What Remains Inside

a memoir about mental illness and child abuse

“My mother smirked because she could read my mind.”

Book Description:

I n 1981 I was fifteen years old. My mother was having a psychotic breakdown. Over the course of that year, her fixations on me intensified. At first she said I ‘was’ her. She tried to convince me I would be the next victim in a string of imagined crimes. Most days, she’d describe the murder scene; how I would be killed. I’d listen to her with rapt attention, fearing that what she was saying might be true. I’d watch her eyes examine me and I never really knew if she believed the things she told me or if she just enjoyed watching fear consume me. I’d leave my house at night, my emotions in shreds, the fear and paranoia having settled in every muscle in my body. My heart raced and my brain remained constantly vigilant. In the midst of my trauma, I found another place. Drugs. Alcohol. Boys. I’d guzzle cheap wine and wait impatiently for it to dull my senses and grant me power. Sometimes I’d take LSD or get so high that I didn’t remember blocks of time. I’d sit with my best friends on the hood of our car smoking cigarettes, our feet in high-heeled Candie’s sandals swinging to the beat of another car’s radio blaring Led Zeppelin somewhere in the nearby darkness. When the crowd began to disperse, I’d find one of the handsome boys, make out and bask in the kind of attention I never tired of. I’d extend the nights for as long as I could, the fear of my mother a constant flicker just beneath my consciousness.

Below is an excerpt from my memoir “What Remains Inside.”
you can read the entire memoir free https://www.wattpad.com/story/45786719-what-remains-inside

1980 — Last Day of School

“Sherry? Are you coming to get me?”

“This is her father, Dr. Downey.”

“Oh.”

”Are you ok?” he asked.

“Yes, I am fine.” I muttered softly, “Sherry said she was coming to get me.”

”Well, she left six minutes ago. She should be there in about 13 minutes.

”All right then. I just wai — “

”Are you all right?”

“Ya. Let her know I’m waiting…”

”Do you want me to call the police?”

I paused. And waited. It was not long, but I lingered in the safety. The silence sat between us on the phone. I held on to it. I didn’t want to hang up the phone. I wanted to be protected by Sherry’s father. I longed momentarily for the silence in the background of their home while he waited for me to decide. The police had already been to our house once tonight. Finally, I said, “I’ll just wait for Sherry. Bye.”

I looked down on the floor as I hung up the telephone. The phone had a long –maybe ten-foot chord — and it was curled up in a tight tangle between my fingers. My mother was sitting on the floor, cross-legged with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. The ash was almost the whole length of the cigarette and curled over like the fingernails of the ladies in the Guinness Book of World Records. Her hair was graying, dried out and wiry. I couldn’t help but think of how much I hated her. She wasn’t looking at me and I stared at the phone. Who should I call next? I remembered that Sherry was coming to get me in eight minutes. I thought her father said eight minutes although I couldn’t imagine how long eight minutes was. I turned to walk out the front door. I was thinking I could walk down the street and Sherry might see me as she drove up. Just as I turned, my mother started crying audibly.

“Donna, Donn. Donn?”

As I looked at her, her eyes became dark and fierce.

“Mommy?” she whispered. “Mommy.” And then she smiled at me and started to laugh. “Mommy don’t go,” she said and she took a drag from her cigarette. Finally, the ash fell and it hit her thigh.

“Fuck!” She shouted and then lay down on the floor. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she shouted louder and she smashed the cigarette on to the linoleum. I saw the plastic brick linoleum square melting into the form of a smooth circle as it smothered the life out of the cigarette.

“Mom,” I said calmly. “It is Donna.”

“Mom — mmmm — -mmmyyyyyy?” she said. She stood up, swayed for a moment and then walked towards me: the whole time staring into my eyes. I felt naked and awkward as if my body was shamefully ugly. As if I was shameful. I wanted to say, “Stop it you stupid fucking bitch!” except I said again, “mom its Donna.”

“You know the secret.” She said to me. She stood up and walked right behind me. I turned so that I was facing her. I didn’t like my back to her. She leaned close and whispered into my ear “lets go die together.” She grabbed my arm and tried to usher me into her bedroom where she had pills she had stolen from the hospital. She also had her own stash of antipsychotics and anti depressants. I knew she wanted me to take the pills. I didn’t exactly trust that she would take them too. I didn’t believe she wanted us to die together. Somewhere inside I knew she was acting, pretending. She was acting like she was crazy in order to trick me. I knew this intuitively, but I knew how to hide my intuition. She could read my intuition. She could practically read my thoughts.

“Stop it mom,” I said urgently. “Stop pretending.”

She laughed and leaned closer “lets go die together” she whispered.

The house was a disaster and the kitchen, where we were standing, looked as if squatters had been living here. Every inch of counter space was covered with dirty dishes, old cans of tomatoes, pans with dried rice, dirty dishes. The tumblers of half drunken whisky and orange juice had separated into layers of amber and yellow. For some reason there was a rolling pin on the counter. We have never baked in our house and it struck me as crazy that it would be laying right there amongst the rotting cans of Spam, shrimp cocktail and congealing apple jacks and milk. A garbage can was in the middle of the room because earlier that night my mother had vomited repeatedly from her whiskey and OJ. After many clean-up attempts, I had finally dragged the can in for her to lean over as she gagged up her cocktail.

“Stop it mom,” I said again, but this time more urgently. The house was a time warp and she and I existed together in that moment and no one or nothing could penetrate that reality. I took a deep breath and for some reason I began to scream. I screamed so loudly that I knew that all of the neighbors must have heard me. The scream was a kind of abandon for I had completely lost my mind. My mother stood on the other side of the trashcan and her vomitous garbage took up the space between us. I continued to scream and she continued to whisper in a soft hushed tone “lets go die tighter” Then she began calling me by her sister Betty’s name. And so she whispered “Betty. Lets go die together.” I continued to scream. I held my hands on the rim on the garbage can and I stared at her, still screaming. Suddenly I noticed the rolling pin. I looked at it and she watched me and smiled. I decided I would pick it up. I would pick up the rolling pin and I would beat her on the head with it. I would beat her until she stopped whispering for me to follow her and swallow down a handful of pills. I would beat her until she was dead.

My mother smirked because she could read my mind.

By that time of night everyone and everything smelled like Budweiser. The keg was pretty much empty. Now it only sprayed foam from the nozzle. All the kids were leaving: tired, drunk, throwing up. To me, everything felt happy. Someone had strung white Christmas lights all around the back yard and the feeling was exotic. The yellow lights created a canopy beneath which there was a picnic table strewn with half empty cups, cigarette butts floated in most of them. Some of the cups had red lip stick stains on them. The party was over. The summer air was cool and fresh and if you weren’t close to the picnic table — which smelled from the cigarettes, rancid beer and vomit — the air was refreshing. To me this was a first. The first “end of a party.” So, even though it was a sort of let down for a lot of the party goers, especially those who wanted more drinking and fun, to me it was amazing. It was the first time I had been to a keg party. The seniors were there, mostly popular kids. The football players were there and the party seemed to move around them. Some of them stood together in groups of three or four, some of them were making out in bedrooms in the house or in a dark corner of the yard, one or two were rambunctious, howling and drinking heavily.

