them. The paper made embarrassing crinkling sounds as I sat on it. I looked around at the small room. There was a counter opposite me with a sink, an intercom mounted on the wall, and pamphlets. I leaned over and picked up the pamphlet on the top of the pile.
There were similar diagrams to those I received during the Sex-Ed chapter of my Health class. The color coded little tadpole like sperm rushing towards the egg, like a race, to see which one will have a part in the miraculous process that messed up my life. I sighed and put it down. I knew what happened, no need to review now. I jumped off the crackling paper and went to my bag.
I picked up the papers the woman had gave me and sat back down. The first was a welcome note. It explained how long this shelter had been around and what their goal was, incase you were stupid and didn’t understand why you were here. The next was a schedule that every girl followed, laying out the time periods for each daily activity, including the meals and Lamaze classes. This place didn’t offer school classes, so basically all I would have to do is eat, sleep and watch television.
The third was a map of the building. I found where I was on the map and traced the paths I was supposed to use go get everywhere. On the bottom of the map there was a number with a circle around it. 626. I quickly got bored. Three quick raps came to the door, startling me, and a man followed.
“Hi, Isabelle, I’m going to just give you a physical and make sure you’re healthy, then you can go to your dorm,” he said in a shaky voice. He had the papers I had filled out on a clipboard, attached were some charts and forms that looked like the ones at the pediatrician’s office. He didn’t even bother giving me his name, just like the woman hadn’t.
He was an older man, looking to be well past 50. His white hair was very thin on the top of his head, revealing his large, shiny forehead. He had on Coke bottle glasses and had white stubble on his jaw. He looked like he should be in a nursing home rather than practicing as an obstetrician.
He was silent as he checked my eyes, ears, blood pressure, and all that good stuff pediatricians do, all the while filling out the charts. Then he told me to take off my clothes and put on a paper gown. He stepped out of the room.
That part of the examination was very awkward. His fingers probed parts of my body no stranger should touch. After shining his little flashlight in every opening to my body, he made a satisfied sound and allowed me to get dressed again.
He entered again when I was done and told me the number at the bottom was my dorm number and that my roommate should be in her dorm and she would be very welcoming. Then he went to the intercom on the wall and called the woman at the front desk, again they didn’t use names.
She was at the door in five minutes to pick up my bags and led me to my new dorm.
During the walk, she was silent. The only sound was the squeak of her orthopedic shoes, and the click of my high heels. I stared at the map, trying to associate the poorly drawn squares to their corresponding rooms. When we passed what was marked as the Rec Rooms the girls went silent. They started whispering when I passed, they were so quiet I couldn’t understand what they were saying. I lifted my eyes off of the paper and stared at them.
I was shocked. Most of the girls looked like they were my age, but then I locked eyes with a girl who was sitting on the rug on the floor. She had short brown hair that cupped her ears and dark eyes that looked tortured. She was so young. She couldn’t have been older than thirteen, and yet she was very pregnant, with a big stomach.
The woman’s tugging on my shirt to make me keep walking brought me out of my trance. The sounds fell into their regular pattern. Click, squeak, click, squeak.
We turned down a hallway and I could hear loud punk music playing from one of the rooms. As we walked closer to the obnoxious music I realized it was coming from 626.
Great, this is going to suck, I thought. I started trying to formulate a mental picture of my future roommate; I pictured an ugly fat girl with cankles, five chins, a uni-brow and arm fat that covered her watch. I snickered, thinking about how my friends would die when they saw her.
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thanks for reading!
~Dommy
