Sunlight on My Shadow (10 page)

The next night I slept right through without lying awake with worry. In the morning I was ready for the next step. Even though I dreaded telling Jackie, I had cracked the shell of secrecy. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. No one said, “How could you do it?” or “You’re a slut.” I loved my friends more than ever. I believed they would uphold our pact of silence.

If I had to tell someone, my sister, Jackie, was the least threatening in my circle of authority figures. She didn’t reprimand me like she did her kids, but treated me like a sister. I always felt welcome at her house.

Since there were nineteen years between Jackie and me, she ended up being like a second mom. I stayed at her house whenever Mom and Dad went on trips. At first it was a culture shock, going from our silent, spotless house to the gaggle of spirited children bumping into each other and tripping over toys strewn on the floor. I didn’t eat that much at home, but at Jackie’s a strange impulse came over me. When a mass of fork-laden hands attacked the plate of pork chops, I found myself stabbing two for my plate. Never before in my life had I eaten two hunks of meat. We were praised for being members of the Clean Plate Club, so I managed to choke down the last bites.

Her kids tell stories of Jackie being so exhausted after birthing her tenth child in a span of thirteen years that she would lie on the couch and ping the rug rats with a fishing pole to keep them in line. Jackie was a baby-having expert. I remembered her words after coming from the hospital with one of her babies. “You aren’t a real woman until you experience childbirth.” I took that to mean it hurt a lot.

Sis gained a few pounds with each pregnancy, so by the time I was a teen, she was well padded. She was never stingy with her hugs and I craved them. Her welcoming arms swallowed you up like a mass of warm silly putty.

So the next day, after telling my friends, I picked up the phone and asked Jackie if I could come over to visit that afternoon. I told her I wanted to get her advice on something. It was set. I was committed. I was nervous now; I had five hours to wait until I could go over there. I went up to my bedroom and pulled out
Catcher in the Rye
. I got a glass of water, sat down, and started reading. After a few pages, I realized I hadn’t absorbed any of it. My mind was arranging the words for my disclosure to Jackie and thinking about food.

Food was now high on my radar, strange for me, because during my childhood and teen life, I forced myself to eat. I hated being called skinny – it was another sign of my immaturity. Nobody was telling me that now, but my legs and arms were still quite thin.

I went downstairs and fixed a bowl of oatmeal, then another. There was some fruitcake with brandy sauce in the fridge. Mom baked it every Christmas and I wouldn’t eat it unadorned, but the creamy, sugary brandy sauce made it delicious. That year, Mom had shown Hugren how to bake it, and we had some thawed out from the freezer. After the oatmeal, I had two pieces of fruitcake smeared with the thick sauce. My belly was packed until the skin was stretched tight. The jammed-in food made it hard to keep my breath.

With a full belly my mind went limp and there was only one option – take a nap. I woke just in time to get in the car and head over to Jackie’s. She lived in Northbrook, a twenty-five-minute drive from our house in Glenview. There stood the familiar white-painted frame house with the enclosed front porch. As I pulled into her driveway, my heart started to clickety-clack, ka-boom ka-boom, like an out-of-balance Whirlpool washer. I knocked on the door, walked in, and called out, “Hi, Sis, I’m here.”

Jackie responded from upstairs, “Hi, Jude, I’ll be there in a minute.”

I sat on the couch. “She has no idea what’s coming,” I thought. My palms were damp and I could feel drips of sweat falling down the sides of my chest. I wanted to flee but I stayed put, staring into space. Soon I heard her footsteps coming down the stairs. My nervousness elevated. She looked like she had just washed her hair: tight, dishwater-blonde ringlets covered her head.

“Hi, Pood,” she said. “Let’s go in the kitchen.” Pood had been my nickname since I was a baby. Maybe it was because I pooed. Or maybe it was because some other baby couldn’t say the “J” in “Jude.”

We walked into the kitchen. “Sis, I have a bad problem and just don’t know what to do or who to talk to,” I said.

“Oh?” she questioned, the corners of her mouth turning down. Jackie closed the swinging door to the kitchen. “Let’s sit down.”

We sat across from each other at the oak table, big enough for the horde of kids.

“What’s going on, Jude?”

I put my hand up to my chin and said it. “I think I’m pregnant.”

I couldn’t believe I blurted it out so quickly. Hearing the words out loud still shocked me, but it was a load-off to get it out.

“Oh. My. Why do you think so?”

“I haven’t had a period in five months.”

“Five months?”

“Yep.”

