Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story (7 page)

Dear Josh,

I have never felt so empty and sad. Right now I am lying in my cold, lonely bed and you are lying on concrete in a jail cell. I don’t know why things had to turn out so bad tonight. It was supposed to be Thanksgiving. Out of all days, why would you ruin a holiday? I’m at a loss and don’t know what to do. The drinking has to stop. I can’t allow this to continue. We have a baby on the way and that is no environment for a child to ever be in. I don’t want to break up, but I think you need to stay at your mom’s for a while. I know that you are probably just as nervous as I am about having a baby, but there is no excuse to binge-drink every day! You’re not the same person when you drink. You break my heart every time you stumble in the door drunk. Either way, I still love you and I always will. I can’t imagine having to do this without you, but I am going to have no choice if you can’t get sober. Please, just do it for me? And if not me, then get sober for your baby.

Love always,

Hoping to be your future wife.

I did not intend on giving Josh this letter. I just had to release my pain. I was unsure of what the future would bring. I was unsure if he could truly handle the responsibility that would soon be bestowed on him. Finally at around 3 a.m., I fell asleep. I fell asleep sad that Josh was probably sleeping on a cold concrete floor. I fell asleep sad that our semi-stable circumstances had just been slammed down over a dark and cruel bottle of whiskey.

The storm from Thanksgiving died down and life returned to a somewhat stable routine. Josh learned a lesson ˗ for a while anyway. He still drank, but not as much as he had been drinking.

My pregnant belly was changing as fast as the seasons were changing. Christmas morning arrived and deep down I knew that it would be my last Christmas as a child. This would probably be my last Christmas living with my mother and sister. This would be the last time that I would be woken up at 4am by my twin sister to sneak down the stairs to retrieve the beautiful stockings that our mother had always carefully and thoughtfully put together. Every year, she would spend so much time finding us gifts that were perfect for who we were. The gifts, from books to chocolate and diaries, were always wrapped and tied with an artistic touch that only a perfectionist could master. They were beautiful. The most beautiful part was the love and energy that she had put into them.

After excitedly (but also somewhat sadly) going through my gifts on my unmade bed, I stuffed four truffles into my mouth and lay down to go back to asleep. Merri woke me up a few hours later as Lilah and Summer arrived. As a family, we opened our gifts, cracked jokes, and unknowingly enjoyed our last Christmas together that would resemble a normal family and childhood. We didn’t know it at the time, and would not have wanted to.

A short time later, Josh came over. I had a stack of gifts for him. I had really gone all out. After learning the story of Beau’s death, I had a deep sympathy for Josh and I wanted to make up for his loss and sad childhood memories. I wanted to make better what his mother could not. This was a big factor in how I treated our relationship from that point forward. I just wanted to love and help him. I wanted to show him what a safe and happy family was like. I wanted him to someday see how poorly the lifestyle his mother was leading and how horrible it could be for him to follow her. Everyone can hope. I hoped until there was none left.

After Christmas break I resumed school as usual. I had finally made friends with the Hispanic girls that I thought hated me. They were really nice and usually pretty damn funny. They made it easy to laugh at the small things that would normally bother me. I had a great sense of belonging, and I knew that no matter what obstacles were in my way, the Teen Parents Program offered plenty of resources. They even had a counselor come once a week to talk with us individually for a half hour. Her name was Rosa. She was in her early 30’s and I loved her personality. She reminded me of a hippie as well as a responsible and concerned mother. I could talk to her about anything that was bothering me without worry of judgment. I usually was able to do the same with my mother, but it was nice to have a person that was not in my immediate life. Between the support from school, my immediate family, and Josh, I was doing exceptionally well. I was going on 7 months. My body had changed, but I wasn’t too concerned. I knew that was the sacrifice of my choice.

One day, out of the blue, my mother announced to me that she wanted to throw me a baby shower. I was initially unsure about the idea. I was wondering to myself, who in their right mind is going to want to attend a baby shower for a 15 year old! I was embarrassed. It was okay for me to be openly excited about my baby while I was at school or when I was with Josh, because everyone else was in a similar situation. I was worried about what friends of the family and even my friends would think.

The following week during Josh’s lunch-break, he took me to my final ultra-sound appointment. We were both excited and betting on a boy. There were so many girls in my family already, and I wanted to be the one that broke the dramatic cycle of nail polish and pre-menstrual mood swings. However, deep down, I did not think that we were having a boy. I just played along to keep Josh’s spirits up. As we were walking down the long hallway to sign in at the hospital, Josh was talking about what he would teach his son. I only had one thing on my mind: I had to pee - bad. My doctor had instructed me to drink as much water as I possibly could before the appointment. He said this would cause my bladder to push my uterus up into a favorable position for the tech to take measurements. I was gagging through episodes of severe acid reflux, and I was sure that I would pee everywhere.