I imagined that this was what Mexico looked like. I don’t know why but I kept thinking of Mexico and how exotic things must be there. I was fifteen and a sophomore and earlier in the night I wasn’t noticed. I moved around like a little sister at a wedding taking sips of beer and running around with Kathy who was also going to be a sophomore next fall. I thought of what a big deal it was to be there. How Kathy had told me this was a party for the popular kids, that there would be seniors there, football players. It was really cool to be invited. And, to still be at the party when everyone was leaving felt even more privileged.

It was late, but I didn’t even think about time because I thought everything looked so pretty and festive. And I was drunk. I sat down on a bench and leaned back against the picnic table. I closed my eyes for a minute and felt a curious dizziness like centrifugal force on the round up ride at Lincoln Park. Instinctively I opened my eyes again. I knew that enjoying the dizziness might make me throw up. So I opened my eyes to stop the spinning and when I did I noticed that again, Eddie Caren was looking right at me. He kept on talking with his buddies but he was smiling at me while he talked.

It was hard to believe that Eddie Caren would notice me. Just a year before I was so lonely at New Bedford High school. No one had known that I existed. No one wanted to be my friend except one kid named Chip who was in the band and whose attention made me uncomfortable. For weeks in English class he had watched. Finally, he asked me to “go out” and when I said “no” he looked at me, puckered his lips oddly and then lisped, “well then, bye-bye cookie.” I was stupid because I didn’t know what “go out” really meant.

I was so lonely the first half of my freshman year. The school was so big and I didn’t know anyone. I had never felt so alone before: being around so many kids and having no one to talk to. Finally, after Christmas last year, I decided I would try harder to make friends. I sat at home and wrote down my school schedule. I wrote down every period and whom I wanted to talk to in each class. I made a plan for talking to someone every period. I planned out what I would ask or say such as: “Hi Phillip, did you do your homework?” or “Kathy is someone sitting here?” Finally, I made friends with Kathy and Sherry. It was near the end of the year before they invited me to go out with them. But, once we are all friends they invited me to go to parties that they got invited to.

Before Eddie, I had only kissed one person before: this kid Frankie. That was a year ago. It was last summer when I still hung out with my friend Beth, from St. Mary’s Elementary School. She had told me that Frankie liked me. She had pointed him out from a distance and introduced me once at the mall. I remembered standing awkwardly near an Orange Julius stand. He had stood there looking at me. I had looked at him and I didn’t like him. Part of me didn’t like him because he liked me. I had thought, “What kind of loser likes me?” The more Beth told me he wanted to hang out with me, the more I grew to hate him. I thought his leather bomber jacket looked too big and was too stiff. I felt that he was conspicuously foolish. I was embarrassed for him. Still he kept telling Beth to tell me to meet him. Reluctantly I would agree then at the last minute I wouldn’t show. Two times I didn’t meet him at the park when I said I would. Finally, he told my friend Beth to tell me to stop being a “Dick Tease,” which I vaguely understood and which had left me with an uneasy, kind of guilty shameful feeling. But, then one night when I was at the park with Beth, he appeared. He grabbed my hand and he led me alone with him into the woods near Buttonwood Park. When we got near a large tree in a secluded part of the woods, he leaned against me, pressing me into the tree. I had looked at him in his eyes and he had a serious look. He seemed strong and his leather jacket didn’t look so stupid. He was staring at me so hard that it felt like he was pressing into me. I had felt a surge of electricity run through me. Finally, he really did press his lips against mine, firmly but not hard or mean. Then his tongue entered my mouth. It was warm and at first, I think I felt his taste buds. It was curious, then suddenly my whole body had exploded in that second. It was a fainting, sweating, feeling that I wanted to last forever. Abruptly he had pulled away and backed away from me. My heart was beating strongly and I tried to swallow but I couldn’t get air. He turned his back to me and kept walking. That was when I realized that his kiss was his revenge for me not liking him, for standing him up…except I wanted to scream, “I changed my mind! I actually DO like you!” Because after the kiss I did like him. I loved him. I wanted him to keep kissing me that night. I think I wanted him to probably kiss me the next day and maybe for the whole summer. I wanted what he had wanted. I wanted to “hang out” with him; but I didn’t know how to explain that. I was frozen. I had made a terrible mistake. It was true; he kind of sickened me before. I had found him annoying, disgusting even. But, how was I to know? I hadn’t known any of it. I didn’t know about kissing or that feeling; or, that you can be mistaken about hating someone only to find out later that you love them after they kiss you. So he kept walking back to the playground where the other teenagers were and I held that feeling, a secret, inside of my body and I had a sense that this was the beginning of a mystery: a glimpse into information that until now I knew nothing about. And despite the times my mother had called me a slut and a whore, and talked about her own sex, it was not something that she could have driven out of me because until then it hadn’t belonged to me yet. I had no idea about the mysteries of love. To me a whore was the same as the other names she called me. To me a “whore” was the same as a “fucking parasite.”

Frankie was a year before. That was when I was fourteen. Since then there had been almost no other boys except that band kid Chip from my English class who asked me to “go out.” I had known all along with Chip that he wasn’t going to be like Frankie. Somehow through the softness of Chips hands, through the mole of his cheek, he wouldn’t ever make me feel like that. He would never kiss me like that and I would never feel that way about him. Even then, I knew I had lost something powerful when Frankie walked back to his friends in Buttonwood Park.

Now, the night air was full of Budweiser and people were bustling, figuring out rides. And there was Eddie Caren sort of leaning, kind of falling onto a fence post. He was laughing with the other football players, but his dark eyes kept scanning me. Wherever I ended up in the yard, his eyes would find me and land on me and stay there. I knew from what had happened with Frankie, that somehow it felt the same with Eddie’s green eyes looking across the yard into mine. Except that it wasn’t the same either. Firstly, Eddie was a senior. He was so handsome and kind –I think he was the kindest football player at New Bedford high school. I don’t know how I knew that. It was his reputation, I guess. Or the picture of him in last year’s yearbook, leaning against a locker, shoulders hunched, kind of shy. Eddie was different from Frankie because he was like a movie star and every glance he paid me painted a brush stroke of beauty over my awkward body. That night I was lucky because my sister had let me wear her sleeveless peach shirt that buttoned up the front. It had cream lace around the edge. It made my skin look tanned. I had my hair down around my shoulders and I didn’t wear my glasses and although my eye crossed a little without them, I thought it made me look prettier somehow. I also thought I looked older than 15. I was sure Eddie didn’t think I was a sophomore. He may have thought I was a junior.