“Judy, do you want a glass of water or something to drink?”

“No, thanks.” Jackie got up and ran the faucet, filled a glass and sat back down.

“Oh, dear,” she said. There was a long pause, as she tried to form a response. “Well, Judy, just because you missed your period doesn’t mean you’re pregnant.”

Maybe Jackie knew something I didn’t: after all, she birthed ten kids and should know about this pregnancy stuff. I wanted to believe. Oh, how I wanted to believe there could be a chance she was right.

Jackie’s frown relaxed when a thought came to her. “Well, you know,” she said, “there’s something called a hysterical pregnancy. You can have all the symptoms but it’s not really so.”

My mind tried to grab on to her words. I wanted to be hysterical with relief.

“Really?” I said. “I never heard of that.”

“Yes, it’s the strangest thing. But it’s a real thing. It’s just like you’re pregnant—you miss your period, get nauseated, and gain weight. The mind is a powerful thing.”

I wondered if Jackie thought I was crazy enough to have a hysterical pregnancy. For an instant I wanted to jump in with both feet, believing this swollen belly was a figment of my imagination. But if it was true, that might be worse than the real thing, for what kind of crazy would I have to be to create all this just by the power of my mind? But yet, I so wanted to take the leap and grab on to the hope.

The lifeline snapped as truth set back in.

“Sis, I don’t think so. I can feel it moving inside of me,” I said.

“Really? Sometimes that can be gas.”

“But I had morning sickness, too.”

“Yes, that can be a part of the hysterical pregnancy too,” she said.

“Really, it’s a medical condition that exists. What we need to do is have you tested. You never know for sure.”

“Hmmm,” I said. “It could be, but I’m so scared.” I started to cry.

“Well, we’ll see, Jude. Don’t get all worked up about it yet.”

She put her arms around me.

“What we need to do is talk to Mom and Dad about this.”

“We do? I was hoping we could keep them out of it.”

“They need to know. You’re their daughter.”

“But, Sis,” I said. “I just can’t bear to tell Mom. She just got out of the hospital, and Dad will kill me. I’m too scared.”

She took a sip of water and said, “Well, I can talk to Mom about it.”

“That’d be good. I’m just so scared of what they’re going to do. When will you tell her?”

“I’ll arrange it. Maybe this evening, or I could go over there tomorrow morning. We can make a doctor’s appointment so you can get tested.”

“Thank you, Sis. I’m so glad I talked to you. I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I have been keeping this secret for too long.”

“You poor thing. We’ll get it worked out.”

I stood up and pushed in the chair. Jackie stood up, too.

“Come over here.” She hugged me. “It’s okay, Jude. It’ll all be okay. We’ll take care of this. Don’t worry; we’ll get to the bottom of this. The next step is to talk to Mom and Dad. I love you, Pood. Really, it’s gonna be okay.”

She gave me one of those enveloping hugs, slipping me into comfort like a warm tub of water. As she drew me close, for the first time since that fateful party, I felt like I could take a free breath. I started to cry. I was relieved there was no lecture or questions like, “How could you do it?” My sister was cool.

My mother pushed the joystick on her motorized wheelchair to get closer to the phone. Her finger joints were stiff and immobile, knotted with arthritis. She fumbled as she picked up the receiver and then used her index finger to punch the numbers. If we still had rotary dials, she wouldn’t have been able to call because she had very little strength in her fingers. She was dialing Fendall, my dad’s manufacturing plant.

Jackie and I sat on the blue satin couch. She got up to reach the crystal candy dish. The unwrapping cellophane sounded like cracking thunder. I was so nervous.

“John Liautaud, please.”

“His wife.”

“It’s urgent.”

“John, I have some bad news but I’d like you to come home from work so I can talk to you about it.”

“No, John, no one has died, but I don’t think you’ll be happy with the news. Please come home now.”

“OK, bye.”

Mom used her free arm to grab under her elbow for support. She leaned her body over to get closer to the tabletop and jerkily put the phone back in the cradle. Her aim was off-center, but she finally rocked it into place. Her eyes winced with the pain of movement.

“Is Dad coming?” I asked.

“Yes, he’ll be here in half an hour.”

“Oh, Judy, of all the things you could have done, this is the worst. Why didn’t you come and talk to me sooner?” Mom asked.

Mom went on without waiting for me to come up with an answer.

“Your father is going to be very upset.”

Mom’s eyes narrowed and her smooth, swollen face crinkled with her thoughts of angst.

“This is all my fault. I wasn’t here for you during the most important years of your life,” she sighed.

