Semper Fidelis

A Story by Zall

A high school girl gets pregnant and looses everything.

Semper Fidelis

My name is Mikayla Anthony, I’m the perfect child, have a scholarship to the University of Georgia, and to be honest, I’m very pretty with my long dark red hair and bright green eyes. That’s all I could think about as I sat watching the sun rise by the lake. My life was so on track. Everything was wonderful, and I went and screwed it all up. I’m going to lose my scholarship, my parents are going to kick me out of the house, my boyfriend will break up with me, and even if he doesn’t I’m still going to be all alone when he leaves for boot camp. I’m going to be alone.

Well, not really, I thought to myself as I rubbed my tummy sadly.

But the worst thing is, I’m going to be responsible for another life. I’m only eighteen; I can barely take care of my own life, let alone another’s. There’s so much I wanted to do with my life. So much I was going to accomplish. I was going to be a doctor; first in my family. I was going to be the third person in my family to graduate, after my two older brothers Parker and Owen of course. The first girl in my family.

Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes. I couldn’t do this. I let go of my keens and stood up quickly, turning around and making a bolt for my bike. Jumping on I peddled as fast as I could toward the edge of town. I had to get out of here for a little bit.

Looking over my shoulder as I heard a car approaching I peddled onto the side of the road. I knew that truck, and I really didn’t want to talk to him right now. My boyfriend Connor was supposed to meet me at the lake, but I just couldn’t face him. Not yet. Not now. Not like this. Not with mascara running down my face and my eyes all puffy.

Peddling faster I could feel sweat beginning to bead on my brow. Thoughts filled my mind if this could be healthy. How would I know? The last time I took health was freshman year, and we didn't really cover prenatal health. What's good for an unborn baby and what isn’t?

I slowed down, accepting the fact that I could not outrun an F-150, old as it may be. Coming to a stop I got off on the side of the road I let my legs sink till I felt my knees hit the gravely dirt. Then I just fell. I collapsed to my side and just hugged myself, crying and not caring who saw.

I have a vague recognition of a large warm hand on my back, rubbing softly as another massaged the back of my head under my hair. A deep voice speaking softly, making hush-sh sounds and pulling me up. Being cradled like a baby.

And then I lost it again at the thought of baby. I'm just a baby, how could I raise one? Burying my face into the shoulder that I now realized was Connor’s I shut the world off, for just a little while. I could feel my body being lifted and gently buckled into the passenger seat of his car. A sound of metal on metal as he threw my bike into the bed of his truck.

I don’t know how long I cried, but I do know that I haven’t cried this much in all my life. I held myself and cried, right there next to my boyfriend of five years. But after today, he might be my first breakup. To think, we started dating at the beginning of eighth grade, and now it’s spring of our senior year of high school.

Pulling away I realized that we were still leaving town. Connor could always tell what I needed, but right now I don’t know what I need. I’m torn between wanting to be held in his arms and just be alone. Bringing my knees up to my chest on the seat I stayed that way until we reached an old playground in a neighboring town twenty minutes out from Atlanta. Slowly getting out of the truck, we both sat silently on the swing-set.

“This is where we first met,” his deep voice finally spoke. “Remember? All the second grade classes took a field trip out here the spring this park opened.” Tears began to form again at the corners of my eyes with each word he whispered. “We met right here, on this swing-set. Kids were teasing us, telling us that we were “married” because we were swinging next to each other at the same time.” He gave a forced chuckle, trying to loosen me up a little; just like he always does when we need to talk. “You kept trying to break our swinging pattern, but I actually thought you were kind of cute, so I wanted to pretend that we were married for just that little while.”

I had to stop him. “Connor, look,” I began as I turned to straddle the swing so I could look at him; he was looking down. “Connor?” I reached a hand out to touch his shoulder, but he just brushed it off.

“Who told you?” he asked.

“What?” My red brows scrunched in confusion.

Finally he looked at me, and I could see tears in his eyes as well. “Who told you that I’m being deployed at the end of the summer?”

I swear I felt my heart stop and drop into the wood chips beneath my feet. He was leaving? How? How could he be leaving me? And suddenly I was angry. I was crying tears of anger and sorrow, getting off my swing and hitting his chest with my little fists and screaming at him with a voice choking on grief.

“How could you?! How could you leave me?! At a time like this when I need you most! We need you! You told me when you signed up that you wouldn’t get deployed! That you’d be with me forever and never leave me! Now look! You’re leaving us!”

And then I was in his arms, with my arms folded between our two chests. He was making hush-sh sounds again; rubbing my back to help calm me down. Wrenching sobs shook my body as I threw my head back and forth as if I could just make it all go away. He only spoke once my sobs were silent, knowing that they would not stop completely.

“What do you mean ‘we’?” he asked in a soft voice, trying not to sound too confused.

