Bad Juju (29 page)

She didn’t understand.  Her father had changed her mother into a bitter, rusted up sink hole.  When her mother finished droning on about
slutty behavior,
she grounded
Brittany
for
the rest of the week.

Brittany happily retreated into her cave of Pepto-Bismo
l
pink walls and mountains of clothes that littered the floor.  She fished out her cell from her purse and called Henry.  No answer.  He was probably in trouble as well.  His mother caught them
naked,
fooling around in his basement.

Brittany kicked her clothes to the perimeter of the room, forming a pathway to her desk where her laptop was kept.  She logged onto Facebook and then
Gmail
, leaving several messages
for Henry
.  No reply.  It was late
,
and
she had school the next day
.  She finally gave up and went to bed.  She’d see him the next day at school.

***

Henry’s cold reception was not what she was expecting.  He told her
to stop leaving him messages because he no
longer wanted to see her.  Brittany’s heart felt like it had just gone down
the
garbage disposal.  There were two weeks of school left before he would be off to Haiti.  What if he forgot about her?  She tried to convince him they were the perfect couple, but he walk
ed
away as if she didn’t matter.

H
e
avoided her by taking
different routes throu
gh the hallways and stairwells and ducking into classes at the
last minute.  His rejection festered
, leaving her isolated and increasingly depressed.

Brittany
couldn’t remember the last time she had her period.
 
By the
following
weekend
,
a home pregnancy test confirmed her worst fear.  She hibernated in her room, spending most of the time crying.  An idea flickered.  Maybe the pregnancy was a good thing.  Maybe a baby
would make Henry love her again once
they were a family.

With only days of school left before
Henry would leave for Haiti
, she cornered him after school.

“Henry, here.  I want you to see this,” Brittany said, blocking him from the stairs.  She handed him a white plastic stick.

“What’s this?” Henry asked.

“See the plus sign at the end?  That means I’m pregnant.  We’re going to have a baby,” she said.

“No thanks.  You need to leave me alone.  I’m not allowed to be friends with you anymore.  I’ve got to go.  My mom is waiting for me,” Henry blandly said.

His reaction was infuriating.  Rage took hold of her tongue.  “Listen you mother fucker, you did this to me and you’re
gonna
pay!” she shrieked.  Her volume and vulgarity caused other students to stare, but she didn’t care.  “Do you think you can fuck me and then walk away?  You need to take responsibility for what you’ve done!  Or else…Or else I’ll kill the baby!  How would your Christian parents like that?”

Henry dropped the white stick and pushed passed her.  “I have to leave now.”  He jumped down the stairwell, two or three steps at a time, and ran.  She followed, but wasn’t fast enough to catch up.  She raced to the exit door and watched him get into his mother’s SUV and drive off. 
Why isn’t he happy about this?  Why doesn’t he love me?

Brittany went home and cried.  By 11:00 p.m., her mother came home.  Brittany could hear her rustling in the kitchen.  Part of her wanted to tell her mother everything-the pregnancy, Henry, her constant depression, but she didn’t.  Her mother was a nurse and could have helped in many ways.  Instead, she pretended to sleep.

***

The next few days of school were no different.  Henry refused to acknowledge her, running in the opposite direction whenever she was in his sight. 
What a coward.

After the last day of school, Brittany still hoped he would come to his senses.  Once home, she took her laptop from her bedroom and sat it on the kitchen counter while snacking on some
Cheez
-Its.  She logged onto the Internet.  Maybe Henry had written her about their problem.  Nothing via Facebook.  The only postings and messages she received were about the public porno
R
io
and Sierra performed in Madison’s swimming pool last Friday.  A few friends claimed they uploaded it onto You-Tube, but Brittany
wasn’t the least bit interested in wa
tching.  They both sickened her, so desperate for attention. 

She typed a comment under the
posting. 
‘C
an’t believe I once lowered myself to that
low class wife beater. 
That’s why he was suspended. 
I defriended him. 
Henry Novak would never knock a girl around or have sex in public.  Does anyone know if he’s got a new girlfriend?’
  Enter. 

She no longer cared about the gossip the posting would stir.  All that mattered was her six hundred and seventy-five Facebook friends might have information
for her
.  The question nagged her, believing it to be the only reason why he no longer loved her.  She would find his new girlfriend and make her life miserable.

She clicked on Henry’s Facebook wall.  His postings were noble,
a
ll about the trials and tribulations of Haiti.  He posted everything
about the work
being done after the earthquake and his own plans per his church’s mission. 
He’s too good for me.

She again checked her
assortment
of technology: cell, home phone, email, Facebook.  Lots of messages,
but
none from Henry.  Reality loomed.  He really didn’t care she was pregnant.  She felt heavy yet hollow, without a soul or will of her own. 
What if the baby is not Henry’s?
  She tried to remember the last time she had her period.  Was it the beginning of May or April?

The phone rang, startling her from her problems.  She grabbed the cordless phone from the other side of the kitchen.  “Hi Mom,” Brittany said.

“Happy summer vacation, my junior in high school.  You’re ha
lf way over with high school!”
her mo
ther
cheerfully exclaimed.  “I made a pan of
Mo
stac
c
i
oli
.  Heat some up for dinner.  Good news.  In two weeks I switch shifts.  Will have the graveyard
10 p.m. to 6 a.m.
shift.
  Not the day one I wanted, but it’s better than the one I have now.  At least I’ll be home during the day.  Oh, and I got most of August off.  We could drive somewhere, take a long vacation.  Why don’t you pick the place?  We could pack up for…” she rambled.  Brittany stopped listening.

