Positively Mine (6 page)

I dial the number on the back and hope a voice will pick up at the other end. Instead, the phone rings three times and goes to voicemail.

This is Karen Davis of the Women’s Choice Health Center. I am currently unavailable, but if you leave a message, I will get back to you as quickly as possible. If this is a medical emergency, please dial 911.

After the beep, my voice cracks. “Hello, Karen. This is Laurel Harris. I was at your office on Friday. I, um, wanted to get in touch with you because I…want to come in this week to take it… that pill.” I swallow hard. “Could you please call me back? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to set this up.”

I take a huge breath and lift my body out of bed. It feels like I’m dragging a million pounds of lead, but I’m going to force myself to go to the library and focus on schoolwork, otherwise I’ll drive myself crazy.

I stop at the cafeteria and grab water and a bagel, then head to the library and find a spot at a desk on the far end of the fourth floor of Colman’s massive book stacks so no one will see me. I turn the sound off on my phone and log on to my laptop, scrolling through the professors’ webpages to find out what I missed on Friday. No homework for Swedish Massage. The biology homework looks manageable, some reading and questions to get ready for Tuesday’s lab. Then I get to my Legal Ethics class page.

Professor Thompson has been at the college since my parents went here. He’s old, boring, has no sense of humor, and he thinks his Legal Ethics class is the most interesting thing since sliced bread. He doesn’t seem to understand that most people don’t feel the same way, nor does he care, which is why he assigns a maddening amount of reading. Every
single
class. Not surprisingly, we’re expected to read 150 pages by tomorrow, and that’s just since
Friday
. It’s not an easy read, Thompson!

If I had any interest in being a lawyer, I could probably force myself to get through this, although most of the people in my class who actually want to be lawyers are struggling too. Since I have no interest, it is particularly grueling. So why am I putting myself through this torture? No other reason than a last ditch attempt to connect with my father.

We came up to Colman the night before freshman orientation and stayed at a hotel on the lake. We were out for dinner, just the two of us, and he was in an unusually happy mood. I think it was the excitement of being at his old alma mater, reliving his freshman days. While we waited for our entrees, he was looking through the course catalogue although he didn’t make it beyond the pre-law offerings. When he came upon the Intro to Legal Ethics course, he pointed enthusiastically. “Maynard Thompson. Well, look at that, he’s still teaching!”

“Who is he?”

“He was my advisor and my favorite professor. Really knows his stuff.”

“He’s still here?”

“Laurel, you have to take this class with him. I think you’d get a lot out of it.”

He handed me the catalogue, and I read the description aloud, “Introduction to Legal Ethics: Understanding and researching issues of professional responsibility is important in our judicial system. This course sets out to explore the rules governing the conduct of lawyers and judges that are adopted from state to state and how these rules are enforced in a complex legal system…”

There was more to it than that, but my brain drifted off after reading the first few sentences. “It looks interesting, Dad.” I tried to humor him. “But I’ve already signed up for my classes, and I have a full load. Four classes plus a science lab for three hours on Tuesdays.”

“When I was a freshman, I took five classes the first semester. I think that is customary.”

“Well, it is as long as one of your classes doesn’t involve a lab. My advisor thought I had an adequate schedule for the first semester of college.”

My father grabbed my hand. “Laurel, one of your classes is satisfying a PE requirement. Don’t be afraid to push yourself. You’re a smart girl.”

“I’m not, Dad. I just…maybe I could take it in the spring.”

My father shook his head. “No, look here. It says this class is only offered fall term. You’d have to wait until next year, and then who knows who would teach it.”

Our entrees arrived, and my father continued to look through the course descriptions, ignoring his food and any attempt at conversation after that.

I felt like I had hurt his feelings or something. So when we returned to our hotel, I logged into the Colman registrar’s site and checked to see if there was still room in the class. And, no surprise given the description…it was only half full.

I work my way through six hours of homework, only stopping to refill my water bottle, get a candy bar from the vending machine and an occasional trip to the bathroom. I’ve been sitting in the stacks for the whole afternoon, nowhere near a window. So when I pack up and get to the main corridor, the contrast of darkness outside against the fluorescent lights is startling.