“Connor,” I chocked, it taking me a moment to gather myself back together to utter the hardest words I have ever had to utter. “Connor, I’m pregnant.”

Connor just stared down at me, his mouth slightly agape. He took a step back, but still held onto me. I thought maybe he’d fall over from shock, but he recovered a lot quicker than I had.

“No, you’re not.” He stated as if it were fact. But it wasn’t.

“Connor,” I said, reaching my hand out to his chest, but he just backed away. I felt hurt. “Connor, we’re going to have a baby. Baby Hudson.” I hoped that if I put his last name after baby, then maybe he could get used to the idea of there being a little him. Connor Hudson Jr.? I didn’t like the name, but maybe he’d consider me to be Mrs. Mikayla Laila Hudson soon.

Connor stepped further away, and began walking back to his truck. He stopped and opened the passenger door, motioning for me to get in. Sulking over I accepted his hand and climbed up. Slamming the door, he got behind the wheel, and we drove toward home. The sun was getting high in the sky, and I guessed that it was about lunch time. And I was hungry.

“Connor?” I asked timidly. “Honey? Can we stop and get a bite to eat? I’m really hungry.” I touched my stomach. “I mean we’re really hungry. We’re going to have to get used to that.”

All was silent for a while. A long while. Finally he spoke.

“You’re going to get fat.”

I turned my head to him slowly, giving him a look of disbelief. There are so many thoughts that are going through my head and all he can think about is that I’m going to get fat? And is fat even the right word? I, Mikayla Laila Anthony, am not a fat girl. I will not be fat. I will never be zaftig. To think, me, star gymnast, to have a rounded figure!

“Fat?” I asked, the word shooting off my tongue with a little more force than what was really needed or intended.

Connor turned and looked at me surprised. “I mean yah. I’ll still love you and all, and I mean I guess I won’t have to worry about you cheating on me while I’m gone or anything-”

I cut him off, “I would never cheat on you Connor! That’s just ridiculous! I’m having your baby and all you could think about was how I’m going to get fat or abdominous or any other word you could use to describe someone who is thick! Thick, just like your head!”

I went to hit him with my fist, but he caught it without taking his eyes from the road. Sometimes he just makes me so mad! First he calls me fat then he has the nerve to defend himself when I go to hit him! Jerking my hand away I placed it sadly on my tummy. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his body relax, softening his facial features as he placed his right hand on my knee.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he tried to sooth. “A baby isn’t the worst thing that could happen to us? I mean, hey, you always said you’d like to be a mom in a few years right? It might be kind of nice. When I get back, I can officially make you the Mrs. Mikayla Hudson.”

The thought comforted me some, and I gave a faint smile. “I love you so much, but I’m just so worried. But honestly, I wasn’t holding my stomach because of the baby; I was doing so because I’m still so hungry.”

“Oh,” he took his hand off my knee and we pulled into a local bagel drive-through. Ordering our food, we had to pull into a parking spot to wait for them to bring it out to us. After a moment of fumbling in his pocket to put his wallet away, he pulled out a box. “Well, I was going to do it at the sunrise this morning, but after the news of the baby, how about right here?”

He handed me the box, and I stared at it in shock. I opened the box and he slid the ring onto my finger.

“Mikayla Laila Anthony, will you marry me?”

Part Two

The next seven months were the hardest of my life. Connor and I waited a full two weeks before we bucked up the courage to tell our parents. My parents disowned me and kicked me out of the house. I bawled my eyes and heart out into Connor’s shirt for three days; I didn’t know what to do. I knew they’d be upset, but I didn’t think they’d disown me! His parents were also extremely upset, and said that until we were married they would have nothing more to do with me.

I spent those three days I cried so much in Connor’s truck. Most of the time I just sat there and cried, and he would just hold me. Finally his parents said that I couldn’t live in the back seat of his truck anymore, so we searched and searched for a place for me to stay. The little church that our family goes to at the edge of town accepted me in and let me stay there.

It was hard to see my parents sitting there every Sunday, in the third row in the center. I cried the first few times I saw them. But the church said they would let me stay there and sleep on a cot with a blanket and pillow as long as I helped the janitor and was the acolyte for their Sunday and Thursday services. Occasionally I would help out in the nursery. It was fun at first, but then I just started to get tired, and I realized at that moment than I was not ready to be a mother.

Connor left for boot camp about two weeks after we told our parents. It was harder, not having him around. But I made it. I made it the next seven months. Seven months later and I’m eight months pregnant. Only one month to go.

But the baby decided to come early. The baby was coming right now, a whole month early. I was scared. Scared for the baby. Scared for myself. Scared that I wouldn’t be able to give the baby the life it deserves.

