Skeletons

Chapter 11

Sometime in 1989/90:

"It might be a false positive, you can't be sure yet," Heather says, pulling me out of my trance. "Yeah, Ronnie, I'm sure it's just a faulty test," Martha adds, trying to reassure me as I clutch the test with shaking hands.

"There's no way it's false," I say, feeling a wave of pure dread wash over me as the words escape my lips.

"Do you need anything, Ronnie?!" Heather asks, giving me that look. God, I hate it. That damn look of pity, the same one my mother gave me when I fell off my bike trying to learn how to ride it back in the summer of '79. Or after the long break, the school put us on after Jason's little stunt at the front of the school. The constant well-intended verbal harassment of "How are you holding up?" or "We're here for you."

After some hugs and a lot of tears, they both leave – Heather first, followed by Martha about half an hour later.

Once they're both gone, I'm left alone with my thoughts, swirling in a tumult of uncertainty and fear. The weight of the situation settled heavily upon my shoulders pushing me down, suffocating me with its implications. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, a sinking feeling that seemed to drag me deeper into despair with each passing moment.

I needed to gather my strength, to find a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume me. But as I sat there, surrounded by the empty silence of my apartment, I couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of dread that hung over me like a dark cloud.

For about a month or so, it was relatively easy to push the whole pregnancy thing to the back of my mind.

 After all, the bump was barely visible – just a subtle hint of the little mutant combination of me and my deceased ex-boyfriend growing inside me. I could easily hide it under sweaters and layers, especially with the winter months fast approaching.

But then, one day in March, as I wandered into the living room after school, hoping to sneak some pâté, I was met with a sight that made my heart sink. My parents were sitting on the couch,  their hands intertwined, their knees facing each other as if they were one entity.

My mom asked if there was something I wasn't telling them. I instinctively denied it, but then she started pointing out things – how I hadn't asked for period products in months, how I constantly wore baggy clothes even as spring approached, how I seemed to be eating more and gaining weight. I didn't even have time to be offended by her offhand remarks before the accusation of pregnancy was thrown at me, leaving me defenseless and speechless.

In that moment, the weight of their scrutiny bore down on me like a ton of bricks. I felt exposed, vulnerable, as if every secret I had ever harbored was laid bare before them. My mind raced, desperately searching for a way to deflect their suspicions, but I came up empty-handed. The truth hung in the air, unspoken yet undeniable, and I knew that I couldn't hide from it any longer.

The house felt different after that talk. Baby chatter became as rare as finding a four-leaf clover, and when it did come up, it was like trudging through quicksand – slow, heavy, and suffocating. I found myself retreating deeper into my room, seeking refuge in the quiet corners away from the chaos.

I get it, my folks are worried sick. But their attempts to smother me felt more like a straightjacket. With Jason suddenly "blown" out of my life, it's like I'm on this crazy rollercoaster of  impending motherhood all on my own, and each day, the weight of it just seems to get heavier.

And my friends? They try to be supportive, I guess. But it's like they see me through this lens of pity, tossing out hollow words that do nothing to ease the ache in my chest. It's like they're trying to mend me with band-aids made of empty phrases.

So, I spend my days lost in a fog of uncertainty and anxiety, burying myself in parenting books that promise answers I'm not sure even exist. But in the midst of all the chaos, one thing remains clear: I'm facing this journey solo, armed with nothing but my own shaky resolve to ride out the storm.

I am not so sure how strong that resolve is going to have to be or if I even have enough to push myself through.

I never wanted a child. To me, they were always these smelly, sticky little creatures that ran amok, wreaking havoc wherever they went. I saw them as tiny tornadoes of chaos, leaving a trail of mess and mayhem in their wake. The thought of dealing with dirty diapers, temper tantrums, and endless sleepless nights filled me with dread. I couldn't fathom how anyone could willingly sign up for such a life-altering responsibility.

For me, children were synonymous with unpredictability and inconvenience. They were the antithesis of everything I valued – freedom, independence, and tranquility. The idea of sacrificing my own needs and desires to cater to the demands of a tiny tyrant was utterly unappealing.

In my mind, parenthood was akin to signing a lifelong contract with chaos, where every day brought a new set of challenges and uncertainties. It seemed like a daunting prospect, one that I was in no rush to embrace.

Moreover, my aspirations leaned more towards building a successful career rather than starting a family. I envisioned myself climbing the corporate ladder, making a name for myself in the professional world, and achieving financial independence. The thought of devoting my time and energy to nurturing a child felt like a detour from the path I had meticulously mapped out for myself.

Adding to the complexity of my situation was the fact that JD, the father of my child, was dead. His sudden demise left me grappling with a whirlwind of emotions – grief, anger, and confusion. And to make matters worse, he was a sociopath, leaving behind a legacy of manipulation and deceit. The thought of raising a child with his genes was a terrifying prospect, filled with uncertainty and dread.

So, when faced with the reality of impending motherhood, it felt like my worst nightmare coming true. The thought of becoming responsible for another human being, especially one with JD's blood running through their veins, filled me with a sense of overwhelming dread. I couldn't help but wonder how I would ever cope with the monumental task ahead.

And on top of all that, there's the whole mess with JD's reputation and mine at school. He was this charming, dangerous guy, and I got caught up in his twisted games. Now I'm labeled as the school slut, and it's like I'm living in some messed-up teen drama.

So, when reality hit and I found out I was pregnant, it felt like my life was turning into some twisted nightmare. Suddenly, I'm faced with the daunting task of being responsible for another human being, all while dealing with the fallout of JD's actions. How the hell am I supposed to handle this?

 Heather may have been onto something with her sinking lifeboat analogy after all.