Spring
The ruts in the road are beginning to fill with the slush of ice and water as the rain beats down relentlessly. I stand at the threshold of the open front door, smelling the air. It is of earth, damp hay, and dark attics, rising up through the foggy mists.
“Dad, your coffee’s on the counter,” I yell before I heave my backpack onto my shoulder and step out into the drizzling wetness.
“Thanks, bug,” Dad calls. “I’m going to remember the pizza tonight. I promise.”
The exhaustion I feel as I maneuver the Lincoln over the slippery road toward school almost makes me turn the car around and head home. I gingerly touch the bump on my nose. I don’t think it’s broken, but all the blood I had to scrub out of the rug makes me question my own diagnosis. At least I can breathe.
Suddenly the sun peeks out from behind a cloud and the bright light blinds me for a second. I blink quickly to keep the road ahead in sight. In the distance, a dark shape forms on the horizon. I wheeze and eagerly press on the gas. Hannah’s figure looms ahead of me. She is walking.
“Hey,” I say, and frantically wave as I pull up next to her.
She glances through the window and pauses. I stop the car completely and jump out.
“I don’t want any more lectures,” she says.
“I don’t have any. Come on, Hannah. Please . . . I miss you.”
Hannah smiles and my heart stills for a beat. Her brown eyes in that moment are so familiar to me. As though transported through time. The relief I feel at her forgiveness is immense. She is still my friend. And that knowledge means more than I could have imagined.
As soon as she is in the car, I am running my mouth about how there is a new guy at the lab and there is this hush-hush secret that I wish I could tell her about, but then I would have to cut off my tongue and possibly hers as well. She listens to all this without a single word but continues to smile at me through it all. I have truly missed her.
“Where have you been these last two weeks? You haven’t been at school. Did you go to Costa Rica with Dave?”
She absentmindedly nods as we pull into the school parking lot. A group of guys standing on the lawn, including Dave, watch us drive by. I maneuver the beast over to the far side of the lot to keep as much distance between Dave and Hannah as possible. I just want a few more minutes alone with her.
“Why do we have to park so far away?” she asks.
“Can we just catch up for a minute? I know you’re gonna just go and be with Dave when we get into school.”
Hannah shifts in her seat, and her long greasy hair falls into her face. I can smell that she hasn’t showered in days. The veins in the back of her hands stand out like tunneling worms.
“Are you getting enough to eat?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Enough,” she says quietly.
“Hannah, you can’t keep going like this. Have you thought about what you want to do?”
Hannah remains silent, her hands folded neatly in her lap like she is at church. “I know how you feel about this, Grace.”
“Remember I vowed lecture radio silence.” I smile.
“I told him, and he wants me to have the baby.”
I want to throw up my hands and ask if she is insane, but instead I nod and keep the fake smile Sharpied on my lips.
“I want a family, but is this just a cliché?” Hannah’s eyes fill with tears. “Some teen mom bullshit?”
“Do you love him, Hannah?” I ask gently.
She looks away from me. “I don’t know. I don’t know about anything. What am I supposed to do after high school? Find a job? Go to college? I don’t have the grades like you, Grace.”
“You could go to a community college. Transfer later. Get a job for now and—”
“Stop! I don’t have plans like that, Grace.”
“It just sucks, Hannah. I wish you could see that you have so many options. Choices that you can’t even know about in the future. Don’t you want the freedom to see what happens?”
Hannah cups her slightly protruding belly. “This is all I have.”
I lean forward, my neck stretching tight with all the things I want to say, but instead I tell her a truth. “I wish my mom and dad never had me. If I could have had a say in all of it, I would have said no.”
Hannah turns away from me. Immediately, the horrible meaning of my words sinks between us. I reach out, but she flinches away.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t meant that. I know I said I wouldn’t do this. Please, Hannah,” I beg, “please, don’t be mad at me. I can’t sleep. I’m just tired and cranky.”
Hannah nods but won’t look up at me. She dashes away the tears with the back of her hand and then opens the door to step out. As we walk away from the car, my throat raw from the scraping words, I wonder about what choices we really do have in life. What did my mother and father know of love? Of bringing me into a world
