The water acted as a balm and soothed the raging emotions that rocketed through my body again. It felt as if finally I might be able to move past it, to understand what was going on. Oh I knew, they just refused to believe that it was real, that what I told them was real, and that it happened. The horrors I saw as an eight year old never should be seen by anyone, and yet they were seen and felt by me. So anyway water, and I have this understanding I stand in it, I cry in it, it doesn’t talk back and make me feel stupid, unlike some other members in my family. Fuckers.
The anger washed off me pretty easily although that wasn’t why I was taking a shower in all honesty. I was sweaty, running 6 miles would do that to just about any one, couple that with the fact it was blazing hot and I wasn’t the happiest person in the world had a lot to do with why I was taking forever in the shower and using every drop of hot water I could get my hands on. This was so important to me I couldn’t hardly stand it. How could I not want to stand in the shower and glean from it all my delights? I couldn’t and that’s why I stayed in there, till the water turned arctic and I shut it off to face the world.
The Andersen’s daughter, I suppose I should explain how that thing had ended up in our trashcan, more specifically in my bathroom. Well, at school as at home I am considered some sort of freak, few know I run, few even speak to me. So I really don’t know how it ended up there apart from her saying that she needed to speak to someone, any one who wouldn’t judge her. She really should have realized that ship had sailed a long time ago. Considering she was, and is the one who leads the charge for making my life a living hell every single day.
So anyway here we are with that thing again in my bathroom in my trash where my mom was the one who found it and then proceeded to yell at me as if I was some sort of slut who only thought about hopping in and out of bed with every boy I have ever spoken too. No. That’s not me. That is Andrea. Yep Mr and Mrs Andersen’s perfect little angel, captain of the cheerleading squad, baton twirling beauty queen. That is the one that is knocked up. Not me, the goth, the girl who wears black every day and looks like someone who was dressed by Morticia Addams. Me? Nope no chance of me ever being pregnant. Apart from the obvious that I am considered a freak at school, I cannot be pregnant because when I was 8 something stopped me from ever having them. My parents don’t even know.
After a very bewildered walk home, Andrea walked into my bedroom, and sat down speaking in a voice that honestly sounded almost numb. “I think I’m pregnant”. That was all she said. First thought? Honestly? Why the fuck would she come to me? And then I remembered. Because Andrea was the one who was told to be my friend when I was eight, and alone. My parents just knew I would go insane after what I saw, which is why I know they worry about this whole “goth” thing I have going on. Anyway back to the girl who is now sitting on my bed in tears.
“Fuck, how did that happen”? Okay so stupid comment of the year just spouted out of my mouth and I could not blame her for the withering look and the sarcastic “Do you want me to draw you a picture?” That came next. Fuck. So I did the most classic thing ever and sat down cross legged on the floor. Silent as a tomb, then I laughed. “Well so now what? Do you need to take a test, what?” Before I had even gotten halfway finished with what I was saying she had started shaking her head into her hands, the girl was distraught that was for sure. Finally I was unable to say anything else because it was evident she just needed someone to sit here with, for a brief moment I was reminded when I was younger with her, and we pretended we liked each other for our parents sake. Sleep overs that we rarely spoke at, the only good thing was we both enjoyed creepy horror movies, or outings with our family that all we did was walk and often sit in silence pretending to be just the best of friends. So it was with that in mind, that I just stared at her. I was not her friend but at least I wasn’t her enemy either. Granted with the people she hung out with that could very well be the exact same thing.
I am really not sure how long I sat there on my floor waiting for the girl on my bed to stop crying and blubbering but I do know my hips started to freeze and call me everything but a harlot, when she raised her head and pulled out a little white stick, the lines all but screaming out, “I am not a night stick, this girl’s knocked up”. Holy shit. Man shit just got real right there, alright I had deluded myself into believing that she wasn’t really pregnant and just playing some sort of jacked up prank on me, good acting and all of that. Nope. This shit was real. Fuck me running.
“Right then.” wow okay so that was not the most original thing ever out of my mouth but we have to go with that because there is nothing else to say. Right. “So who is the dad?” I wait cause seriously, if what I think I know is true this might be an issue, and that’s when she says it. “Eddie,” holy crap, really? Eddie? That was the last thing I ever expected her to say, I never expected her to say, the one man that wasn’t even on the radar. The one that you never really saw hanging out any where, the boy who sat in the back of the class and never spoke.
So once I got over my shock we threw out the stick, and I sat still cross legged on the floor waiting for her to move, when she finally went home, I headed off to art class. The one place I felt at home, where I wasn’t the scary goth, I was the girl with the paint bush who threw my emotions onto paper and let it lay there. No one knew about this, my parents or my therapist. No one. They thought I was probably at the library or something crazy like that. But no, I had found a free art class at the local ywca and so I hung out with homeless people painting on canvas. Who would have thought huh?