“Yeah Mom.  Sounds great,” Brittany replied, trying to end the conversation.  Her mother got the hint she no longer felt like talking and said goodbye. 

A few more minutes had passed and she felt the need to check her messages.  Maybe Henry changed his mind.  Nothing from him, but twenty-five comments came up
on her wall, all uncertain about Henry Novak’s love life.  Some of her Facebook friends were not sure who he was.

Brittany again called his cell and dumped another message in
voicemail that would probably
get deleted.  She was desperate.  There was
only
one card left to play. 

First, she raided
the
booze cabinet in the corner of the kitchen.  Her mother thought she had camouflaged the bottles by placing boxes of stale crackers in front, but Brittany had been siphoning her mother’s liquor since she was in junior high.  So far, she had never gotten caught.  There was a small selection of six or seven bottles
.  
Brittany
chose
the unopened ones of Jose
Cuervo
and margarita mix.  Opening the bottles was an obvious bust, but what her mother thought of her took a distant back burner to her current problems. 

She took a large glass pitcher from another cabinet and filled it half way up with tequila and half way up with mix, leaving enough room for ice. 
Not that a garnish mattered, but there were limes in the fridge.  She took out a cutting board and sliced them up and squeezed them into the pitcher. 
She got herself a straw and sucked down several ounces.

A few minutes later, she had enough courage to call Henry’s mother.  The ‘holier than thou’ queen was going to hear what she had to say.  Brittany dialed the number and hear
d
the phone ring three times before a female she assumed to be Mrs. Novak answered.  “Hello.”

“Hi,
Uhhh
…” Brittany stammered.

“Brittany?  Is it you?  Different number on the caller ID than your cell.  You’re not supposed to call here anymore. Please quit leaving messages and switching phones to call,” said the woman.

“I know.  But I don’t want to talk with Henry, I want to talk with you, Mrs. Novak.  I told your son I am pregnant and he doesn’t care,” Brittany exclaimed.  She half-hoped Mrs. Novak would welcome her into their family.

“This isn’t Mrs. Novak, it’s Natalie.  And
if
you are pregnant which is really a big
if
, then I doubt my brother’s the father.  He’s in so much trouble because of you.  And now, just as we are about to leave for Haiti, the only vacation that I can remember, you want to create some drama?  Everyone knows you’re a slut!  What are you doing with
him anyway?  He’s got As
p
erger’s, you sick bitch!  Stay away from
him
!” Natalie screeched.

“I’ll take a test,” Brittany bluffed.

“Go screw some other boy and bother his family with your fake baby!  My mother is right!  You’re nothing but a whore!”

“Natalie, wait…”  Click.  The dial tone was all Brittany heard from the phone’s receiver.  But they have to know the truth.  She slammed more of her
margarita
.  The pitcher was less than halfway empty.  The truth.  What was the truth?  Four boys could be the father?  She could ask Jerry Springer to guest star on his show. 

The effects of the alcohol kicked in.  With a new gust of determination, she called Henry’s home phone number again.  A recording flipped on. 
“
This call has been blocked per the customer’s request…” 
Damn!
 

A few minutes later she called Henry’s cell phone.  The same recording clicked on. 
Shit, shit,
shit!
  She drank more from the pitcher, almost draining it.  Her mood turned melancholy.

Brittany walked over to the bookcase in the adjoining family room and grabbed the new yearbook of Freemont High.  She flipped through the pages until landing on Henry’s picture.  She took her finger and traced the outline of his face, crying sheets of tears.  Grabbing a pen from the coffee table, she traced his face with firm strokes until the paper ripped.  She crossed his face out and wrote profane names next to it.  It was truly over and the pain was unbearable.

If Henry didn’t want their baby, than neither did she. 

Maybe an abortion…maybe I
was
put on
this earth for the sole purpose of giving men a hole for them to spill their insecurity into to.
 
Henry and his perfect family are right about me.  I’m sixteen, pregnant, and clueless to who
m
the
father is.  What am I going to be like in five years?  Ten years?  Maybe it’s best for everyone if I…

She slammed the remainder of the margarita and staggered into her mother’s
master bath
.  She rummaged through the medicine cabinet.  There were Tylenol, Advil, Claritin, Correctol, Vick’s Cough…nothing fatal.  And then she saw a brand new lady’s razor.  She popped it out of the thick casing and ran it against her forearms.  Nothing.  She needed to break the blade out of the plastic frame.  Using tweezers, scissors, and
leverage, she maneuvered the blade free.  Her fingers were nicked up
.  B
lood dripp
ed
all over the granite counter. 

With the blade in hand, Brittany lifted her shirt and dug a deep line through her stomach.  Blood trickled out.  She gauged another one.  More blood spewed over her hands and shorts.
  She had an idea.

Brittany rushed back to the kitchen and took the larger knife
she used for
cutting up the limes.  She drank directly from the tequila bottle for additional courage and numbing medicine.

Thump, thump, thump.  Ring, ring, ring. 
Brittany!

Henry?  Has he come to make up with me?
She rushed to the door and looked through the sidelight windows. 
No fucking way!