How the Soul Sings

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

        Despite all the hell that Reid had put me through, I still remained a little obsessed with him for a little while there after. I was desperate to know if he did to her what he did to me, if he was exploring her and sharing himself as liberally as he did with me. Did he kiss her tenderly, then along her neck, finding his way to her breasts, wrapping his tongue around her nipples? Did he gracefully trace the sides of her body with one finger, then tease her down there with it? Or was I somehow special and was or would be the only girl he'd ever be like that, with? Did he think of me as often as I did of him? Did he pretend that he was really with me again, whenever he was with her? Was it because he felt free with me and couldn't with her because maybe he was expected by her to be some kind of uptight, outstanding character of a religious man? And would I ever feel this spellbound with another? I could only imagine back then. I wanted SO badly to write him another letter, telling him about what happened, hoping that his fiance would find it. Again, that woman scorned thing was rearing its ugly head. But my mother had made me promise that I'd never talk to him again and I didn't.

Right around Christmas, Daniel and Laura moved in; she was expecting. Laura had worked for as long as she could, but once she started showing, the hospital required her to take maternity leave and since my cousin was still in college, that left them only one choice. And here I was, jealous again. Not because she was the one giving Daniel a baby, but because of my own recklessness and what it had cost me. I know that at fourteen I had absolutely no business having and raising a baby and back then, people still openly frowned upon that sort of thing. I was jealous of how excited Laura's pregnancy made my aunt and mother and how all the women just clamored around her, like she was something to be admired. I crudely thought to myself once, 'Ok, so the crippled boy can still make babies. Big deal.' I tried to live vicariously through Laura, hoping it was ease my heartache, but it didn't. I was tied up in this lasso of hurt and shame. I hated myself. I hated having boobs, I hated having a vagina and a uterus, I hated being fifteen. I hated that I had been warped into womanhood, then just as swiftly thrown back to being a girl again. I thought that what I had done, what I knew made me more mature, but instead, I just felt old. I was a stupid, stupid girl with useless adult knowledge. And none of it got me treated any differently, either. No one wanted to know what I thought, no one wanted to hear me speak. I didn't live in this house anymore; I just took up space.

Daniel and Laura's baby was due in May, just a week shy of their first wedding anniversary. Daniel continued to commute to college and my mother of course turned the study back into a room for them and helped Jesse Jr. drag my old crib out from the barn. It needed to be sanded and repainted, something Daniel wanted to do; he was already a proud papa. My aunt retrieved all of us kids old baby things from the attic and went through them with Laura. A part of me ached, wishing that it was me getting to have these special moments with them and another part of me wanted to scream that it originally had been me to bring the first great-grand-baby into this house. Never mind how it happened or how it ended. I felt jealous, hurt and angry and A LOT of guilt, all at the same time. How could I have killed my baby? That's what it is, murder. And besides, wasn't Jesus' mother, Mary, just as young as I was when she had him, our Lord and savior?? And HOW could I ever let my aunt talk me into it? And WHY didn't my mother talk her out of it? It all started with Reid saying he loved me and ended with everyone saying that this was for the best, but both were lies. He didn't love me and ripping my baby out of me wasn't for the best.

I wanted to distance myself from what I decided to call my stupid girl self. I stopped dressing provocatively and tossed out every piece of clothing, including underwear and panties, with any bit of pink or red and I chopped my hair. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with some scissors and began cutting through handfuls of hair. I was back to wearing overalls and t-shirts with Levis. No more open-toed anything went on my feet, it was tennis shoes and work boots. I didn't want to project any sort of sexuality from my being, anymore. I wanted to stop feeling ashamed.