Kathy had left a long time before and so had Sherry. That left Erica DeMontigue who was not nearly as nice as Kathy or Sherry. She was a big girl, a bully who was kicked out of the Catholic High School for beating up another cheerleader on her squad during a game. She was walking towards me with her keys jangling in front of her. Her long blonde hair was sprayed stiff and curled around her face. She had heavy mascara on that had clumped around her squinted, stoned eyes. Her high-heeled sandals poked deep holes in the wet grass as she walked towards me. I could smell her channel no 5 as she approached. I would have to ride home with her.

Just as she got near to me, Eddie Caren rushed over. He was staggering, but he was rushing with urgency and he was smiling at me. And, so I smiled at him.

“Let’s go,” Erica DeMontigue said. Something about her was like my mother and she made me feel bullied and embarrassed. But then Eddie stood very close to me and kind of whispered, “Can I give you a ride home?”

“She’s with me,” Erica interrupted, pulling my arm, tugging me away from Eddie.

“I can go with Eddie,” I said quickly, pulling back.

“No. It’s fucking one in the morning.” Erica acted as if she knew something I didn’t. Or, maybe she was jealous. She was trying to make this seem bad when really it wasn’t.

“Fuck you,” I said.

“Fine, see if I fucking care,” Erica yelled and stormed off and stumbled to her car which was a big Cutlass her father had given her when he got his new Cadillac.

“That was good,” Eddie said softly laughing. ”Fuck you. That’s funny.” He looked down for a minute. “Do you want a ride?” He was standing so close to me and he was so handsome. He had dark, short hair. He parted his hair in the middle. He wore a leather chord around his neck with a couple of beads on it. He had dark green eyes and tanned skin. He was looked intently at me.

“Sure.” I said. I could hear some of the guys Eddie had been standing with saying something and laughing. I felt sort of embarrassed but mostly I felt protected. I felt honored and chosen.

As we left the party, he reached for my hand and I felt myself growing warm and I thought for a moment I was becoming dizzy, like I might throw up from the beer. But, it wasn’t that.

We didn’t say anything on the way to the car but when we got inside his father’s station wagon, Eddie turned to me and asked, “I know a cool place, do you want to see it?”
“What kind of place?” I asked.

“It’s a baseball field, except you can drive into it at night.” He sounded as if this was a very unique thing to do. As if this was a secret privilege. Maybe it was, he played a lot of sports. Maybe he had special permission to use the field.

“Ok,” I said. I was relishing this time with him. His attention made me feel like a famous person, someone to notice. Someone special.

It didn’t take long to get to the baseball diamond. When we got to the field, it was dark and the tall stadium lights were blackened. Eddie drove straight into the field and parked right near the dug out. The car was almost squarely on the base line between home plate and first base. The car’s headlights broke through the pitch darkness and when Eddie turned them off it stayed a thick black until the moonlight shadows finally reappeared, stretching the chain link fence of the dug out over the car and through the windshield. It made nighttime seem secretive. And it was; it was all a part of this world that had existed but that I hadn’t known about. I hadn’t known about keg parties and how they end at 1:00 in the morning with everyone staggering home. I didn’t know that baseball fields were pitch black in the middle of the night. I had never thought about what happened to daytime places while I slept. Now I knew.

“See?” he said and hen he leaned in and kissed me on the lips. His lips were soft and his kiss was strong, certain. He looked up at me again. “You’re so pretty. Did you know that?” I stared into his eyes for a moment. I couldn’t breathe.

“No.” I finally said and then looked down.

“You’re really pretty.” His moved his hand to the back of my neck gently guided me towards him.

I smiled and looked up at him. I believed him. I believed I was pretty. It was a magical transformation because when he looked at me, I knew that what he saw was beautiful. I knew that when Eddie looked at me, I became good: that I actually had value and worth. I knew that living somewhere in side of me, even if it was only in his eyes was a pure, good girl who otherwise had no other chance of existing. He wasn’t a liar. He wasn’t tricking me.

He stared at me for a moment. “Watch this,” he said. And he leaned over the back seat and he pulled on a lever. The seat in the back of the station wagon flattened out. He smiled at me. I could smell his scent. It smelled like fresh laundry and a little sweaty. It was a faint smell, a good one.

“Cool, huh?” he asked.

“That is really cool,” I said. He smiled again and leaned into me and kissed me. I was getting used to it. It felt safe and really perfect. I felt older and I felt as if I knew him. Almost as if I had a right to touch him, talk to him, to want him. I leaned into him and touched his face. He had stubble, just a little around his chin. I don’t think Frankie had any stubble, I remembered Frankie’s skin to be soft. I looked into Eddie’s eyes. His dark green eyes were on me. He was generous with himself. I could touch him, kiss him, smile at him.

“Do you want to go back there?”

“Oh,” I said. Suddenly I felt stupid. That’s why the back was cool because we could go back there and make out.

“Sure.” I said. He backed up to make room and I climbed over the seat into the back. Eddie followed.

We both lay down together and kissed for a long time. Our bodies were next to each other and I didn’t remember ever feeling so close to someone. I didn’t remember wanting so badly to touch someone and having permission to do so. Eddie stopped kissing me and looked at me. He looked down at my sister’s peach shirt. “This is pretty.” He said and started unbuttoning my shirt. He put his hand inside and underneath my bra. I felt my whole body grow warm and I was breathing fast. “I want to be with you.” He said.

“Me too.” I whispered. He slowly undid my jeans and slid them off of me. I felt the metal of the car on my thighs. The metal was warm from our bodies. “Are you ok?” he asked.

“I’m ok,” I said.

“Can I kiss you?” He was so close to me, looking into my eyes, waiting for me to answer.
“Yes,” I said. And he slid his body down my belly and began kissing me. He was kissing me between my legs. I was frozen, unable to breathe. I was in a spell and the mystery that had begun to unfold with Frankie was before me. This was love. And, this was joy. He pulled his body up on mine and slowly put himself inside of me. It hurt. My insides started tearing and stinging. I started to cry. He stopped and looked at me. “Are you a virgin?” He asked softly.

“I think so,” I said. He smiled at me and stared into my eyes for a long time. “Are you ok?” he asked. “Should I keep going?”
I nodded. He lay on top of me again and slowly, carefully he entered me. He looked into my eyes and moved slowly into me. Then the pain stopped and the warmth took over my whole body. He smelled so wonderful and I breathed his scent as he touched me and kissed my lips softly.

After a time, he took a deep breath and whispered, “I love you.” After that, for a long time there was silence, but I didn’t recognize it as silence.

Suddenly I noticed it.

For a few minutes afterwards I was free and good and beautiful. And, then I felt something or rather noticed something. In a split second I felt a message run through my body. I reached down and touched myself and then I looked at Eddie. “I’m pregnant.” I said. He sat up in the dark car and leaned against the back window.

“What?”