I wanted to protect her from the pain of what I had done, but there was no remedy for that. I felt sick at the hurt I had caused her.

Even though Mom was away from home, I didn’t see how she could feel responsible for my condition. If she had been home, she wouldn’t have been going out with me on dates.

“Oh, Mom, it isn’t your fault,” I said. “It wouldn’t have made any difference if you were here; this still would’ve happened.”

Of all people, I thought, Mom was the least to be blamed. Sometimes she had an overactive maternal instinct. Even though there was still Dad to deal with, I was relieved I was coming clean. Like a soldier to battle, I had my shield ready to fend off any punishment, including the angry words or freaked-out behaviour that might emit from Dad.

“At least I would have noticed that you were gaining weight,” Mom said. “Maybe I would have heard you getting sick in the morning. I could have done something for you.”

“I doubt if you’d have noticed, Mom. No one knew, not even my best friends.”

“But, Judy, you should have come to us right away and told us about this.”

“Yeah, I got it,” I thought. I not only got in trouble, but I didn’t handle it very well, either. I acted like a zombie, stuffing the problem and ignoring its presence.

I didn’t know how to explain myself, or if I even could. After a minute, I said, “Mom, I was too scared to tell anyone. Up until a few days ago, the only person who knew about it was Mick. I kept hoping for a miscarriage.”

My defense sounded weak. My throat clenched and a sob creaked between the tightened strings of my vocal cords.

“I’ve really messed up. I know. I’m so sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“How long has it been since you had a period?” Mom asked.

“Five months.”

“Oh my God, you couldn’t possibly be five months along. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

She didn’t believe it, but I knew I got pregnant the day the rubber broke at the party. But why would she think I knew anything when I had lost her trust?

“How did you manage to conceal it for that long?”

“I sucked my stomach in. I wore a girdle. My uniform blazer pretty much covered it up.”

“Oh, Jesus, help us.”

Now that I had told my mom and my sister and a few friends, I didn’t want them to think I was a slut, which would be the obvious assumption considering my condition. I was surprised no one was asking me about any details. And I didn’t know how to make myself look any better. Even if I said I only did it twice, it didn’t seem to lessen my marred purity. I didn’t know if I should offer the truth about the rubber breaking. I thought perhaps that would sound too “premeditated.” I guess it was obvious. I did it at least once. That was bad enough. I sat in silence.

The front door flew open and in came Dad with a crease in his brow and fire in his eyes.

“OK, what’s wrong, Ethel?”

“He knows,” I thought. I could tell by the look in his eyes.

“Well, John, come sit down, now. Judy has gotten into some trouble.”

“Trouble? What kinda trouble?”

Mom gave a sigh and said, “Now just be calm.”

“Trouble! Don’t tell me she’s pregnant?” Dad asked.

“Yes, John, she is. She told Jackie about it yesterday.”

“Oh ferchrissakes, are we sure about this?”

“She’s missed several periods.”

“Oh my God. Sonofabitch.”

The veins on Dad’s neck popped out and his voice began to rise with fury. Although the last time I got hit was a toddler spanking, I thought this might be the time he would do it again. His body was stiff, drenched with anxiety pulsing through his core. He paced back and forth on the living room floor like he was caught in a place he didn’t want to be, like he was desperate for a way out.

My father seemed taller than usual. He had on his same old khaki pants and a white shirt. Maybe it was his head. It looked huge as I looked up at him from my lower position on the couch. Mom was tired of those khakis, said he should shop for new pants, but he always wore them. Today I hated those khakis too.

“Judy, how could you do this? Don’t you know any better? Haven’t we taught you anything?”

My tongue was frozen.

“Do you know who the father is?”

Dad’s rage was mounting. My bones vibrated with fear.

“Of course I know who the father is,” I said. My voice squeaked through my constricting throat. I was thoroughly insulted by his question. I tried to hold back the tears. He must have thought I was messing around with a bunch of guys and didn’t even know who the father was. Anger radiated into my veins, but fright won over and I became meek. My throat felt like it was in a tightening vice.

“It’s Mick, Dad. You know Mick,” I whined.

“That son of a bitch!” Dad said. “Did he force you into it?”

“No. No, Dad. It’s not Mick’s fault. He didn’t force me into anything.” I wanted to protect Mick from the innate hatred my dad had for him. This definitely put the nail in the coffin for Mick.

“Do his parents know about this?”

“No. He hasn’t told them.”

“Good. Let’s keep them out of it. There isn’t any reason they have to get involved. We’ll handle it.”

