Black & White [Jeremiah Fisher]

fifteen

ROWAN

I only know a few details about my birth mom.

She was 19 when she had me, came from a bad family, and ate a ton of sugar when she was pregnant with me, supposedly.

I don't know many details, but it's enough for me to make assumptions. I've painted this picture in my mind of her, every detail aligning with the next. The details might not all be correct, but it makes me feel like I know her, that I know the reasons why she needed to give me up.

I picture a frail, lonely, heartbroken girl. A girl who is not confident in herself and not ready to bring another life, another extension of her into this world. She's scared, not wanting her baby to be just like her, to raise a child who will inevitably become what she is.

This girl is beautiful, though she doesn't see herself that way. That is why when she meets a boy who finally shows interest in her, she needs to do everything in her power for him to stay and be content. So she gives in to his needs and wants. But his needs and wants are not hers.

She falls pregnant and quickly realizes that the boy she is with is not someone fit to be a father or a partner. He proves to her that he is not willing to raise a child and begs her for an abortion, but she doesn't give in. It did cross her mind though, but immediately that option flew right off the table because of her parents.

Her parents who manipulated her into thinking she needed to have and raise this baby because it was her punishment for falling pregnant in the first place.

So she goes through with her pregnancy. Not wanting to upset her parents more than they already were. But what her parents didn't know is she set her child up to be adopted upon birth.

She delivers her baby, without holding her, and is released from the hospital within the next two days. Empty-handed. All because she knew her child would have a better life with a complete stranger than with herself.

This story that I have made up makes me ache for her.

The scary part is, I could have the narrative completely wrong.

Here I sit at the very first spot where I had to convince myself not to let Jeremiah Fisher weasel his way into my heart. This stupid bench swing on the beach is less comfortable than I remember.

The thing is, I don't remember the feeling of this bench at all because I was with him. A boy who has made my head feel fuzzy. A boy who has made my entire body feel warm.

It's so hard to feel angry at him and I hate myself for that. I've always forgiven too easily, but I know I need to prove to myself that I'm not the girl I once was.

Jeremiah made his choices and he has to live with it. Just like I did.

I try to distract myself with the most picture-perfect sunset in front of me. The sky is the prettiest shade of pink with tints of orange and yellow swirled in. At this moment, I wish I could be in the sky, floating on a cloud, surrounded by warmth and happiness.

But I'm not. I'm swinging back and forth on this stupid bench swing with sand in between my toes.

I drift off into my thoughts, gazing into the ocean, watching the shoreline move back and forth. The waves are too loud for me to hear a presence approaching me, that person being someone I didn't realize I needed.

"Steven."

"Bro, I thought you were for sure donzo in the ocean somewhere." He wholeheartedly laughed as if finding me was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

As upset as I was, I had no more tears left in me. All I could really do now was try and joke to make myself feel better. And let me say, I'm glad he started off with a joke.