Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul on Tough Stuff (17 page)

You start to yell at me,
Verbally abuse me.
Learning a long time ago not to talk back
I only listen, intimidated and terrified.

A sudden blow on my cheek interrupts my silent prayers
Another blow on my back
My tiny legs, my head, my neck.
Stop bashing me up!

I cry out, hurt and traumatized
In agony I howl.
The only thing I get in return is
Another strike for being too loud.
Help me, Mama.
Don't lie about my injuries.

Help me, Mama.
Take me away from this nightmare I'm in.

Mama is nowhere in sight
While her little girl is being slammed
Against the wall.
Where are you? Why aren't you helping me?

All I can hear is the sound of my own bone breaking.
I can taste blood in my mouth.
Daddy yanks me by my hair,
Dragging me down the stairs.

Help me, Mama,
Help me.

Under the light I can see my scars
My legs twisted
My black-and-blue arms
My ears ringing.

I look around, whimpering
As Daddy cries out, “Shut up,
You bad girl! Neighbors will hear!”
I cut short, scared to death.

As I lie here on the cold floor
Who is to rescue me?
No more Mama's comforting hugs.
Oh, Mama, has he killed you already?

The thought of living without you terrifies me.
I start to cry loudly.
Knowing I have got to stop
I bite my lips.

Too late,
Daddy comes back.
He is hurting me again,
He twists my little arm behind my back.

Mama.
Help me!

I slowly drift away
Everything seems so blurry and distant.
Maybe I am dying,
Maybe that will be better.

I wake up the next morning,
The sun shining on my face.
Doctor's face clouds with concern.
I nod as he asks if I'm okay.

But I'm not okay,
Daddy's there!
Instead of the angry face I saw last night,
He puts on a mask of happiness.

“I'm so glad you're awake!
Let's celebrate!”
The doctor pats me on the head
Walking away.

I try to call him, to ask him to come back
Desperately I try to say,
“Don't leave me alone with him.”
But my lips are too sore and I cannot speak.

A short while later I am better . . .
Healthy enough to go home.
I plead the nurse with my begging eyes,
I am too scared to tell them what's going on.

I have no choice but to follow Daddy,
As he grabs my hand tightly, leading me away.
No, I want to stay!
Leave me alone!

I turn back, but nobody notices me,
My hurt and battered tiny body.
Returning back to where I was harmed
Back I go.

Help me, Mama.

Hawon Lee

Nightmares

A new dawn emerges
with its layers and layers
of pinks and yellows.

As the sun swallows up my
bedroom with satin rays of sunlight
I wake . . .
sweaty and screaming
foolish and alone.
And so I continue on . . .
living each day
feeling his sweat . . .
and hearing his heavy breath
in the back of my mind
every time silence creeps up on me.

Later I watch the sun, so naive
crawl under the horizon . . .
and I get restless as dusk approaches
for I know that when my head hits
that pillow . . .
the fight begins . . .
and he always wins
in the end.

Carrying my innocence off
holding it up to the moonlight
kicking and screaming until
. . . finally . . .
he leaves it and walks away
while it is raw and naked
shaking on the cold ground.

. . . until a new dawn emerges
with its layers and layers
of pinks and yellows . . .
Good morning.

Kara MacDonald

[EDITORS' NOTE:
If you or someone you know is or has
been abused or molested, the following resources will prove
helpful for both information and support. If you or someone
you know is hurt or in danger, try to get help as soon as
possible from a friend or parent.
Call 911 or the police
as
soon as you safely can.
]

Child Help USA: 800-422-4453
Twenty-four-hour child abuse hotline. Telephone counseling
and referrals.

Covenant House Nineline: 800-999-9999
Crisis line for youth and parents. Referrals throughout the
U.S.

National Child Abuse Hotline: 800-422-4453
Twenty-four hours. Crisis intervention, information and
referrals.

RAINN (Rape Abuse & Incest National Network):
www.rainn.org

The National Sexual Assault Hotline: 800-656-HOPE
Free. Confidential. 24/7.

Victims of Crime Resource Center: 800-842-8467
Monday Through Friday; 8:00
A
.
M
.–6:00
P
.
M
.

Youth Crisis Hotline: 800-448-4663

7
ON COURAGE

O
ne of the most courageous things you can
do is identify yourself, know who you are,
what you believe in and where you want
to go.

Shiela Murray Bethel

The Birth of an Adult

T
he ultimate measure of a man is not where
he stands in moments of comfort and convenience,
but where he stands at times of challenge
and controversy.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

The doctors started to rush into the room. The delivery was going smoothly, but to me it felt like hysteria. The walls were a chalky gray like the wall of a jail cell. It wasn't the best setting for Jamie's labor, but it would have to do. Jamie was only a seventeen-year-old junior in high school. And now she was giving birth. She lay back in pain. Her only movements consisted of shaking her head from side to side, in an effort to escape the pain.

I took Jamie's hand, comforting her and trying to soothe her agony. Her eyes opened, and she looked at me. Our eyes met, and suddenly I felt every emotion I have ever known. I always knew Jamie would challenge me to better myself; however, I didn't think it would entail being her sidekick during her pregnancy.

All this began on the afternoon of New Year's Eve, 1997. I sat in Jamie's basement awaiting the urgent news she had to tell me. She collapsed onto the couch and told me how she had broken up with her boyfriend, Eric, who had left the country to study abroad. This came as something of a relief, although I did my best not to show it. I didn't think Eric, or any other guy she had dated, was good enough for her. Okay, I'll admit it, I was—how should I put it—a little jealous. But I'd convinced myself we were better off as friends, anyway. And now she needed one.