I started to cry and the crying was an intense, inconsolable crying. “I’m pregnant.” I said. “I can feel it.”
“From when?” He asked and he started to possibly believe this truth that I was revealing.

“Just now. It just happened.”

He took a deep breath. He must have realized in that moment what a child I was and what a childish thing that was to think. “Come here,” he whispered. “Girls are so silly.”

Kathy picked me up in her Buick. She waited outside for me to come after a couple of short, gentle honks on the horn. She looks worried, a worried look that grown ups have, not teenagers. I knew without her telling me that this look was because her mother had died when she was 13. She was the one who had to take care of her mother every day for a year before she died of cancer. I knew that Kathy could act like a grown up and handle grown up problems because her mother was sick for so long and because she was the only who was there to take care of her. I knew it was because her father didn’t let her be a child, but relied on her to become an adult and handle all of that pain by herself. Kathy had rarely talked to me about her mother except a week ago when I was throwing up. I had said “I’m sorry,” and she told me that she had seen a lot of throw up when her mother had gone through chemo. She had told me that she used to sit beside her mother on the bathroom floor, hold her mother’s thin, balding hair back while she vomited in the toilet. Her mother had no choice but to rely on Kathy.

She hit the horn gently again. I walked out of the house and locked the front door. My mother was at work so despite feeling sick about the EPT test, and sick about Eddie Caren, I was somewhat calm.

Kathy smiled at me as I got into the car. I looked out of the window for a long time without saying anything. The neighborhood passed in a numb blur and I wondered if there was a possibility that Eddie Caren would ever call to ask me out sometime. I had spent the past month daydreaming about his call. How his voice would touch me the way he touched me after the party, he would give himself to me, would be generous with himself. I had imagined other things too: like helping him sell clam cakes at his father’s stand to earn money for the Whalers, his football team. I had imagined us just sitting on the couch talking. Sometimes I even daydreamed about being his sister instead of his girlfriend; and I had imagined him loving me in an affectionate, big brother way. I imagined being a member of his family and what our home would be like: Saturday mornings getting ready for sports games, pancakes before school. I imagined him at New Bedford High School, protecting me.

In all this time, Eddie had never called me. He still always stared at me when he saw me. He still held the same fascination for me: looking at me, smiling, a small wave while handing out clam cakes at Buttonwood park. One time we were both at another house party. Fleetwood Mac was blaring from another room. I was starting downstairs. He was at the bottom. His eyes watched as I walked down. It was such a long time just looking into each other’s eyes, that it felt as if he were touching me. I walked alone towards him, feeling as if I might faint because he stood perfectly still and silent at the bottom of the stairs our eyes together the whole time. It felt silly not to be touching because we were always talking to each other with our eyes.

“Please don’t fucking tell me you are thinking about Eddie Caren!” Kathy said and lit a Virginia slims light menthol. She jammed the cigarette lighter back into the hole in the dashboard.

I didn’t say anything because I felt a lump in my throat. I felt like I would cry if I said anything.

“Donna, he’s going out with Stacy. He’s been going out with Stacy for two years. He’s not going to go out with you.”

Of course I knew it was true. It was true in the real world. In the world of high school. Stacy was a senior. She was a cheerleader. She sat by Eddie at lunch, after games they held hands. So, in the actual world Stacy was Eddie’s girlfriend. But there was this other world. What was it? It seemed more real than that world. We had sex. He told me he loved me.

“He’ll probably marry her.”

“I’m not thinking about going out with Eddie. Why are you being so stupid? Kathy, I’m pregnant. I’m trying to think about what I am going to do. If I should ask him for money.”

“I definitely think you should call him and tell him. He should at least pay for half of it. If it was Stacy he would pay for all of it and go with her. He is such a jerk.”

That was where Kathy was wrong. Eddie Caren was not a jerk. “I think he’s a nice guy. He says hi to me when he’s selling clam cakes.”

At this, Kathy laughed. “That’s nice? Boy you don’t ask for much…” She let out a heavy breath. I knew she thought I was stupid. “You should call him and tell him your pregnant. Even tell his parents.”

“Tell his parents? Why?”

“Because why should you have to pay for it? How are you going to pay for it? How much is it?”
It was $250. My sister was going to give me half. Eddie would have to give me half. I was sure he would.

“How are you going to even get there? You can’t drive.”
“My sister’s going to bring me. With Nora and Keith.”
“I don’t even think you can have an abortion until you are 18.”

“My sister said I can use her name. She said you have to be seventeen and she’s seventeen. I gave them her name.”

Kathy looked at me. “Seventeen? Are you sure?”
“Ya.”

There was more silence and I light a cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. I felt a rush into my head.

Later that night I called Eddie. Kathy had given me his number and I while I dialed I tried to stop feeling scared so I could actually do it. I was more afraid to hear his voice, to want him than I was to tell him about the abortion. I secretly hoped that when I called him, he might want to see me. I imagined that we would meet and talk it over. I thought maybe he would give me the money. Maybe we would have sex again.

I walked past my mother’s room where she was drunk and asleep. I stopped in her doorway and looked in. I could smell the rancid brandy smell she excreted as she snored. I could also smell her perfumed dusting powder that she used every morning. Everything in her room had the faint smell of lavender and it was evident beneath the scent of alcohol. Her face looked pained. She wore an orangish foundation make up and it was too dark for her skin color. Her tight jordache jeans were unzipped and her nylon underpants could be seen. Her legs were together and she looked as if she had sat down, unzipped her jeans, leaned back and fallen asleep. It wouldn’t have seemed real except I had witnessed the drunken scene earlier in the evening. She looked so artificial and seeing her like that I might have thought she was playing some joke on me if I hadn’t known she had passed out. I knew she would be passed out for most of the night. This made the house eerily all mine. My brother, Seth was sleeping around the corner at Nana’s house. My sister Margaret was out with her friends. So it was mom and me. She was there, but like a corpse. I could feel her presence but for the time being she no longer posed any threat to me.

A girl answered the phone. It must have been Eddie’s younger sister. “Hello.”

“Can I speak to Eddie please?”

She was suspicious, “who’s calling?

“Its Donna Barrow.”

There was silence and I leaned my face close to the kitchen wall. I closed my eyes and waited for his voice.

Finally, after some shuffling papers, he said “Donna?”

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi. I’m glad you called. I wanted to call you.” I felt relieved because he was the kind of person that I thought he was. He was the same person. He was thinking of me too.

“I’m pregnant.”

He started to say something and then he stopped. “How do you know it was me? That was a long time ago.”

I hadn’t thought of it as a long time ago, as something that had passed. It was still happening. Even without being pregnant it was still happening. I was still thinking about him. He was still watching me and smiling. Even though it had been over a whole month, I thought it was just the beginning of something.

“No. I know. I haven’t been with anybody else.”

“Oh.”

I leaned closer to the wall and closed my eyes. I could hear him breathing and I remembered him touching me, asking me “can I kiss you?” saying “I love you.” Finally he asked, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going t have an abortion on Saturday.

