Innocence Lost

She was sixteen, and he was seventeen, both young and so in love. Both had to face a choice that would affect their lives forever. In fact, whatever choice they made was immaterial – their lives were already affected.

First love – incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, heart pounding; not eating, nor sleeping, just love struck, her dazed and dazzled by his smile; he by the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. Their love was like no other – special, unique, they owned it. The world does not exist when new lovers are together – except that the sun shines brighter every day, the birds sing sweeter, and every song is theirs.

Everything is a first, the first gaze – eyes locked, then hands held, then the first kiss, oh that sweet tender, tremulous first kiss; nothing can replace that first kiss. The tentative, forbidden first touch, between her breasts, the sweet agony of his fingers touching her awakening nipples for the very first time, sensation going straight from his fingertips in one instant glorious jolt to his groin, the heat focusing in one area until he feels he wants to explode. Her hand stopping him - that time, and the next, and the time after that, but not forever. Eventually, there is no going back, and that first time between two lovers will be remembered forever.

Afterwards he sat up in bed, ashamed once the first glowing feeling had dissipated.

”We shouldn’t have done that.” Leslie said, holding her close.

“No,” Anne agreed. “We got carried away. We mustn’t let it happen again.” And they solemnly vowed to ‘be good’. Until it happened again. And again. And each time was good, got even better. But they were young and innocent, and in those days, sex was never discussed, no TV programs warning about safe sex, and using condoms. And so it was inevitable that Anne fell pregnant.

She denied it! Denied it in her mind. Ignored it. She thought that if she ignored it, it would go away. Even when she started feeling sick in the mornings, every morning, every single morning, she denied it, except to Leslie. They would sit at the back of the school bus, Anne holding a brown paper bag for those times when she couldn’t control the nausea any more. She nibbled on dry biscuits to stop the nausea, and eventually the nausea did stop. Even when her tummy started to swell, she ignored it. She carried on as if everything was normal, going to school, coming home each day, taking care not to undress in front of her mother. But that too was inevitable, that one day her mother, Shirley would notice.

She was trying on a swimming costume for the December holidays, in her mother’s bedroom. In her excitement about the upcoming holiday, she had forgotten.
“Are you pregnant?” her mother asked suddenly. Shirley, watching her, suddenly became aware of the shape of her daughter’s body, that this was not the puppy fat she had assumed. The shape was too defined, the tummy too distended – and her heart dropped as she realized her daughter was possibly pregnant.
“No, of course not.” Anne laughed shrilly.

“Yes, you are.” Her mother said the conviction in her voice strong, “I’m taking you to Dr. Marks tonight.”

Anne burst into tears, realizing that she could no longer pretend. Not to her mother, nor her brother, not even to herself.

“About five months, possibly six”. Dr Marks confirmed after examining Anne. Shirley was shocked, and held back her tears. She couldn’t believe that she had not noticed. Her own daughter! How could she have been so unaware of what was going on? How could she have not made sure that she was taking precautions, if necessary? In fact, how the hell could her daughter be having sex in the first place! She was only sixteen, for heaven’s sake! All these emotions ran through her mind, reflected on her face, but she kept them quiet, holding her daughter as Anne cried bitter, heart wrenching tears. Tears of heartbreak, tears of shame for having let her mother down; tears of relief that it was finally in the open; tears of fear for the unknown, for this baby that she carried inside her.

Together they went home, close, sharing their fears; Shirley wiping Anne’s tears, Anne making coffee for her mother to say sorry. They spoke into the early hours of the morning, and then again the next day, and the day after that. Shirley and Anne went to see Leslie’s parents.

“They won’t be getting married.” Shirley said, sitting on the edge of the couch. His father was taken aback, not expecting this turn of events, although Leslie had told his parents that Anne was expecting his baby.

“Yes, they will!” he bellowed. “If my son made her pregnant, he will marry her! “He proclaimed in a self righteous tone. Anne watched the parents debating, holding her breath. She had told her mother she did not want to marry Leslie. His family was moving away, and if she married him, it would mean she would have to leave town, and her mother and brother, and she was not ready for that. She was not ready to play house. Her own parents were divorced and it was just the three of them, whereas Leslie came from a large family; large and loud. Leslie did not want to stay in their home town, and Anne was did not want to leave.

