Melanie

Melanie

          “I love you,” I whispered to my boyfriend as we made love.
          “Love you too, baby,” he replied as he kissed my neck.

          My period was late. I kept waiting for it to show up and it didn’t. And didn’t. And didn’t. Finally I took a home pregnancy test. And my absolute worst nightmare was confirmed.
          “We need to talk,” I texted Henry. “Immediately.”
          He looked nervous when we met at the fountain a half hour later. He kept running his hands through his spiky blond hair and wouldn’t look at me.
          “I’m glad you wanted to talk,” he said. “I need to talk to you too. I just found out I’ve been accepted into grad school at Stanford.”
          “Stanford?” I repeated. “As in the Stanford in California?”
          “Yes, that Stanford. There’s no other.”
          “That’s on the other side of the country! What about us?”
          He looked away. “It’s not like we’re married, Mel. I can’t pass this opportunity up.”
         “Are you breaking up with me?” I asked, dumbfounded. It felt like a nightmare.
          “Yes,” he answered, looking away.
          “I’m pregnant!” I snapped. “Pregnant! What are we going to do about that?”
         “Isn’t that a little childish, Mel? Pretending to pregnant to hold on to me?”
          “Get over yourself,” I yelled. We were beginning to attract curious looks but I was too upset to care. “I am pregnant! Do you have an idea of what that means?”
          “It means I’m still going to California,” he answered. “I don’t believe you. “
         “Вы гребаный трус!” I screamed at him.
          “Melanie, calm down and speak English.”
          “I don’t wish to talk to you at all,” I bellowed and hit him in the chest. Not that hard, but he was so surprised he fell in the fountain. It would have been funny if the situation wasn’t so grave.

          Later that night, I packed my bag. There wasn’t much to pack. I wrapped my laptop in its bag and packed some clothes.
          “Are you sure you want to do this?” my roommate Amy asked. “Just up and leave like this? What happened?”
          “I have to,” I answered without looking at her.
         “Where are you even going? What about school?”
          “I’m going to my stepmom’s in Las Vegas. School doesn’t matter. I can always go out there, or come back.”
          Amy sat down, defeated. I handed her an index card. “My stepmom’s phone number in case anything happens. Bye, Amy. You were a good roommate.”
          I walked down three flights of stairs, happy I packed light. The elevators were out of order, as usual.
          “Bus station, please,” I told the cab driver. “And hurry.”
          I bought a ticket to Las Vegas. It cost nearly half of my money but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. I only wanted to sleep.
          I awoke with a start. The sky was grayish-pink over a swampy marsh. It reminded me of my native Belarus.
         “Where are we?” I asked the man next to me.
“Middle of Ohio,” he answered. “Not much to see out there, is there?”
         There was plenty to see. An expanse of marches stretched out on either side of the road. It shook me up to see a place so much like Belarus in America.
          I came to the United States when I was fourteen, a several years after the Soviet Union collapsed. My father had come as soon as he could, but my mother wouldn’t leave. She was a nurse at an orphanage, working mostly with kids effected by Chernobyl. I didn’t remember when it happened, being only three and a half, but my mother worked with kids who with severe birth defects. She said they needed her more than anyone else did. So my parents divorced and my father immigrated. Life in Belarus was difficult, so I joined my father in the U.S. My mom was happy I did as she knew there was far more opportunity.
         When I first came to the United States, I was overwhelmed. Learning English was difficult, though I studied it for years at school. It’s completely different to be using it every day. My father’s second wife Helen helped me adjust. She worked on English with me every night and took me shopping for new American clothes. When they divorced I was devastated. I loved her more than my dad, even more than my own mother; It was because of her I could function in the United States. Without her I would’ve given up and went home.
         When they divorced, she told me it wouldn’t affect our relationship, that you divorce the adult, not the child. And she was right. I pretty much disowned my father after that (he cheated on her-I was disgusted. A lot of Russian was going back and forth that night. I was glad Helen couldn’t understand what I was saying). We talked every week, she sent me letters and I spent summers and Christmas with her.