“This Saturday?”

“I wanted to see if you could give me half the money because my sister only has half and I don’t want to tell my parents.”

“How much is it?”

“Half is $125”

“I can get that.” There was another long pause and I took a deep breath. “Thanks” I said.

“My cousin Mark is going to be at the park on Friday. He can meet you there and give you the money. Ok?”
“Maybe he could give it to my sister,” I said. I started to hang up. And he added “Donna, I — ”

I lifted the receiver slowly and placed it gently onto the cradle. I hung up on Eddie Caren. I didn’t say goody bye. I wasn’t mad. I was just scared. I stood for a minute and looked at the phone. I felt numb again and for a little while I couldn’t’ take my eyes off the phone. I knew, that once I did, it would be the beginning of something bad, the end of the possibility of goodness. Suddenly, I realized that I probably hadn’t been really good after all. That feeling in the car wasn’t my goodness. Maybe Eddie Caren had the power to make me good, to give me another life but as nice of a person as he was, but he wasn’t going to use his power on me. I was alone. Even if Eddie Caren loved me, I didn’t have any value. I was a mistake.

A darkness and a badness filled the house like black smoke. At first it was the whole house and then it was a blanket that wrapped itself around me. I couldn’t breathe for a long time and I thought I was dying. My mother’s old clocks chimed, I heard her call out something in her sleep. Maybe she had rolled over and now lay properly on her bed. I felt the blackness enter me, wrap around my heart and soul. Something inside of me was being poisoned. I slid down to the floor and put my head in my hands. I cried for a long time and then I got up and went to bed. When I woke up I lay in a wet bed. I must have had an accident in my sleep. I felt the damp, cool urine. I felt empty: no love, no joy and I realized as the warm summer air started to heat up the house that the mystery of love was gone, it had emptied out of me. Now I was just bad and worthless.

1981 — Friday Before the Start of Sophomore Year

I was sitting on the new tuxedo couch that my mother had covered in plastic. It was gold with contemporary tapestry in orange, green and brown. It was one of two couches that sat across from each other in the small living room. My mother had recently redecorated the living room, putting in a brown deep pile carpet, the couches, a lazy boy. The place was a mess, but it still had a kind of “rich person” new feeling. My sister Margaret was sitting next to me. I knew she felt bad for me. Tomorrow she would drive me to providence for an abortion. I had to use her name so that they would think I was 17, otherwise I would have had to tell my parents.

“I don’t even know Eddie’s cousin Mark,” Margaret said. She was annoyed. I could tell that she didn’t think Eddie would give the money to us. We’d have to come back home and maybe ask Nana for the money. Nana would grimace and shake her head at me. She’d hand me the money and not even look at me.

“He’s going to give his cousin the money.” I said, somewhat defending him. My sister looked at the ground.

It was just about three thirty and we heard my mother’s coming up the front steps. She was in her nursing uniform. A cigarette dangled precariously as she fumbled for the door with a bag of groceries in one hand.

“Would somebody get off their ass and give me a fucking hand?” she asked.

I got up and rushed to her. I laughed a little nervously. I took the bag from her and carried it into the kitchen.

“Hi mom,” I said.

My mother was perceptive, especially when it had to do with me and my sister. My mother didn’t like secrets and lately she felt that Margaret and I were excluding her, talking about her, leaving her out. Somehow she wanted to be one of us: a teenager, but we couldn’t see her like that. We couldn’t enjoy her rules because it meant that she could treat us however she wanted and we would just laugh along. Deep inside we hated her, she could feel it.

Margaret bit her nail and looked up at me when I walked back into the living room.

“What’s the big secret?” my mother asked. She seemed vulnerable. It would have almost been easy in that moment to tell her that I was pregnant and that tomorrow I was going to drive to Providence and have an abortion. It would be easy to tell her about Eddie Caren. It would almost have been easy, except there was no telling what she would make me do. She might make me have a baby, she might hit me. The whole plan was mine and it was all set up for tomorrow.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You’re such a fucking liar,” she said lighting a cigarette. She squinted her eyes and stared at me for a long time, “I can always tell when you are lying.”

“Nothing,” we were just talking about tonight, what we are going to do.

“Hmm,” she said as she left and went into the kitchen. I could hear her cracking ice from an ice tray and dumping it into a tumbler. I could hear the crack of the seal on a new bottle of brandy. The liquor gurgled out of the bottle. The fridge opened and I heard the splash of orange juice. I heard the fridge shut again.

“Don’t tell her,” I said.

My sister made her eyes big, “no kidding,” she said.

I heard the snap of a food can. My mother then walked into the room with her cocktail and a round ham patty. She took a bite of the meat and too me it seemed so carnivorous. I could hear the gristle and saliva as she chewed.

“So, what’s going on,” she asked and took a gulp of her drink.

“Nothing,” Margaret said.

“I wasn’t asking you,” my mother said.

Here was the start of a fight. Because her drink was so strong it wouldn’t take long for the liquid to hit her veins. She was sitting on the arm of the couch and the plastic crinkled as she adjusted herself.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Nothing,” I said and stood up. I looked her in the eye. “Nothing is going on!” I said again. “We were just sitting here talking about what we’re doing tonight. What is the big deal.”

At first my mother flinched as if I might hit her, as if I was the one who was hurting her. She grimaced an over dramatic grimace as if she was so tired of my abuse. She took another sip. By now she had drunk a third of her drink. Her eyes were glassy. She closed her eyes for a minute then she stood up and walked close to me. I could smell the brandy on her breath. I could see pieces of ham stuck in her teeth. She lowered her voice and looked at me straight in the eye.

“Don’t go to sleep tonight sister,” she said, “once you close your eyes I’m going to stab you in your sleep.”
Margaret started to stand up but stopped herself. She looked at me. I stood steely still and stared at my mother.

“I’m telling you Donna, don’t close your eyes tonight because I’m going to stab you in your fucking sleep.” Then she put her hands out and pushed me hard. I almost fell over but I hit the wall. I started for my bedroom. I planned on getting my clothes and walking over to Nanas, maybe I could sleep there. When I turned my back, my mother lifted her fist and struck me on the side of the head. It wasn’t hard. It was a drunk punch so it startled me more than hurt me. At that, Margaret stood up and got in the middle of us “Stop it mom!” she yelled.

My mother fell to the floor and started crying. She looked up at my sister and said, “Did you see how she talked to me?” Then she cried out “why doesn’t everyone treat me like this?”

I ran to my bedroom and I picked up a few pieces of clothes. I carried them with me as I rushed out the front door. My sister followed me.

“I’m going to Nana’s,” I said.

“I have to go to the park,” she said, “to get the money.” She looked at me.

“Thanks,” I said.

“What’s Eddie’s phone number?” she asked.

“Why?”