And so the decision was made – heart breaking and agonizing, they all screamed and shouted, cried and debated over it, but the decision was hers in the end. She was going to give the baby up for adoption. Anne was convinced her baby was a boy. She had seen how her brother needed a father figure. She wanted her son to have a father. She was letting her son go to a family that could give him what she as a single mother, couldn’t.

The months went by quickly after that, monthly check ups became fortnightly, and then weekly. Anne stayed a school, managing to hide the bulge of her pregnancy beneath her school jersey, using elastic tied around the button to keep her skirt up.
Her English teacher took her aside one day.

“Are you going to have a baby?” she asked kindly. Anne gazed at her teacher, dumbfounded, thinking her secret was out and just nodded.

“The headmistress would never allow you to complete your schooling if she knew you were pregnant. I suggest you just come in on your exams days and write your exams”. She hugged Anne, feeling so sorry for the school girl who was far too be young to be carrying a baby.

And so the exams were written which she sucked fruit pastilles, her latest craving, which was much better than the sour gherkins that she had initially consumed, much to everyone’s amusement.

The due date was 26th February, but in early February, Anne found herself in bed, listening in horror, as a school friend told her about her sister’s friend’s cousin.

“The baby had been dead for six months in her stomach before they realized it, and she had to give birth to it in a normal way. Can you imagine going through all the pain just to give birth to a dead baby?!” her friend told her with ghoulish glee, unmindful of the impact of her words.

That afternoon, her pains started, not bad, just consistent, so that she laughed every time she had them, but as the day moved into evening, they progressed and became more painful. Her mother came home and took her to the doctor, who told them it was time. Panic stricken, they rushed to the hospital, parked the car, and walked the hundred metres to the entrance, stopping each time the contractions came, and then walking again as they eased.

The rest of the night was a blur of pain and loneliness. Leslie was not allowed in the hospital at all. There had been an incident before when an unwed father of a baby had come into the hospital and attempted to steal his baby. So no unwed fathers allowed. Shirley too, was not allowed to stay, and so Anne lay alone, attached to a drip, seventeen years old in a government hospital, waiting to give birth to a baby that was going to be taken away from her within minutes of being born.

The morning brought a flurry of activity; they wheeled her through to the delivery room, by now the pain constant, no more brief minutes of respite between contractions. Her body was wracked with never ending waves of pain, and the almost uncontrollable desire to push. Anne lifted her body from the waist up in an effort to push, and a nurse’s beefy arm pushed her back down again, held it across her chest, keeping her pinned down to the bed. The pain was incredible. She screamed – panted – screamed again as she tore, the baby bigger than they had expected. The nurse pushed her face into hers.

“Shut up! What’s the matter with you? Women give birth every day! This is the price you pay for having sex out of wedlock!” she hissed at her vehemently, beads of saliva spraying the young girl’s face.

Finally, they lifted the baby out, and placed it in Anne’s arms, while they attended to the afterbirth, and stitched her. An oversight – she wasn’t supposed to see the baby! Dark hair matted with blood and mucous, dark blue eyes, red faced, crumpled with the effort of just being. She drank in the sight – overwhelmed and awed at the same time. Just stared, and stared and stared, storing the memory in her mind. Until they took her away leaving Anne’s arms achingly empty, and her heart breaking, her mind playing the scene over and over again, just those few minutes with her baby girl. The realization searing her – the knowledge sinking in – a girl! A baby girl – she had just given away her little girl!