I thought about adoption. I honestly did. But when I heard that little heartbeat for the first time, my own heart just melted. I got a recording of it, then made a copy and sent it to Connor at his training base. It took him a while to get back to me; so long I thought he didn’t get it. But then three weeks later I got a letter from him.

My dearest Mikayla,

So I was going to write you a letter and make it sound all old and stuff. You know, like the letters from WWII and wars like that. But after the title, I just couldn’t do it. I got the recording of the heartbeat. Thank you so much. I’m so glad to hear that the baby is doing well. Nice strong heartbeat. Must be a boy huh? I wonder if he’ll be big like me. You know, I was a 10 lb baby! I wouldn’t wish that upon you though. You have too little of a frame. Have you thought if you’d like to do a natural birth or if you would rather have a c-section? Personally I think you should do a c-section. I won’t mind the scar. Honest I won’t. Hey, it might even make you look bad a*s! We’ll make it through, I promise. I hope I’ll be able to be there for the birth, I’d hate for you to have to go through that alone without me there by your side. And I want to be one of the first people to see the baby. After the doctor, nurses, and you of course. I love you so much, and can’t wait to marry you when I return.

-Connor

And that was it. I got a few more letters over the months, when I would send ultrasound pictures to him. We didn’t want to know the sex of the baby, so I asked the doctor not to tell me.

But even through all the hardships I had to endure, I still couldn’t wait to hold my new born baby in my arms. To hear that first cry and look into the baby’s face. Because I knew that as soon as I held my baby in my arms, I would love it more than I already do. I wouldn’t be worried about the future, because I would have my baby. And in a few months, I would have my fiancé Connor back. Then, we could be a family.

And then there’s now. The secretary from the church rushing me to the hospital as I give birth several months early. Worried about my baby I squeezed the handle of her old, beat-up car. The car puttered to a stop as we pulled into the first parking space we could find. Waddling and bunched over in pain I let the secretary, Martha, assist me into the hospital.

The doctors got me a wheelchair and rushed me up to a room. As a nurse helped me into a gown another readied the bed for me and got me a cold washcloth.

The next few hours were a blur, and I all really remember was the pain and the voices of the doctor and nurses. Then it was all over with one final push. Then there was no more pain. I relaxed back into the bed and let my head fall onto the cool pillow and enjoyed the silence.

Silence. That wasn’t right. As I lifted my head and sat back up on my elbows I watched as the doctor and nurses were in a panic. They were running around the room. And then they were gone. They had taken my baby with them, without even letting me hold my new bundle of joy.

I screamed and screamed for them to come back and let me see my baby. To tell me what was wrong. I pressed the nurse call button by my bed and a voice of an older woman came over the speaker.

“This is Nurse Carrie, what may I do for you?” she asked kindly.

“My baby!” I screamed. “The doctor and nurses took my baby!” I began to sob. “I don’t even know the gender of my new little baby. Please, what’s wrong with my baby?”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I don’t know what is wrong with your baby. I’ll get back to you in a moment while I go ask.”

“Thank you,” I whispered as the line went dead.

Silence. It washed over me again ten times harder than the last time. It seemed to be hours, but in reality it was probably only a couple of minutes, before an elderly nurse and a young doctor came in. Both looked as if they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders.

“Please,” I begged; I sounded hysterical. “Please tell me what’s wrong with my baby. Is it a boy or a girl?”

The nurse came over and held my hand lovingly. It felt as if she were a mother consoling a child. But isn’t that exactly what this was? After all, she was probably a mother, and I am only just a child myself.

“You had a little girl,” she began softly. I noticed her nametag said Carrie. “She was eighteen-and "a-half inches long and weighed in at six pounds four ounces.”

There was a long pause as I looked between the two as they seemed to be having a silent conversation between them. The back of my neck began to sweat as the silence drug on and on.

“Where is she? Where is my little…?” I stopped. What was I going to name my new little girl? “Sonia Peri Hudson. That is the name of my little girl. My pretty little angel. Where is she?”

The doctor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his short black hair falling slightly out of place when he ran his hand through it.

“You see, Miss Anthony, we are very sorry, but you have given birth to a still born.”

His words lingered in the air. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breath, or see, or anything. I could do nothing for myself. But more importantly, I could do nothing for my child. My baby girl. My Sonia.

What would I tell Connor? He’s going to be heartbroken when I tell him. He’ll never even see his baby girl. He wasn’t here for the birth, and now he won’t be here for her funeral.

No parent should have to burry their child. Ever.

The funeral came and went. I got many looks of deep sadness and pity. Many more saying how sorry they were for my loss. And as I moved form the church back into my home with my parents, and got re-enrolled in college for the spring semester, all I could think about was Sonia. My little girl and how I would never hold her.

Connor didn’t take it too well. They sent him home from boot camp early. And even as we planned our wedding, nothing could cover up what we were both feeling.

Depression.