“If his cousin isn’t there, I’m going to call him.”
I had his number in my pocket. I had kept it with me since Kathy gave it to me. Not that I had any right to call him. I pulled it out of my pocket and handed it to Margaret. My sister gave me a hug. “We’ll pick you up in the morning at 8:00.” She said. She turned back and walked to the house.

I kept walking the short walk to my Nana’s house. The night was warm and I could hear kids laughing and playing in the neighborhood. It wasn’t that long ago that I played kick the can and eat the peg with the neighborhood kids. I thought about all my neighborhood friends, I hadn’t seen them in such a long time. Maybe since seventh grade? How had I stop playing with them? How had things change so much.

In contrast to ours, Nana’s house was quiet. Silent almost except for her humming. Nana had grimaced when I asked her if could sleep over. She didn’t like me, but she was used to my mother’s craziness. She was used to us staying there. My little brother Seth was already there. He practically lived there. When he was at home, it was just a matter of time before Margaret or I would command him “go to Nana’s.” It was an attempt to protect him from my mother.

“Do you mind if I got to bed early?” I asked Nana.

“Well, here sleep in the spare room. I’m not going to open up the convertible couch. We’re going to put Lawrence Welk on. I’d like to watch my show.”
“That’s fine.” I said as Nana led me into the spare room.

“Now, please Donna don’t touch the things on the sewing table. It took me a long time to get this pattern ready.”

“Ok.” I said.

“Ok.” She said and walked out.

I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time. I wondered what Eddie Caren was doing. I looked at the little alarm clock near the bed. It was 7:30. It was light out and the dusk smelled like summer: dirty, stale. It was still hot and sticky. Maybe he was at the beach with Stacy. He probably had given the money to his cousin and then went out with Stacy. Maybe they were at his house listening to the radio and sitting on the couch. Maybe they were talking about when they were going to get married. They were both seniors. Then it dawned on me: maybe they were having sex. Maybe he was on top of her telling her she was pretty. Maybe she was shaking and trying to catch her breath. Maybe she had her hands in his black hair, touching his face. Maybe he was giving her permission to touch his face, to whisper to him, to love him. Maybe he was inside of her body and whispering “I love you.”

I suddenly felt cold. I couldn’t breathe. I felt ashamed for thinking all of the things I had thought. I got up and put my clothes on for the next day. I had purple tights, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a purple sweater. I was hot but didn’t want to remove any of the layers. I slipped on my burgundy pumps. I put my hair up in a ponytail. I carefully removed the small mirror on Nana’s sewing table and sat down on the bed. I opened my pocketbook and took out my make up. I slowly applied all of my make up. I put the mirror back on the table and I lay down on the spare bed. After a while I picked the mirror back up and I lay back down. I held the mirror to my face. I looked for a long time at myself. Then I pretended. I pretended that I was with Eddie. I pretended that he was looking at me and talking to me about the abortion tomorrow. “Its ok Donna,” he said.

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

“Its ok,” he said back to me. I started to cry. I tried to keep my crying quiet so Nana wouldn’t hear. I cried for a long time into the pillow. I put the mirror down next to me. I kept it there in case I needed it. I cried for a very long time, the night grew dark, the air grew cool and still I cried. I must have fallen asleep for a little while, but then I woke again in the middle of the night. I started crying all over again.

I turned when I heard a noise at the door. It was Nana in her housecoat. Her gray hair was down around her shoulders. She stood for a moment with a box of tissues. She looked at me from the doorway. She walked over and handed me the tissue box. She shook her head “that woman” she whispered. I held the tissue box in my hands and looked at her. She turned and walked out of the room. She closed the door gently, so quietly that it almost didn’t make a sound when it finally clicked shut. The house returned to its silence.

Margaret dropped me off and I walked into the brick building by myself. The hallways were clean and quiet. It seemed like a long walk to the office. I opened the door and walked to the front desk.

“Margaret Barrow,” I said. The woman looked at me for a moment. She had orange lipstick and her hair was in two long braids on the side of her head. She might have been my mother’s age, but she dressed younger. She handed me a clip board.

“Just a few questions.”

”Are you going to pay with cash, Margaret?” I had the money crumpled in my pocket. I pulled it out and it came out kind of a mess of ten and twenty dollar bills. Some of the money fell on the floor. I picked all the bills up in a crumble and put it on the counter. She raised her eyebrow, smiled and started straightening and counting the money bill by bill.

“That’s fine,” she said “when you are done with the paperwork, please bring it to me.”

I sat down and looked around. There were a lot of people there. It was a Saturday morning. There was one girl who caught my eye. She looked very young, maybe twelve. Maybe not. She was laying against her mother’s chest and her mother was smoothing her hair. The girl had a blank look; she stared straight ahead. I tried to smile at her, but her mother glanced over and gave me a funny look. She kissed her daughter’s forehead and sighed.

I decided to move to another area of the waiting room once I turned in my paperwork. I sat down near a bunch of brochures and there was a small view master sitting on the table. I looked inside: it said “pelvic exam.” I clicked the lever and there was a picture of a metal clamp. I had never had a pelvic exam and the clamp gave me a tight sick feeling in my stomach. I clicked again. The picture showed a woman in a hospital gown. Her feet were up high on pedals. I got another sick feeling in my stomach. I closed my eyes and clicked again. When I opened my eyes there was a drawing. I could tell it was the clamp, and it was inside of the woman’s body, but I wasn’t sure from the drawing how it worked.

“Margaret Barrow,” a voice called. I realized they must have called my name a few times and I didn’t turn to look because I wasn’t used to being called Margaret. I put the view master down and looked up. “Here” I said and raised my hand.

“We need to take a blood test and then we’ll have you talk to the counselor.” I got up and followed the woman.

After the blood test the woman brought me to the counselor’s room. The counselor was a young black woman. She wore a scarf around her head and had big hoop earrings on. She too had on orange lipstick. Her desk was small and the counseling room was small.

“Margaret, right?” she said.

“Yes.” I said.

“Well, we confirmed your pregnancy.” She said. “Do you have any questions?”

I tried to think of a question because I thought she expected me to have some questions. I tried to think of a question that an older girl might ask. Something a senior would say. I really didn’t have any questions. I just wanted it to be over.

“Can I still have babies after this?” I finally asked.

She looked at me for a moment then put the chart on the table. “Would you have an abortion if you thought you could not have children again?”

“Yes,” I answered honestly.

“Well, you will be able to have children again. Having an abortion will not effect your ability to have a child when you choose to.”

“Ok.” I said.

“Do you have any other questions?”

“No.” I said.

“Ok, well in a few minutes they’ll take you in. Do you have anyone here with you?”

“My sister is picking me up afterwards.”
”So you have a ride home?”

“Yes.”