The male technician squeezed ice-cold gel on my pumpkin shaped abdomen. He firmly pressed the probe directly on my bladder. I grimaced in pain but decided to tough it out. After fifteen minutes of torture, the part we had both been anticipating arrived. “You kids want to know the sex of your baby?” he casually asked in a monotone voice. It was as if he had been trained to ask the same questions and was bored with it. “Yes, please,” I said in the calmest tone I could. I was extremely eager and excited, but I didn’t want to annoy him with my teenage giddiness. He already seemed annoyed.

After scanning for about two minutes, we were given the news - sort of. “I am not 100 percent positive because the legs are crossed… but if I had to bet on it, I would say it’s a girl.” Josh and I looked at each other and smiled. I was worried that he would feel let down if his dream of having a son was shot down, but the look on his face told me that he was already completely in love with this little girl. I was excited to confirm the vision I had earlier in the year of a beautiful baby girl. I had known it from the very beginning.

Pulling into my driveway, I noticed a few strange cars. I had no idea who would be at our home. It wasn’t until I walked in and noticed a stack of bibles on our table that I knew what was going on. My mother had recently started attending a church down the street. She went to Bible Study on a regular basis, and she had confided in the pastor about my situation. That night the Bible Study was being held at our home.

I was introduced to the pastor, along with a handful of other middle-aged locals. They were all very nice. I really liked the pastor - Pastor Gene. He was an older man and maybe in his late 60’s. He had a slight resemblance to Santa Clause. His personality fit the character well. Something about this pastor made me feel safe. I felt like I was speaking to a very positive and clean force, almost one of an angel. “I was speaking with your mother, and I wanted to ask you if I could host the baby shower at my home. There is plenty of room and I would really love to help you get things set up,” he said. I was surprised that a person who must be so morally and spiritually intact would want to help me. “That would be awesome! I was worried about how many people would show up, and I just wasn’t sure how to go about it all,” I said, trying to contain my relief. It would be easier to accept a baby shower if it were held by a third party. It wouldn’t make me look so stupid and desperate if another person was hosting it for me.

Two weeks before the baby shower I was 8-1/2 months along. My mom handed me a stack of invitations to send out. I had not thought about whom I would invite and was afraid that it would turn into proof that nobody cared when nobody showed up. After battling with my self-esteem taking a plunge and my hormonal brain being extremely emotional and indecisive, I decided to follow through. I sent out an invitation to every person I could think of. I made some phone calls to get missing mailing addresses then sealed and stacked the envelopes. I was expecting the worst but truly hoping for the best.

The next week I had trouble focusing at school, and I became somewhat overwhelmed. Between being extremely pregnant and having to show the reality of this fact by attending my baby shower, I was not getting much sleep. I would stay awake until two in the morning reading the novels I had once obsessed over - hoping to distract my busy mind from my fears and worries. After sleeping for only 4 hours, I would wake up again at 6:00 in the morning to waddle down the stairs to the kitchen. I found a particular cereal to be extremely pleasurable. I would drench it with honey and waddle back up to my bed. My insomnia was normal for third trimester fatties to deal with. It was nature’s way of preparing for the soon-to-come sleepless nights of caring for a newborn.

“What the hell, Merri!” I angrily screamed. I was so mad that I felt tears streaming down my cheeks. The warm, and clearly fresh, dog shit must have been waiting specifically for me. It was in the perfect place, at just the right time.

“What’s wrong Elizabeth?” my mother asked with a concerned tone. “Merri needs to clean her dog’s shit off the floor! I just stepped in it and it’s stuck between my toes!!” I hysterically announced. This time, waddling with a limp, I rushed to the bathroom and awkwardly lifted my leg to get my foul smelling foot in the sink. The warm water gave the dog crap an enhanced, steamy smell, like it was being boiled for dinner or something. I gagged and, almost throwing up, quickly squeezed the entire contents of the bottle of hand soap onto my violated foot. Standing with my foot in the sink for about fifteen minutes, I hoped that all of the microscopic, disgusting particles of bacteria were gone. I forfeited my quest for cereal and waddled back up the staircase and into my bed (which I hoped wouldn’t become contaminated with any hiding feces I surely missed).

The day of my baby shower had arrived. It was a bright and sunny day. Spring was teasing me with the melting snow that always had a beautiful sparkle. My mother and I headed to the pastor’s home early. We needed to get things set up and make appetizers that my mother was determined to serve. It was the first time I had been to the pastor’s home. I imagined that it would resemble the typical old person’s home with that brown Tahoe-style shag length carpet with orange and green appliances from the 1970’s. This home proved my imagination wrong. It was big, beautiful, modern, and very clean. It was located in a part of town where the well off usually chose to reside. Actually, it wasn’t too far from Dr. Huey’s house. I learned that the home was provided to the pastor and his family by the church for the duration of his work.

