Piece

∽ crossroad ∽

When I was a child I used to have a habit of tearing out my daily calendar as a symbol of welcoming the new day ahead. I could remember feeling excited about hearing the ripping of the paper as I throw it over my shoulder and let it clutter on the floor. My mom hated the idea and once proposed an alternative. She said, "Why not just turn it instead of tearing it? At least then you could still keep the days that has passed." But I couldn't, it doesn't make sense to me. Plus, we all know that she just hates the mess I make by doing it.

In situations like that, I have always wondered what my father would do. I wonder if he'll stick up for me when my mom doesn't agree on me on something. Would he say, "Don't worry my dear girl. It's going to be okay. Daddy's going to convince your mom."

But I never met my father. My mom told me that he left when I was still an unborn child. I didn't know anything else but that because she told me that I don't need to-that it doesn't matter because I have her. And I believed her, my mom and I have been the best of friends and she's been the greatest mother to me. We were fine. But sometimes I can't help but want a father. Because maybe, just maybe he'll know what to do.

I look down at my stomach through my reflection in the mirror. Two weeks has gone by as I await every single day with a hesitant heart. If I ever brought the habit of ripping my daily calendar into my age now, I think two weeks ago would be the day I'll stop doing it. Two weeks ago I would've stopped welcoming the day ahead in the fear of what it might do to me someday. I would've let it stay in one date as a symbol of not wanting to go on-of wanting to be stuck forever.

I stroke my tummy as I breathe in and out slowly. Today will be the day that I'll know if I carry a child or not. If I carry his child or not. My mind could think of different ways to conceal what has been happening to me emotionally but my body cannot. Every ache, every sweat and every tear from my body doesn't lie. Last week, I keep on throwing up and I eat more than what I could digest. I'm not a fool, I know what the symptoms are. But I can't help but stick to the tiniest hope that I am not because nothing's ever official until this test tells me so. Not yet and if it is..

If it is true. That I am pregnant. Then I'll know what to do.

I reach for the plastic bag sitting on my bed. With hasty hands, I bring out the pregnancy stick that I bought yesterday. I wasted no time and head straight to my bathroom for the moment of truth.

Once it's done, I sit down on my bed and wait for the result. The unsettling nervousness at the pit of my stomach is evident on my face as I focus my gaze only on the test. Slowly, I start to see the one red line. My heart starts to pound faster by the second as it becomes clearer and clearer. I felt some sort relief as it becomes more evident but at the same time I felt like I lost something.

I didn't know what to feel. I should be happy right? How could I ever want a child at this age? I am just a teenager. I am not ready for this-be it Jimin's child or not. But an ache creeps into my heart as it spreads over my body until it pumps in me like a blood.

I brought the pregnancy test to my hands and look at it one more time. For a second, I thought that it was just my imagination betraying me. But it wasn't. The transparent glass from the stick is now showing a faded red line. My eyes bulged in surprise as I hold it closer to my line of sight. It is. It has two lines.

I am pregnant.