The doctor squirts cold gel on my belly and pushes a white plastic probe hard against my skin. The screen beside me flickers to life, and I see wavy lines and shapes that mean nothing to me. I feel like I’m watching from across the room.
I hear a series of clicks, and then a line appears on the screen. It spans the distance of a little bean shape in the center. I stop breathing and look closer.
“That’s the fetus,” he says. “And that is its heart beating. It looks to be about nine weeks.” He makes a few notations on the paper and then snaps off the monitor. The nurse wipes my belly with a tissue and they scurry around arranging tools.
No one notices that I’m no longer a living person. Something in me died when I saw that little heart beating. But rather than jump up and take it all back, I just lie there and let the scene unfold. And when it’s all over and they’re congratulating me on how well I did, I feel empty. I wish they could give me a pill that would erase my memory of today. Some drug that could make this terrible feeling go away.
They take me to a little rest area where there’s juice and cookies. Like we’re a bunch of kindergartners on a break. I sit in a recliner, feeling dizzy and nauseated. Nurses start buzzing around me, taking my blood pressure and monitoring my temperature, but I barely notice them. I’m holed up somewhere deep inside myself.
There are other girls here too, but I’m not curious anymore. There’s a low moaning coming from somewhere to my right, and the sound of someone trying to stifle her sobs, but I don’t care. I don’t want to know their stories or think about their lives. I’m full of my own shame. I haven’t got room for theirs.
After a trip to the bathroom and the paralyzing sight of blood, I’m given a pad and shown back to the little closet that holds my clothes. They look like they belong to someone else. I don’t even know the girl who wore them here. She’s gone.
I stumble into the waiting room, feeling like I’m sleepwalking. Madge looks up at me and hurriedly packs up her bag. She takes me by the arm to lead me out of the clinic, but I yank my arm away and look at her with dead eyes. We ride home in silence. She doesn’t speak at all until we hit the driveway.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that it would be better for you if your father didn’t hear about this.”
She’s so pathetic to me in that moment. I just walk away. After everything I’ve been through, all she’s worried about is covering her own ass. I almost want to tell my dad, just to watch her burn.
She follows me to my room and watches while I climb into bed. “The doctor says you’ll only be sore for a few hours. You should be out of bed and back to your old self by the time your father gets home.” Then she shuts the door and leaves me.
I can’t sleep. I burrow deeper under my covers and press my forehead against the mattress, trying to force the memories out of my head. I’ve been trying to fall asleep for what seems like hours, but every time I close my eyes, I see snatches of the day.
I need my music.
I’m reaching for my iPod when Madge opens my door and walks in, uninvited.
“Your father is home,” she says, clapping her hands, as if I’m a dog she’s calling to attention. “You need to get up for dinner.”
I stare at her, surprised by how different she looks. Madge has always been the enemy. I’ve been fighting her every single day for as long as I’ve known her. But in this moment, I look at her and she means absolutely nothing at all.
There’s a flicker of something behind her eyes. Fear, maybe. Or doubt. I’m not sure, and I don’t care. It’s like my mind was a fist clenched around my hatred of Madge, and now I’ve released my grip and let go. Just like that. Not caring is such a relief that I lie back down and luxuriate in it.
“Anne,” she hisses, closing the door partway. “Get up. You don’t want your dad asking questions, do you?”
I look her straight in the eyes as I put my earphones in. Then I crank my music, turn over, and tune her out.
I wake up to my dad’s kiss on my forehead. “Hey, Button,” he says when my eyes flutter open. “Madeleine says you’re not feeling well again.”
“I’m okay,” I mutter, sitting up. I feel groggy and stiff. I’m confused, and I’m not sure if it’s night or day. Why am I in bed? Then it all rushes back to me with a force that leaves me gasping for air. I look at my dad and burn with shame.
“You’ve been sick a lot lately. I think it’s time to schedule a checkup with the doctor. I don’t want you to miss any more school.” He sits on the edge of my bed and I feel panic stirring in my chest. No doctors. Just the thought of it makes my heart pound.
“I’m fine. Just tired tonight,” I assure him. “I’ll be at school tomorrow, don’t worry.” I cringe at the thought of going back. My dad knows about the first week I was away, but he has no idea that all last week I doubled back home in the mornings and hid in my room all day. I’ve been erasing the messages from the school’s attendance line.
His eyes wander away from me and he looks around my room. “It’s been a while since I’ve spent any time