Then the real news came: She was six weeks pregnant. Tears rolled down her face as she told me. I sat in shock and disbelief. The words were not registering in my head. She reached out and gave me a hug, which must have lasted only a few seconds but seemed like hours. My arms were still at my sides. We talked for a little while, and then I left her house and drove around in my car. I was in shock. I was upset about her lack of birth control because this whole ordeal could have been prevented. I was too young to deal with her pregnancy. Being a seventeen-year-old and a junior in high school was confusing enough without dealing with my own real-life afterschool special.

That evening I arrived at a party to drink my worries away. The air was filled with smoke and the partygoers reeked of alcohol. I could not take the atmosphere for long, so I left. I went to Jamie's house and stood on her front porch staring at the front door.
What should I do?
I asked myself. My foot started to turn from the door, but my hand reached out and pushed the doorbell. I wanted to run and go back to the party. I wanted to have fun this New Year's Eve. Suddenly, the door opened and Jamie stood in the doorway with her head down. “You can't spend New Year's Eve by yourself,” I blurted out. She smiled, and we hugged in the doorway. This symbolized the beginning of the new journey that lay ahead for us. That night, we sat and laughed like usual while watching Dick Clark ring in the New Year. After that night, my life would change. I wouldn't be a crazy teenager anymore. I would become a young adult.

Weeks passed, and Jamie told her parents about the pregnancy. She and her parents made the decision to go through with the pregnancy, but to give the baby up for adoption. My parents talked with her parents and offered their support, almost like they were discussing our marriage; Jamie and I were growing and maturing together.

During her first trimester, I found myself at Jamie's house every day after school giving her a foot massage while she relaxed and watched her soap opera. She wasn't able to walk very much. I made snacks for her and enough food runs to Taco Bell to last us both a lifetime. My friends were not considerate about what I was going through. While I was busy helping a friend, they were busy making fun of me. They would call Jamie's house wondering what I was doing. They already knew, but they just wanted to poke fun. At school, the jokes surfaced like, “Gonna be a good daddy?” and “What are you doing this weekend . . . Lamaze class?” I shrugged them off and ignored them. I went on with my daily chores and focused on Jamie. I tried to make her life as easy as possible.

Later, one Saturday afternoon as I was catching up on sleep, Jamie called.

“Did you want to do something today?” she asked.

“What did you have in mind?” I replied.

“I want you to help me choose the baby's family,” she said.

My ears turned hot, and I felt uneasy. But I told her I would pick her up. As I drove to her house, I thought about how much I had changed. I was more responsible, but I still considered myself a child. I felt I had no business choosing a path for an unborn baby. I groaned and doubted myself. I arrived at her house and helped her into the car. As we were driving to the adoption agency, Jamie pointed out to me, “You're not speeding.”

It occurred to me that I was no longer a crazy driver, thinking about how quickly I could get from one place to the other. I was now responsible for making sure we got there safely.

“I'm driving for three people now,” I told her.

We arrived at the agency and were seated in a conference room. Fifty manila folders lay on the table, each containing a couple. One of these folders would be the lucky one. One of these couples would be the parents of Jamie's baby. The counselor and Jamie and I went through each folder discussing their spiritual, psychological, financial, genealogical and emotional backgrounds. I began browsing through one folder, which read “Jennifer and Ben.” The folder was more like a booklet chronicling their life with pictures of where they'd been, who they are and who they wanted to become. Their explanation of why they wanted a baby caught my attention. This couple intrigued me. We kept narrowing down the couples, until we were down to two couples: Jennifer and Ben and Jamie's pick. We discussed both couples, finally agreeing on Jennifer and Ben.

As we were getting ready to leave, I took a picture of Jennifer and Ben out of the folder and slipped it into my jacket pocket without Jamie noticing. I wanted to have a record of them before their life was to be changed forever. I put on my jacket, and we left the agency.

It was a miserably cold spring day. After helping Jamie into the car, I walked around the car and a warm breeze struck me. I stood by the trunk of my car feeling the summer draft. I couldn't understand it. It was a cold day, but the wind was warmer than an August breeze. It felt like a sign, an anonymous thank you. We drove away and I thought about the decision we made. I thought about the families we didn't pick. How much longer would it take for them to receive the gift of a child?

A few weeks later we met Jennifer and Ben for the first time. They impressed me. They were a close couple, and I knew they would apply the love they had for each other to their child. Jamie told them that I urged her to pick them, which made this meeting even more overwhelming for me. I tried not to show it, though, as we bonded almost immediately. They urged Jamie to take a childbirth class so she would be ready for all of the upcoming events. She needed a partner for the class, so I agreed. She signed up for a class, and every Tuesday night Jamie and I attended together.

The first class was awkward. I had never felt so out of place in my entire life. Jamie and I sat down together, trying to ignore the seven married couples staring at us. We were too young and too ignorant to be going through a pregnancy and a birthing class. Nevertheless, Jamie had to do it, and I would not let her be alone. After time, we all began to bond and develop a tremendous amount of respect for each other. Everyone realized what a struggle it was for us to get this far.

During the “Mom Time,” the dads and I sat outside talking about the babies' futures. The dads talked about peewee football, mutual funds and insurance. I talked about Shakespeare and Geometry. I was out of place, for sure, but I realized there is more to giving birth than nine months and a doctor. So much freedom was sacrificed, replaced with a huge amount of responsibility. The dads respected me and praised me for my humanity towards a friend, not to mention my maturity. I still just couldn't believe I was sitting around talking about babies. I wanted to be innocent again. I wanted to drive my car fast and go to parties, but more important responsibilities called me. I was maturing.