I nervously paced around trying to come up with some sort of helpful task, but I was probably just in the way. Pastor Gene must have noticed my anxiety. As the time for guests to arrive neared, my stomach was in knots and I felt seriously ill. Pastor Gene approached me and asked if everything was all right. I casually explained my nervousness, and he handed me a plate with cheese and crackers. He told me that eating would help my nausea and things were going to be just fine. As I was choking down the dry crackers, my first guests arrived.

“Hi guys!” I excitedly said. I was more than happy when I saw that Merri had brought along some friends we had made during our first year of high school. They were all boys, but I thought that it was so sweet of them to show up considering that most men have egos in the way of allowing them to attend a baby shower. I was instantly relieved that anyone had shown up at all. As the next fifteen minutes passed, more people were ringing the doorbell than I could keep up with. There were so many beautiful gifts on the dining table, and the big living room was nearly filled to capacity.

I hated the clinic that my doctor had forced me to make an appointment with. It was a community clinic, and it was smelly and overcrowded. My options to see a specialist were slim since I was forced to enroll in state insurance to cover the expenses of the pregnancy. When the state had asked for my mother’s personal information (because I resided with her) she just about burst a gasket. She was irritated and insulted that the same office that disbursed welfare payments wanted information from her. She eventually got over it and gave them her social security number to get me on the coverage. Growing up, we did not have a regular insurance plan; any time we were sick or needed any sort of medical care, our mom would always make sure that we were promptly taken care of. She had a way of being classy and resourceful all at the same time. I look back and admire her for this.

The nurse called me, and I was greeted by two male doctors. I felt uncomfortable and was glad that I had my mom come into the office with me. One doctor was an intern and the other was clearly a veteran. When he introduced himself, I realized that he was the father of a boy I went to school with. How freaking embarrassing, I thought, as he was checking to see if I had dilated. It was mild torture. “You are about three centimeters, and with your permission I would like to strip the bag of waters to help your labor progress. We can’t really allow a woman with preeclampsia to remain pregnant for very long,” he said. “Sure. Do whatever needs to be done,” I replied. This procedure wasn’t supposed to hurt, but because I had not finished growing, it hurt like a bitch. Luckily, it only lasted about thirty seconds. I was happy to get dressed and out of the clinic. I didn’t feel any different, and I assumed that whatever he had done was probably not going to make anything happen yet. I had never even heard of that procedure and thought it was probably just an old wives’ tale.

Waddling my way back into our home, I started to feel sick and tired. Mrs. Snow had left a message on the answering machine wanting me to go into school to take an important state test that all of the students would have to take. I had scheduled to do my work at home for the last month of my pregnancy, but I thought that I would just stick it out and go in the next morning to prove my dedication to graduating high school.

I had it in my mind that I would graduate early so I could start college. I did not know what would become of my future when I began to live away from home. My mother had not mentioned anything to me about moving out, but I knew that eventually we would have to get our own place. Josh, going back and forth from our house to his mom’s, was frustrating to me and it would be difficult to feel like a responsible parent if I was still living with my parent.

I walked into the portable classroom the next morning at nine. I was surprised when I realized that the classroom was completely full. It was not just pregnant women or mothers - there were regular students in the class taking the exam as well. One of these students was a boy I had hooked up with the previous year. He was a popular kid, and I felt like a complete idiot when he gave me a second glance. I was sure he was thinking: “go figure…she’s knocked up.” I tried to ignore my insecurity and focus on the exam. The first hour I was doing just fine. When I began the next part of the exam my nausea overcame me to the point of searching for a trashcan. I again meditated my way out of humiliation and quickly guessed on the rest of my answers. I left early, and Mrs. Snow didn’t put up an argument.

My mom picked me up in the hidden parking lot by the football field, and I explained to her that I was feeling pretty crappy. “You’re probably in labor, Elizabeth!” This was the first time that I knew for a fact that she would love this baby. She was as anxious to meet this baby as I was. “I am not having contractions though. It’s probably just a bug or something,” I stoically replied. As confident as I was, I was forced to rethink my statement when I sensed how confident she was. After all, she did have three children - two in one shot. She should know. When we returned home I spent the rest of my day on the couch. I was unable to eat because I was still sick to my stomach and it was definitely not letting up. Josh came home from work and I forced him to rub my feet. When 9:00 o’clock hit, we were both too tired to finish our movie and headed up the stairs. He grabbed his portable twin sized mattress out of my closet and kissed me goodnight. Looking back, it was pretty silly that we both had our own twin beds and his was on the floor. It was like a really screwed up slumber party or something. Curled up in the fetal position, as best as my stomach would allow, I fell into a deep sleep. I was dreaming about giving birth to baby kittens. It was so realistic, but I knew that there was no way I was a cat.