I'm needing some inspiration in continuing the book I started a year ago. I have finished 11,000 words, but every time I try to pick it back up, I just edit and re-edit and find myself four hours in and no continued work. Anyway, this is my latest edit. Tell me whatcha think. :)
I remembered when it started.
It was the middle of March. Rick had stayed the night at his best friend’s house, who happened to be my neighbor, because his parents were in a drunken fight. We stayed up half the night on my front porch debating whether we should tell my parents, and we finally decided that I should tell my mom and the two of us would tell my dad. We were both nervous about how they would handle it, but we knew we had to tell them before they noticed my belly growing bigger.
My mom and I were in the kitchen where we always talked. My older sister and dad were helping at the church yard sale, and my little brother was at a friend’s house, so didn’t have to worry about any interruptions.
I don’t remember how it started, but I remember where we were standing. Momma was doing dishes at the sink and I was to her right, leaning against the counter stuffing a banana in my mouth, not allowing my words to escape. I remember wishing she would just ask me, but I knew that wouldn’t happen, so as I swallowed a big bite, I opened my mouth to see what would come out.
“Momma,” I started, and she must’ve noticed my serious tone because she turned and looked at me, puzzled. I held up a finger, catching my breath. “I have to tell you something.” I’ll never forget how foreign my voice sounded, and I could feel the sobs clinging to my throat.
She rinsed her hands in the water, dried them on a towel, and turned to face me.
“I—I don’t know how to say this, so—”
“Dee, honey,” she interrupted, “just say it. Whatever it is can’t be that bad.” Her face was full of concern, compassion, for whatever was about to come out of my mouth.
“Momma,” I started again, this time determining to get it all out, “I—um, I,” I put my hands on my belly where I this baby was doing flips. I felt like vomiting.
I looked up at my mom, her eyes wide at my belly. At that moment, I lost it. My knees buckled, and I slid on the floor crying louder than I’d ever cried before. My momma sat next to me. “I was afraid of this,” she said through her tears, putting her arm around my shoulders and her hand on top of my hand on my belly.
I couldn’t make words come out of my mouth, and my body felt out of control. My momma held me tight until I controlled my hiccup-cries. When I finally got the nerve to look at her, her eyes were closed and her lips were in a tense straight line, but she had tears rolling down of her cheeks.
I hung my head and opened my mouth to speak again. “Momma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t plan for this to happen. I didn’t wanna have a baby.”
My momma opened her eyes, and I saw puddles of tears in them. “Dee,” she said softly, “You will have this baby, but you will not marry this boy.”
That was her response to my pregnancy, and the standard she stood by the next four months. She didn’t allow Rick to come to the house, hung up on him when he called, and asked him to stay away from me any time she saw him. She was patient and compassionate toward me until I brought up Rick. She hated him.
My mom just didn’t understand, and needless to say, Rick wasn’t with me when I told my dad the news. A deacon in the church, my dad didn’t talk about how he felt, but I knew he was ashamed.
Keeping my pregnancy a secret wasn’t difficult because I was barely five months along in the middle of May when I graduated. Ironically, my final paper was over The Scarlett Letter and, like Hester Prynne, I felt the pain of carrying such a secret.
My curly-headed baby girl came early, on the fifth of August, and Rick and I took two days deciding on her name. We came across Maggie and just fell in love with it, so that’s what we named her. Two days after bringing her home, Rick found that his Greek heritage gave a special meaning for Maggie, one that was pure and beautiful. “Pearl,” the name of Hester Prynne’s own daughter in The Scarlett Letter, was the meaning behind my Maggie’s name. He never understood why my tears overcame his pride when he told me.
Two months later, in October, Rick got “transferred” to Rockville, South Carolina. We told everyone that his company thought he would be better suited for work on the coast, but the truth was that we were trying to escape. Although my parents had already forbidden me to be with him, I went. We had a courthouse wedding in South Carolina, and moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment. We lived there until I got pregnant with Abigail, four years later.
I looked at the man before me. “We’ve been through lots, haven’t we?” I sighed and put my forehead on his. “I love you for staying with me, Rick.”
“Dana,” he said sincerely, “I wouldn’t go anywhere even if you asked.” And he leaned in and kissed me.
