Read Online Underneath It All by Traci Elisabeth Lords - Free Book Online
Authors: Traci Elisabeth Lords
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not loving me. Once again my father's words assaulted me. I could hear his voice saying, "If you play you're gonna pay." FUCK YOU! I thought, hating that he was right. "Fucking hypocrite," I said out loud to the trees, thinking of the magazines under his bed with naked spread-eagled girls. Is that all men ever wanted? Tuckers ... Shit . . . What was I going to do? My rage turned to whimpers as I left the school campus, heading for the beach. Calm down, I told myself. There must be a way out of this.
I blew off school the following day and spent my time circling want ads in the local newspaper. I wasn't sure what I was going to do about the pregnancy. I was scared to death at the thought of being someone's mother at fifteen. I couldn't take care of a helpless baby. What if I did a bad job and it got hurt? How could I bring a child into my cruel world? It was a mind-fuck. I really needed to talk to someone anyone. I had hoped to find the courage to tell my mother, but her absence and my shame guarded my secret. I couldn't find the courage to tell Lorraine either, but whatever I decided, I knew I was going to need money. And money meant I needed a job. Fast.
I did my best to ignore my predicament, but it was hard. I was already two-and-a-half months pregnant when I found out. Having always been blessed with light menstrual cycles, I'd thought nothing of it until my period stopped altogether and the home pregnancy test I took explained why.
Over the next few days, I concentrated on landing a job. I answered ad after ad, but nothing ever came of it. Apparently my age was a factor. I applied at Bob's Big Boy for a waitressing job but couldn't pull off the interview.
I was smart but shy and completely unsure of myself. The manager nicely suggested I come back in a few years.
Roger then introduced me to his friend Lynn. She was a single mother in her late twenties who worked at night and needed someone to take care of her two little girls. I started baby-sitting. My mom seemed pleased I had a job, and said she looked forward to me contributing to the house. But it was hard for me to speak to her, and I could barely look her in the eye.
I had scheduled the procedure for the following week, feeling that I could always change my mind and wanting to find a way to keep the baby but scared to death of what would become of us. As the day crept closer
I had serious doubts about what I was going to do. Was it wrong? Could this fetus feel pain? Thoughts like these tested my sanity: I had never hurt a fly—what was I doing? I had to find another way. I called a hotline for unwed mothers, but after an hour of religious mumbo jumbo, I hung up. They were selling guilt and I'd had enough of that.
It's hard to put into words the conflict I felt on the day of the procedure. I met Roger in the morning and as he drove me to the clinic I felt my stomach turn inside out. I was beside myself and asked him several times if he thought I was doing the right thing. His words were soft and reassuring as he reminded me that if I didn't have the abortion I would end up a penniless fifteen-year-old single mother, a thought that horrified me.
As I was prepped for the procedure, I was quiet and sweating profusely. I felt the needle enter my arm and watched the faces of masked strangers around me as the fire from the syringe ran down my arm. I started to protest, a million thoughts racing through my head, until everything went dark.
I woke up feeling dead, sobbing on a single bed in the recovery room. I wondered if Dean could feel my pain, wherever he was. Did he know how much I hurt? I thought of Ricky and how he made me lie there while he took what was only mine to give. I thought of my father who wanted so badly to punish my mother that he hadn't sent us a dime in support since we left. I thought of Hollywood Boulevard with all those stars on the sidewalk, those people so admired and loved. Why couldn't I be one of them?
I had promised to baby-sit for
I blew off school the following day and spent my time circling want ads in the local newspaper. I wasn't sure what I was going to do about the pregnancy. I was scared to death at the thought of being someone's mother at fifteen. I couldn't take care of a helpless baby. What if I did a bad job and it got hurt? How could I bring a child into my cruel world? It was a mind-fuck. I really needed to talk to someone anyone. I had hoped to find the courage to tell my mother, but her absence and my shame guarded my secret. I couldn't find the courage to tell Lorraine either, but whatever I decided, I knew I was going to need money. And money meant I needed a job. Fast.
I did my best to ignore my predicament, but it was hard. I was already two-and-a-half months pregnant when I found out. Having always been blessed with light menstrual cycles, I'd thought nothing of it until my period stopped altogether and the home pregnancy test I took explained why.
Over the next few days, I concentrated on landing a job. I answered ad after ad, but nothing ever came of it. Apparently my age was a factor. I applied at Bob's Big Boy for a waitressing job but couldn't pull off the interview.
I was smart but shy and completely unsure of myself. The manager nicely suggested I come back in a few years.
Roger then introduced me to his friend Lynn. She was a single mother in her late twenties who worked at night and needed someone to take care of her two little girls. I started baby-sitting. My mom seemed pleased I had a job, and said she looked forward to me contributing to the house. But it was hard for me to speak to her, and I could barely look her in the eye.
I had scheduled the procedure for the following week, feeling that I could always change my mind and wanting to find a way to keep the baby but scared to death of what would become of us. As the day crept closer
I had serious doubts about what I was going to do. Was it wrong? Could this fetus feel pain? Thoughts like these tested my sanity: I had never hurt a fly—what was I doing? I had to find another way. I called a hotline for unwed mothers, but after an hour of religious mumbo jumbo, I hung up. They were selling guilt and I'd had enough of that.
It's hard to put into words the conflict I felt on the day of the procedure. I met Roger in the morning and as he drove me to the clinic I felt my stomach turn inside out. I was beside myself and asked him several times if he thought I was doing the right thing. His words were soft and reassuring as he reminded me that if I didn't have the abortion I would end up a penniless fifteen-year-old single mother, a thought that horrified me.
As I was prepped for the procedure, I was quiet and sweating profusely. I felt the needle enter my arm and watched the faces of masked strangers around me as the fire from the syringe ran down my arm. I started to protest, a million thoughts racing through my head, until everything went dark.
I woke up feeling dead, sobbing on a single bed in the recovery room. I wondered if Dean could feel my pain, wherever he was. Did he know how much I hurt? I thought of Ricky and how he made me lie there while he took what was only mine to give. I thought of my father who wanted so badly to punish my mother that he hadn't sent us a dime in support since we left. I thought of Hollywood Boulevard with all those stars on the sidewalk, those people so admired and loved. Why couldn't I be one of them?
I had promised to baby-sit for
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