I was surprised by this turn of events. I imagined our parents getting together and discussing the situation. I was relieved Dad wanted to keep them out of it and relieved for Mick.

Dad’s lips stiffened and he said, “If that boy was any kind of a man he would be here right now, goddammit.”

Mom fired up the wheelchair and rolled over to the window. She backed herself in so she was closer to my spot on the couch.

“Does anyone know about your condition?” Dad asked.

“Well, Mick knows, and I told Annie and Jane.”

“You should not have done that, Judy,” he said. “The fewer people involved in this, the better.”

I knew in my heart that I wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone if I hadn’t first told my friends. They gave me the strength to move ahead with telling Jackie. I hoped they wouldn’t tell anyone at school, but really, I wasn’t even worried about that. I trusted their vow of secrecy.

“Well, I forbid you to ever see that boy again. Do you know the disgrace you are bringing upon the family?”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“I’m extremely disappointed in you, Judy. I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

I sat silent, taking the heat. Then Dad’s face relaxed a little, like he had an idea.

His next words shot me like an arrow in the gut.

“You’ll have an abortion. That’s the best solution. An abortion, that’s all there is to it.”

Dad didn’t get it. I guess I hadn’t told him that the baby was now a large moving mass in my belly. An abortion? Was it possible? I had been feeling my baby kick and roll within me for over a month. The skin on my stomach was stretched thin and substantially rounded. My lips quivered and my hands cooled to ice. The shakes started in my throat and settled to my gut. I was too scared to cry outwardly, but inside I was heaving.

Dad’s anger had always made me want to run for cover, but the thought of an abortion sickened me. It was different when it was just an idea, but now I could feel it roll and kick. I wondered how I could do this to a live being inside of me. It was too late for an abortion, wasn’t it? I knew it in my heart. But yet, I was too scared to protest. I said nothing. To think that it could all be over in a matter of hours with some kind of operation. Could it be possible? Oh, how could I let them do that to me?

“I’m going to call Dr. Keller,” Dad said. Dr. Keller was Dad’s fishing buddy and our family doctor. I had met him up at the cabin and always just said my hellos but never spent time around him. I hated the thought of Dad’s friend knowing about me. I wished it was a stranger. I was relieved that my punishing lecture was brought to a halt by the phone call.

“Hello, Doctor, this is John. We have a problem here. Judy has gotten herself pregnant. Can you do something to fix this? Can she come in and see you today?”

Then Dad turned to me and said, “Judy, Dr. Keller is asking when you had your last period?”

“September fifteenth,” I said. It was now the middle of March.

Dad relayed the date. He talked for a few more minutes and banged the phone back in the cradle.

“What’d the doctor say?” Mom asked.

“He said he doubts if Judy is that far along, because she would be showing. He’ll give her a pregnancy test and examine her. We can get her in there in the morning.”

“A pregnancy test, what a joke,” I thought. These people think I’m imagining my condition.

As bad as it was telling my dad, it was a pain that felt good. It was the end to the unknown, the end of my silence, and I felt free. Free from the hiding. Done. Whatever happened to me now would be the penance that I was due. It would be nothing compared to the five months of secrecy and gloom that I had lived through. It was a great lesson to me of the added pain one encounters by procrastinating instead of resolving a problem.

Confiding in Dad during my five months of secrecy was just not something I even considered. I was afraid Dad would blow up into a crazy maniac. But why didn’t I tell Mom sooner? When Mom was in the hospital, I thought she was too sick and fragile and feared the news might kill her. When she came home, I couldn’t do it then, either. I just hoped my problem would disappear on its own, like the setting sun. I knew that if I told either of my parents, it would be like lighting the fuse to an explosion. Why would a sane person subject themselves to that kind of abuse? Mom and I started off on the wrong foot: first, when I was thoroughly embarrassed by our sex talk at nine years old and when I got caught playing doctor and then again when I couldn’t tell her how much I wanted that bra.

I see now that if Mom and I had had a closer relationship when I was a teen, it might have filled some of the need I had to seek love at such a young age. Perhaps some mature input could have put some steadiness into my blundering steps into womanhood. Does anyone have that kind of relationship with their mom?

As a little girl I idolized Mom: I knew she was beautiful and smart and comforting in all aspects. She thought the same about me and believed I could do no wrong. I know I disappointed her horribly and was most sorry for how I had failed to live up to the woman she intended me to be. I am sure that Mom and Dad felt like they failed miserably in raising me, evidenced by the trouble I got in.