urination. I read the instructions four times. I peed on the
little stick and watched with my guts cramping from fear,
not PMS, for the lines to show up. One or two? Safe or
caught?
One line.
I hadn't been raised a regular churchgoer, but I got on my
knees there in front of the toilet and I sent a prayer of
thanks so fervent I was sure any God who'd listen would
forgive me for my past sins. Then I wrapped the test in a
handful of toilet paper the way I usualy wrapped my
tampons and shoved it to the bottom of the garbage can.
I got home from school to an empty house, my mom at
work as usual. And, as usual, I was already flying through
my homework and my chores so I could spend the rest of
my homework and my chores so I could spend the rest of
the time with Austin until she got home. When I went into
the bathroom to clean it, my heart stopped. Literaly. The
world grayed out in that two seconds before it started to
beat again, and I clutched the sink to keep from faling.
There on the counter was a pregnancy test. The same
brand I'd used that morning. Only this one had two lines in
the little window. A positive result.
This time when I got on my knees it wasn't to pray. I put
my head in my shaking hands and concentrated on
drawing in breath after breath. I could smel the bleachy
cleanser I'd meant to use on the shower wals, which never
wanted to come clean from the soap scum no matter how
hard I scrubbed. I could feel my breath whistling through
my fingers.
I got myself under control and onto my feet to stare again
at the test. Hadn't I left enough time for the results? Had it
turned positive after I'd thrown it away and gone my merry
way to school, secure in my un-knocked-up state?
Had I been pregnant al day and not known it?
Normaly I wouldn't touch the garbage without rubber
Normaly I wouldn't touch the garbage without rubber
gloves, but I dug through the layers of used tissues and Q-
tips without even a gag, though my stomach had risen in
my throat. I found the box I'd wrapped as carefuly as the
test, but before I could tear it open to reread the
instructions to see if it was possible a test could turn
positive later than the three minutes I'd given it. And I
found, stil wrapped tightly and hidden, the test I'd taken
that morning. Which meant, of course, the one on the sink
wasn't mine.
My thanks this time were louder and more fervent than
they'd been that morning, but shorter. Because if it wasn't
mine, that meant it was my mother's. I didn't want to think
about that.
Thinking of this now, I puled up in front of my mom's
