This marks my first attempt at satire, a writing form that I think should be more considered an art for the complexities involved with it. Please let me know what you think.
I didn’t know how it happened. Well, that’s not true, really. I know exactly how it happened. I wasn’t expecting it to happen though, you know? It’s one of those things you hear about in your senior year health class in high school, the horror stories about teens and unprotected sex. How they turn into failures. Which is why, obviously, not doing it is the right answer. Never mind teaching about how to be protected. That’s not as important. Which is probably why teen pregnancy rates are going up, now that I think about it. I mean, all we’re taught is the parts and not to do a damn thing. So when a guy brings out a condom and asks if you know how to use the thing, you shake your head, he says fine, tosses it to the side and off you go.
Not that it happened to me. I’m just saying that’s how it could’ve been. Luckily, my first (and now, only) time was with someone who knew what they were doing in terms of birth control. And I was on the Pill thanks to the migraines I had been having for the past two years. So, utilizing two forms of birth control should’ve made us safe, right?
I know we thought so.
Needless to say, something went wrong. The odds caught up with that whole one out of a thousand or so people. And it caught up with me.
So here I was, alone. Not having a period for the first time since I started back in high school. Unable to tell my parents, because I’d be screwed beyond belief. And not in the pleasant way that had started all this. No, this would be along the lines of being tossed out on my ear, or being banned from seeing, talking or otherwise acknowledging that my boyfriend of almost a year now ever existed.
I need to say this flat out here a moment. It wasn’t as if I just jumped into bed with him. We were going out for eleven months first, and I overheard him talking about getting a ring. Yes, that kind of ring. Not to mention the fact that before we did a damn thing, we made sure we talked about what was going to happen if the unthinkable happened. You know, the whole kit and caboodle about abortions, where we stood on them, family troubles that would come from it, adoption, marriage…the list went on and on. So, yeah. No bone jumping at first. We were responsible. See above with the whole using two kinds of protection when all you really need is one.
Anyway. Like I said, if I told my parents, there would be hell to pay. And I couldn’t tell Brogan (he would be the aforementioned boyfriend) as he was out of the country for a good week still. So, yeah. Alone in this.
So I did some research. Googled birth control and found out that I can still skip sometimes, especially when you haven’t been on it long. Well, two months ain’t that long, so I figure that’s what happened. So I wait. Wednesday comes and goes, and still no blood. It’s about now that I’m really starting to freak out. I call up one of my friends. He lives in Arizona. I’ve met him exactly once when I told him I was traveling to Phoenix for a school trip and if he showed up at this time on this day, we could actually meet outside of the internet. I know the horror stories there too, but I trusted him. Same way as I trusted everyone else that I had met on the site. They were closer to me that I was to my own family. Hell, I decided to adopt this guy as my older brother after we met, so yeah, he was pretty much family to me at this point.
So we talked, and I freaked out to him and he kept telling me to calm down, that it wasn’t the end of the world, ‘cause after all, did I really know for sure? Or was I just stressed out as that might be causing it as well. I told him that it might as well have been the end of the world, being late as I was, but yeah, maybe was just over reacting and I would go get a test the next day to be sure.
In retrospect, they really really need to make a new kind of test for those that don’t actually want to be carrying some sort of child inside of them. It gave me a happy face and I wanted to throw it across the room. There was no reason to be happy about it! Stupid stick didn’t know the amount of pain it had just decided to cause me by giving me a grin. I want ones made that have a frown on them if positive, maybe right next to the condoms. At least then when your mom finds the damn thing even though you think you bury it in the trash in the OUTSIDE can deep enough, you can go “nope, I’m not pregnant!” Plausible deniability folks, look into it.
There’s screaming, yelling, and by this point, Brogan is calling me on my cell. Of course, that has been taken away because I am clearly ‘irresponsible for allowing this to happen’ (if I had “allowed” it to happen, don’t you think I would be happier about it? Maybe I just wasn’t stubborn enough about it to make me NOT hefty for the next 9 months), so when family answered it, he got dragged into the whole mess too.
We both get dragged to confession the next day, though I didn’t really see the point. Wasn’t like saying “I had sex!” would change anything. At this point, most of the neighborhood knew just by looking at me, so it wasn’t like some grand secret. I always found it ironic that a religion that promoted abstinence and purity was founded on the belief that even virginity couldn’t stop pregnancy. Of course, when I pointed this out to those involved, Brogan only laughed. Everyone else was not amused.
And that all brings me to my current situation, when I have ‘time alone to think about my choices’. Because in the end, it’s all up to me. I know full well what my family expects me to do—go to college, get a degree, break up with Brogan and never talk to him again, maybe not completely in that order. Brogan says to do what I want and think is right. Because he’s helpful like that. Many says I just want to shake him until that version of helpfulness actually becomes something like “I would like blah”.
Everyone always expects the end of the world to come with something big, like stars falling from the sky, or oceans boiling and killing all the fish in them so that the world starves to death. That or Jesus riding a giant glowing horse, smiting people with his sword. Or is that Michael who does that? Whatever.
What they don’t expect is for it to end quietly, for just one person (maybe two or three, if I’m completely honest with myself).
I just really bloody wish that school had done more than gone “don’t do it, it’s bad” and had focused more on the “if it does happen, here’s for help”. They might have thought that more would have gone out and just jumped on the first person of the opposite sex—or same sex, no judging—if they hadn’t gone the fear route, but hey, far less useful than anything else they could have taught. Except maybe the parts of the reproduction system.
Unless I wanted to be a doctor, why the HELL would I need to ever know where the prostate was?!