Dimples
October 3rd
Dear Older Dimples,
I have this dream that one day years from now, my life is going to get to some crazy, unexplainable point and I’m going to ask myself how on Earth I got there. This diary, dear older me, is your answer. My letters to my older self will explain EVERYTHING. It will tell you how it all went wrong and how that one decision or maybe two, got you where you are. I wish that I could tell you now, but I’m afraid that today’s entry will only explain how mom’s decision has made me turn to this diary.
Last week I told mom about Tyler. All I said was that I thought that he was cute. As you know, or maybe you’ve forgotten by now, Tyler doesn’t even know that I exist. Of course, I didn’t tell mom that part. Who wants to let their parents know that they are practically invisible at school? Not I. Anyway, I may have exaggerated a bit, A BIT. Not enough for the nuclear reaction that she had, meltdown included. The most I said was that maybe he and I would some day go on a date. I would tell you the exact words, except I only started writing to you today. Oh my gosh, this is going to be so cool when I’m older. It’ll be like a time machine warping me back into the past.
I digress. So today, I learned the lesson of NEVER telling mom about boys. N E V E R! I swear, she’s going to meet my husband the day we walk down the isle. I woke up this morning thinking that I was going to go to school, like every other 13-year-old on a Friday. Before I could walk my happy butt to the bus stop, mom stopped me. I should’ve known something was up, she was sitting in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee at 7:30 in the morning. Yes, mom. Miss I don’t have time to look at my kids in the morning because work is more important.
She told me that she was going to drive me to school today. Of course I was thinking, “Why couldn’t you have told me this yesterday so that I could sleep in?” But I didn’t say that. I just sat down and grabbed a bowl of cereal. She didn’t even say anything to me the whole time. She just sat there with this solemn look on her face.
I knew something was up when once we got into the car and she took a left down Spruce Avenue. I asked, “Where are we going?” I say asked, but I think I more demanded an answer. I had a huge test this morning and didn’t want to miss it. She did that thing where she behaves as though she didn’t hear you even though you know that there’s no way in the world that she didn’t. I asked again, “Where are we going?” Still she ignored me. It took everything in me not to throw my bookbag across the car and demand that she acknowledge me. Instead, I just slammed back into my seat and blasted the radio.
We pulled into the parking lot of a building with the words Gynecologist/ Obstetrician on the front of it. If only I had known what was in store for me, I would NOT have gone inside.
To cut to the chase, that woman made a pregnancy appointment for me. Because I told her that I liked a boy. This is the point when I’m staring wide eyed at you with an expression on my face that’s asking, “Can you believe this shit?” I’m telling you, I can’t make this stuff up. She told the doctors that I was pregnant!
Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. Mom filled out all of the paperwork for me when we got to the office. I was surprised to hear my name when the receptionist called me back, I thought we were there for mom. I went back reluctantly, mom followed. They asked if I wanted her to stay in the waiting area. Of course, I didn’t know what was going on, so I told them that I didn’t care if she came back.
Within five minutes of being in that room, I kicked her out. I. was. Fuming. They tried to stick some long thing inside of me to see, “how far along I was.” “How far along I was in what,” I asked. “Your pregnancy.”
I can’t imagine what my face looked like after they said that. It took some convincing, but eventually they accepted that I wasn’t pregnant. This is only after they tried to convince me that there was nothing to be afraid or ashamed of and that they were only there to support me. And of course a pregnancy test, the infamous, pee in a cup and we’ll tell you who’s the liar is game. I won.
For the time being, I was able to keep that horrible thing from between my legs and from then on, I decided that I was going to keep all of my words from entering my mom’s ears. Pregnant at 13, just because I said a boy was cute. I still can’t believe it. Even you, all these years later, probably still can’t believe it. The fucking nerve of that woman.
If there are any lessons to be learned from this, they are as follows:
- Don’t tell mom shit.
- If you ever have a daughter, don’t be an asshole.