Pretty soon I was in a hospital gown like the woman in the view master. I was lying on a stretcher without any underpants on. I felt strange without my underpants and I kept my legs tight together. I touched the bar of the stretcher and it was cold. A curtain surrounded me and I could hear rustling outside of the curtain. I heard metal things being placed down, another woman being asked if she wanted some water. I heard crying and I had a feeling it was the little girl in the waiting room. I started to cry for her. I didn’t want that little girl to have a clamp put inside of her body. I didn’t want her to have to hold her legs open.

The curtain opened and a nurse came in.

“Its all right now little one,” she said to me. “I’ll be with you the whole time.” She had an Irish accent. I looked up at her and smiled. It was a faint smile because this woman could not in any way reach me. She could not come close to the fear I had inside of me. She couldn’t understand what was being taken from me. She started pushing the bed into a small rectangular room with very bright lights. I crossed my legs and clenched my thighs. When we got into the room. There was a doctor in a hospital gown. He was looking at me through a mask. He pulled the mask down. “Hi” he said gently. Another nurse stood beside him. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I whispered.

I felt like an orphan in an English story. Trash. Garbage. No one would feel sorry for me. I didn’t deserve sympathy. The Irish nurse grabbed my hand and she squeezed hard. The doctor started talking and tears began to stream down my face. I was so afraid and I didn’t know what to do. The doctor held up the metal clamp and said something to me. The other Nurse gently picked up my foot and placed it on one of the pedals. She lifted the other. She put something under my knees to keep them up and to keep my legs wide open. The doctor said something about not moving. That there would be a needle so it wouldn’t hurt.

He held up a very large needle and leaned down between my legs. The pain was excruciating and I screamed. Then I started to cry hard. The Irish nurse rubbed my hand. She looked at me and held her face close to mine “Did you want the baby?” She asked.

The baby? I tried to think about what she was saying. The baby? No. I didn’t want the baby. I didn’t know there was a baby. I didn’t want to be pregnant. There was a clock on the wall behind the doctor. I stared at the clock and watched as the second hand went around. I heard a machine start up and I felt the doctor place something inside of me. My stomach started to cramp and I held still. I stared at the clock. The second hand moved around four more times. The humming of the machine stopped. I heard a loud “click” and then felt my legs gently fall on to the stretcher. An intense cramp shot through my stomach and blood rushed out of me. The two nurses gently lifted me from the operating table back on to the stretcher. They wheeled me into the recovery room and placed a hot towel on my stomach. I lay there for a long time, frozen. Relieved to be able to clench my legs again. My mouth was dry and I dozed off for a little while. When I opened my eyes again and looked across the room, I saw the little girl in a stretcher. Her mother stood next to her. Her mother rubbed her hand and kissed her forehead. I heard her whisper “its all done baby.” I could feel myself starting to cry again.

The nurse came and told me I could go to the bathroom and get dressed. She handed me a pad to use. I walked slowly to the bathroom holding the hospital gown closed. I limped a little because my stomach was so sore. I sat down and closed my eyes. I fell asleep for a minute again. When I stood up, blood poured out of me. I put the pad in my underpants, Then, I put my purple tights on, my jeans, and my purple sweater.

I walked out to the hallway to meet my sister and her friends who were waiting in the parking lot.

I don’t remember anything about the drive home except Led Zeppelin’s Fool in the rain playing on the radio. And the storm that I thought would blow over, well its part of the love that I found. I watched the gray road beneath the car pass in a blur. I couldn’t cry or talk. I couldn’t move. I felt in some way that I now had learned to be bionic or superhuman in a way. I could withstand anything because I no longer had any feelings. Now my body is starting to quiver and the palms of my hands getting wet. I got no reason to doubt you baby, its all a terrible mess. The wind blew through the open car window and I closed my eyes.

I woke when we pulled into the driveway. Keith kept the car running. No one really said much, but I said, “Thanks for the ride.”

Keith smiled, probably confused by this honor. I noticed Dad’s mustang in the driveway.

I looked at our little house: a small ranch house in this suburban tract community. The houses were so close together but no one acted like they knew us. At one time they had been friendly. Before my father started having affairs again. I took a deep breath and could feel the blood rushing out of me again. My stomach cramped and I felt small in my body. I felt I was shrinking and that my purple striped tights would slip off me and run down my legs like the blood had in the bathroom at the abortion clinic. Keith backed up and Nora waved at us. Margaret smiled at me and we walked into the house.

Dad was sitting on the couch in his torn up white bathrobe.” Hi kiddo” he said.

“Hi dad,” I said.

“Where ya been?”

“Out with Margaret and Keith and Nora.”

“Uh huh” he said then looked down at the paper he was reading. My brother was sitting in front of the television watching cartoons and eating a bowl of Apple Jacks. He looked up briefly when I walked by and waved to me. I looked around and the house seemed relatively calm which was creepy. It was as if this was a twilight zone episode and I have walked into a different reality.

I walked into my and Margaret’s bedroom and found my mother in there folding sheets. She had a pile of clean sheets on the bed. She was just snuffing out a cigarette when I went into the room. “Where have you been baby?” she asked, “Come help me fold the sheets.” I walked slowly because my stomach was cramping and I suddenly felt very tired. I looked down at the green plush pile carpet she had put in a year ago. The light was coming in through the window at the end of the bed. It made a yellow square on the carpet. I stared at that spot for a minute. It looked warm and inviting. I had an intensely strong urge to lie down on the rug and close my eyes. In my thoughts I could see the carpet pile close up, the fibers under a squinted eye.

“I’m not feeling well,” I told her.

“What’s wrong, Donna?”

Margaret who was right behind me spoke up, “she’s having her period.”

“Oh is that all? Come help me fold sheets.”

Margaret reached for the sheets to help me.

“I didn’t ask you,” my mother snapped. Margaret stared at her for a moment and walked out of the room.

I picked up two corners of the sheet and folding it in unison with my mother on the other end folding. She smiled at me and stared at me for a moment. We folded the sheets together in silence. “What’s going on Donna?” she asked. For a moment I thought of the little girl in the abortion clinic and her mother. For a moment I thought I heard the same compassion in my mother’s voice. I thought maybe I could trust her. I wanted to trust her because I didn’t have anybody to protect me. Not any adult. Not Eddie Caren. I was going to start school in two days and I would have to go in and be this new person that I had now become. This person that I wasn’t before summer started. I wanted someone –maybe my mother — to help me know what to do next.

I sat down on the bed and started crying. My mother looked at me, “What is it Donna?” she asked.

“Don’t tell dad, Ok?”

“What?”

“I just don’t want dad to know.” I said.

“What happened? Did somebody rape you?”

“No.” I said. “I got pregnant.”
Her eyes perked up and she stared at me intently “You’re pregnant?”

“No. Not any more.” I said.

“What do you mean not any more?”

“I had an abortion.”

“Oh my God, Donna,” my mother said and stood still for a moment. “When did you have an abortion.”
“Today,” I said.

“Oh my Fucking — No! Paul get in here.”