They kept her in hospital for a few days after that, for the stitches to heal, lying in bed with her legs apart so that the infrared lamp could assist with the healing process; the smell of Savlon in her bath water as she sat gingerly on the doughnut cushion, the sound of the food trolley coming down the passage, waving to Leslie from the hospital window, the only way she could see him. The beefy nurse came back on duty just before Anne left. No more tablets were forthcoming to dry up her milk. She left hospital eventually, her stitches removed and the others left to dissolve on their own. At home, her breast filled with unreleased milk, hardened, her temperature rose, and milk fever set in. After days of pain, she went to Dr Marks for medication. The milk fever had been caused by the same beefy nurse not giving her the medication to dry up her milk. But the stitches dissolved, the scars healed, the milk fever left, her tummy grew firmer, she lost the little weight she had picked, the external signs of giving birth were gone. Only the heartache and emptiness remained, and a feeling of complete loss.

They still had to register the birth, and to go to court to sign the adoption papers. She had to name the baby, giving her Anne’s mother’s friend’s name, and then as a token of love that her baby’s parents had shared, combined their names as the baby’s second name, Lesley-Anne.

The judge was an elderly man, close to retiring when they walked into his office to sign the papers.

“Goodness me” he said kindly “Which one of you two is the mother?”

His kindliness was balm to them. This was such a heart wrenching time, and any sweet gesture was embraced. The forms were competed and Anne signed, her mother signing with her because she was under 18. And then for some unknown reason, he changed the effective date on the Adoption papers. Effective two month’s later.
“Just in case you change your minds.” he said.

So – no moving on - stuck in time – with the thought always looming. Her little girl wasn’t gone yet. Anne and her mother spoke little of it, each lost in their own thoughts, focusing on a little girl who lay in an adoption home – waiting. Anne knew she couldn’t ask her mother if she could keep her – knew that financially it wasn’t possible, that she had to write her final exams, or at least get a job. They couldn’t afford another mouth to feed. Her brother was in the army, but his salary was a pittance. Shirley knew she shouldn’t try to influence her daughter. Anne had her whole life ahead of her, she was still a child herself, and the decision wasn’t Shirley’s to make. Leslie and his family moved away, and Anne and he still kept in touch, although the relationship was over.

For the next two months, mother and daughter dreamed, and thought, and pondered, and waited as the time grew nearer. Anne used to fold a face cloth into the shape of a baby’s nappy when she thought her mother wasn’t looking. Shirley would walk past the baby shops and linger, looking at the prams, and the baby clothes, and the toys. But neither said anything.

About a week before the deadline, Shirley walked into Anne’s bedroom and caught Anne folding the facecloth, the shape of the nappy unmistakable, the sadness on Anne’s face undeniable. She sat down on the bottom of the bed.

“Do you want to keep her?” Shirley asked her daughter quietly.

“Yes!” said Anne, and burst into tears. Tears sprang into her mother’s eyes.

“You can.” She said, and moved up and held her daughter, and the two of them finally wept, hugging and laughing and crying, the excitement and trepidation spilling over.

And so the day dawned – four nappies, two pins, two vests, and one babygro. A burgundy pram and some baby bottles. As well as the unconditional love of a mommy and a granny for a little blue eyed girl.

The adoption home was beautiful, set in an immaculate garden, with tress providing shade and tranquility. The parked the car on the gravel car park, and hearts pounding walked up to a mesh covered door. They could hear a baby crying.

Was it hers? Anne wondered. They were welcomed in, and taken through to a large nursery full of empty cots. The babies had been taken outside to play under the shade of the trees. A maid was leaning over a changing table, pinning a nappy to a gurgling baby. The woman ushered them over to the table, as the maid picked up the wriggling bundle.

“Who is the mother?” she asked, a smile splitting her face.

“Aaeoo! You are too young! “exclaimed the maid as she handed the baby over. Anne was nervous, terrified she would drop her, but instantly in love with the rosy cheeked, blue eyed baby. Her mother stood by, allowing Anne the moment, and then moved closer, smiling at the cooing baby. As the sunshine poured in through the windows over the tableau, it occurred to the watching woman that this was a perfect image – a moment in time.

Mother and daughter said their thank yous, and left. They sat in the parked car, and savoured the moment - the absolute joy and bliss that they felt The sky almost as blue as baby Michelle’s eyes, the birds chirping almost as loudly as the song in their hearts, and the sun shone almost as radiantly as the love on their faces.

And so their lives began once more.


Based on a true story.
2657 words