          The trip took three grueling days. I was exhausted and grouchy by the time we finally got there. Grime and sweat clung to my body. I felt like I must have stunk high heaven.
         “Melanie!” Helen waved at me. She gave me a big hug. “I’m so glad you’re finally here! Welcome to Sin City!”
          “Hi,” I answered groggily. I needed a shower, a nap and a meal that didn’t consist of anything fried.
          “What’s going on?” she asked as she pulled out into traffic. “I was surprised when you called and asked if you could come out here, this time of year and all.”
          “Can we talk about it later?” I answered warily. I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation and was too exhausted to think about it at the moment.
          Helen glanced at me. Her turquoise eyes were concerned. “Sure, honey. You must be exhausted from your trip. Let’s get you showered and fed then we can talk.”
          Helen lived in a cute little bungalow apartment. “Home sweet home!” she exclaimed brightly. “You hop in the shower. Would you like spaghetti for dinner?”
          “Yes!” I answered. After eating fries and onion rings the last four days, spaghetti sound heavenly.
          After a nice long shower to scrub all the travel grime off, we sat down to eat. I ate two helpings of Helen’s delicious spaghetti. I was stuffed. It felt good.
          “Are you ready to talk?” she asked after we washed the dishes. I wasn’t, but knew it couldn’t be put off any longer.
          “This is where I need you to take me,” I said. I handed her the brochure of the abortion clinic. I wasn’t sure how she would take it. Helen had had several miscarriages before she was married to my dad, with her first husband. They had actually divorced because of it.
          “Melanie!” She looked up at me, stunned.
          “I have to do it,” I whispered. “This baby is damned.”
          “Have you thought about this? This can’t be undone.”
         Had I thought about it? It was all I had thought about since I found out. Would this child, if I wasn’t sending it back to God, have dark hair and eyes like me or blond hair and blue eyes like Henry? Would it be born with all of its systems intact? Would it die a horrible death from leukemia or a heart defect.
          I nodded. “I have to do it, Hel. I have to.”
          “What about adoption? What about Henry? I know you’re terrified right now, but this isn’t the answer.”
         I shook my head. “Henry’s gone. He didn’t even believe me when I told him I was pregnant.”
          “God sent this child to you,” Helen said in her annoyingly adult voice. “He knows you can handle it.”
          “Don’t talk to me about God!” I snapped. “Fuck God! You should see the babies where my mother works. Babies born with their brains outside of their heads! Tumors the size of footballs on their bodies. Kids so retarded they can’t eat or even know where they are. Kids born without lymph systems so their bodies are five times bigger than they should be. They are monsters! Прокляты и обречены Damned and doomed!” I shrieked. “I would rather my child be dead than have to deal with that. Ебать Бога!”
         I began to cry, then raced to the bathroom to vomit. Helen’s delicious spaghetti came right back up. She held my hair back as I violently retched and retched.
          “Ok,” Helen said as she wiped my face with a cool washcloth. “I’ll take you there.”

          The next day was the worst day of my life. Helen drove to the clinic without saying much. I was grateful for that. Usually she was pretty chatty but she knew I needed quiet today. I knew this was hard for her too.
          At the clinic I had to fill out some forms. Helen helped me with the harder English medical terms. Then I waited. And waited. It felt like forever. I just wanted it over with.
          Finally, it was my turn. They wouldn’t let Helen come in with me. The nurses and doctor were very nice, but I was in a fog.
          “Ok, honey,” the doctor said as she injected something into me. “It won’t take long.”
          It didn’t. They gave me some medication and then used some tools to suction it out. I didn’t look at them. The nurse was very kind and held me hand the whole time. I screamed and it was over.
          I needed help walking back out to the waiting room. They gave Helen some medications and instructions for watching me. She thanked the nurse and helped me out to the car.
          “Come on, honey. Let’s just get you home.”

          When we got home, Helen had me lay down in her bed, where it was cooler. “Rest for a while, then let me know if you need anything.”
          I tossed and turned but couldn’t sleep. I was completely shattered. It was the best option, I knew that. A child was better off dead than condemned to the living hell the kids my mother worked with were in.
          I toddled out to the living room. Helen was washing the windows. We looked so different, it was obvious we weren’t biologically related. She was tall and blond, I short and had dark hair. That didn’t matter. Blood wasn’t what made a family.
          “I can’t sleep,” I croaked out huskily. “Would you lie down with me for a little while?”
          “Of course I will,” she answered and peeled off her gloves.
          I rested my head on her shoulder. She stroked my hair. I wanted to cry but couldn’t.
          “You’ll feel better in a few days,” Helen said comfortingly, reading my mind. “You’re in shock right now.”
          I hid my head in her shoulder. I just wanted to crawl inside of her and disappear. “Я тебя люблю,” I murmured, forgetting Helen didn’t know Russian.
          “What?” she asked.
          “I love you,” I translated.
                    “I love you, too, honey,” she answered.
          We lay together in the darkness