“Mom,” I said “don’t tell dad.”
“What is it?” my dad yelled from the couch. I could hear the paper rustling as he put it down. “Jesus Christ.” He said. And I knew that was the start of his disgust with our family, with my mother’s drama. My father walked from the living room to my bedroom. He stood in the doorway, clenched his teeth and squinted. “What the hell is it now?” he asked.

“Tell your father what you just told me,” my mother said.

I felt my heart drop. I didn’t even know that I still loved my dad until this moment. I didn’t know that I still hoped he thought I was special like he had when I was a little kid.

“No mom,” I said.

“Tell him.” But she blurted it out “Donna just got back from an abortion.”

It sounded so scripted, so unreal or maybe it was just implausible.

“A what?” my dad said, he hunched his shoulders over and leaned in so he could hear more clearly.

“I was pregnant, dad. I had an abortion.” I started to cry and more than anything I wanted to curl up in that spot on the floor.

Before he could say anything my mother said, “I have to fucking get her absolved. You go to hell for having an abortion, did you know that?”

“Oh for Christ Sake, stop it!” my father said.

“I know a priest from when I worked at the psych-hospital. He would forgive some of the worst — he forgave drug dealers, child rapists. I’m going to call him and take you to see him.”
“I don’t want to mom.” I said.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to. You just had an abortion.” my mother rushed out of the room. She brushed past my father who tightened the belt on his robe.

I looked at my dad. He looked at me. He was uncomfortable with me since I have been a teenager. Didn’t know what to do with girls. He had been embarrassed when I asked him to take me to get panty hose for a school dance last year.

“I’m sorry,” I said to my father.

He leaned into my room and slowly said, “just be glad you don’t have a fucking kid to drag around.” He nodded his head and left the room.

I sat down on my bed and started to cry. I put my head in my hands and cried silently, but the tears streamed down my face and stained my jeans. I felt someone touching my back. I looked up and my little brother Seth was sitting beside me. “Don’t be sad,” he said. He was only ten years old and he put his arm on my shoulder and started to cry. I put my head down and wept some more.

My mother rushed back into my room. She had her pocketbook on her arm. “Lets go,” she said.

“Where?” I asked.

“I got in touch with Father John. He understands the situation and has agreed to a confession. Thank God.”

Remarkably, my mother didn’t say anything to me on the drive. She just smoked her Winston cigarettes and exhaled through a crack in the window. She bit on her thumbnail and looked straight ahead. The church was in the south end of New Bedford. We drove past the two story tenements where all the poor women who used to work in the clothing mills used to live. We drove past Rodney French boulevard and south end, past east beach. I looked out the window. A lot of kids from New Bedford High hung out there. It was late afternoon and the air was cooling off. The yellow light of the cooling sun cast a pretty glow on the water. The beach sand was probably still warm. A few people were still were scattered on the small strip of narrow beach that was beside the road. Most had on sweatshirts or a towel around them. Maybe Eddie was there. Maybe he was one of the silhouetted figures huddled next to another person. Outside of the window was a world that I couldn’t be a part of. Instead I was held hostage, day after day. Still, on the outside –to other people — I looked normal. I might have even looked like someone who could become popular.

My mother pulled into the church parking lot. The church was closed up and dark.

“He’s in his apartment,” she said “he was nice enough to see us there. On such short notice.”

We opened the doors of the building where the priest lived. I looked at my mother. She had dressed up for this visit. She wore her green dressy pants that she wore when she went out to bars. She had on a polyester shirt with large paisley flowers all over it. Her hair was tied back in a scarf.

“Come on” she said. I stopped in the entryway and looked at her for a moment. I couldn’t understand it, but I felt it, she was trying to smother me. She was trying to squeeze all of the joy out of me and when she was done with that she would keep squeezing until the life was gone. I could feel the pressure of her weight. She wanted to see if she could kill me.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that” she said, “not after what you’ve done.”

I walked slowly up the stairs and when we got to the top a young priest was standing in the hallway. He wore his clerics clothing: black pants, black shirt, and white collar. He was probably thirty years old. He had short black curly hair and deep blue eyes. He had a soft looking face and long hands.

“Please come in,” he said and motioned for us to enter.

The room was small and neat. There were two small tapestry chairs and a ladder back chair around a small table. On the table were a bible and a few books of literature and poetry. I noticed one book by Henry David Thoreau. I knew the book because my dad always talked about it and how he would like to spend his life in the woods alone like Thoreau.

“Please sit.”

I sat down and stared into the room at nothing.

My mother sat down. “Father, Donna, my daughter has had an abortion.” my mother started to cry and the priest who was now sitting in the ladder back chair leaned in closer and looked at my mother compassionately.

My mother went on. It sounded like a soap opera script, the way she said it,“I know the Catholic Church considers this murder. We are Catholics. Is there any way you can absolve her of this?”

He looked at my mother seriously for a moment. He leaned in closer and spoke softly but directly, “she’s a child.”

“She’s fifteen,” my mother said.

“Yes. She is a child. There is nothing to forgive. God understands. She is just a child.”

My lips started to quiver and I closed my eyes.

“Can you just absolve her, father?”

“I will say a prayer for her to heal, to find peace and protection.” He looked at me. “May I do that Donna?”

I nodded. He put his hand on his head, “Jesus go with this girl, protect her, help her to find love and safety.” I started to cry again and he took my hand and looked me in the eye “God loves you.”

“Ok,” I said.

I walked back to the car slowly. I was so tired. I took a deep breath and when I let it out I felt blood rushing out of me again. My mother was saying something but I couldn’t hear her. I was looking at the sky and thinking about the south end beach. I was remembering how nice it is when the sun turns orange at dusk and the sand starts to cool. I imagined Eddie and Stacy out there. Probably laughing. Maybe she was fixing him a snack or organizing their things. Preparing to go home. Just another normal day. The waves at south end beach would be calm unless a boat was passing by. South end beach was a protected harbor surrounded by a hurricane dike made of light orange boulders.

South end beach was unlike the ocean, it was calm and predictable. Across the harbor you could see Fairhaven where I used to live before we moved to New Bedford. That was when my dad had been a biologist in Woods Hole. If you scanned the horizon you could see Fort Phoenix and the boat yard. You could always see tugs or fishing boats coming and going. It was a pretty New England Scene even though lately they had been saying the harbor was very polluted.

I opened the car door and the inside of the car was hot. I was still wearing my jeans and sweater and my body felt overheated. I was dizzy. I gave in to the dizziness and I thought I heard the priest’s words again “she’s a child…she’s done nothing wrong… God loves her.” I looked at my mother. She turned and looked me in the eye before she started the car. We stared at each other for a moment without saying anything. She lit a cigarette and turned the ignition key. “Lets go home,” she said softly to herself.

For for more of this story go to
https://www.wattpad.com/story/45786719-what-remains-insideFor more about my writing go to:
http://www.donnabarrowgreen.com