A wide circular stair leads to a large study lounge – the one place in the library where you’re allowed to socialize. It’s enclosed in glass overlooking the first floor on one side and offering panoramic views of the lake on the other.

Years ago, when people were allowed to smoke on campus, it was the smoker’s lounge. It still has a faint stale smell of tobacco that has never fully gone away, but no one seems to mind. On Sundays it tends to be packed because people want to talk about their weekends.

I look around to see if there’s anyone from Miller who may want to grab dinner. Mikayla and Olivia have their books stretched out on a four-top table in the corner, but they’re deep in conversation and don’t seem to be studying too hard. No one ever does in here.

I walk over to them. “Hi.”

“Hey, Laurel. How are you?” Olivia smiles.

“Here. Sit.” Mikayla pushes her books out of the way, and I slide into the chair next to her.

“We’re working on the lab questions. Well, kind of working…” Olivia laughs.

“I just finished mine,” I say. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“Nope. We were gonna grab something at The Moose in a few,” Mikayla answers. “Want to come with?”

The Moose Café is the only restaurant on campus. It isn’t part of the meal plan, but it’s decent, so you don’t mind paying out of pocket once in a while for something different. It’s also the only place open late if you happen to miss dinner and don’t feel like ordering take-out.

“Sure.”

“We’re almost done. Just give us a few minutes.”

I nod and sit back, taking in the scene around the room.

With five thousand students, Colman isn’t really considered to be a big school. But as a freshman, living in a freshman dorm, up the freshman hill, it seems big to me and I’m coming from one of the largest cities in the world. There are so many people just in this room that I haven’t met yet, and I probably never will if they’re seniors.

I watch the upperclassmen as they move around, talking to one another, and feel a twinge of jealousy at their confidence, now established with their friends and their majors. They seem like they have it together. They’ve figured out how to balance a heavy course load with a social life. Some are in serious relationships probably destined to get married one day like my parents did. Some are still determined to catch as much action as they can before they have to go off and join the real world.

Regardless, the thought of being so self-assured here is appealing, it could definitely help you go far in life. Well, if you weren’t pregnant….

Mikayla interrupts my thoughts. “We’re ready.”

Dinner is easy with Mikayla and Olivia. They’ve become fast friends, and they chat away about the party on Friday night without requiring much from me other than a few nods and some “yeah, that was funny” types of comments.

Afterwards, they return to the library, but I’m mostly done with the exception of legal ethics reading, which I’ll do in bed to lull me to sleep. Since I’m determined to keep myself busy, I take to cleaning my room. That includes organizing my closet, refolding sweaters that are already folded, organizing drawers, changing the sheets on my bed and finally going down to the laundry room to put in a few loads.

Once I’ve separated my whites and colors, gotten change, and have three washers running, I plop down in front of the TV, which is probably as old as the dorm itself, and wait for the wash cycles to finish.

Too distracted for the limited choices on this relic with only basic cable, I pull out my phone and see that I’ve gotten four voicemails.

“Hey, where are you?” It’s Mike. “Was wondering if you wanted to grab some lunch. Call or text.”

The second is from my dad. “Laurel, call when you get this. I want to talk to you about Uncle Jake. He said the two of you had a conversation at your grandparents’ house? What were you doing there?”

He sounds annoyed.
The last thing I want is to talk to my father AT ALL this week. I delete the message. I think I’ll let this one lie for a while.

The third call is from my friend Tara. “Laurel! It’s been like a month, and you haven’t been in touch. Hope you’re not studying too hard, you brainiac. I’m having a blast at FIT. Call me or I’m taking you off my favorites list.”

The fourth is a voice I don’t recognize. “I’m returning your call from Women’s Choice. This is Karen. If you want to call me at home up until 10pm, that is fine. Otherwise, I will be in the clinic tomorrow morning.” I look around for a pen, find one on the floor, and jot down her number.

While I’ve been listening to messages, a handful of people have come down to do laundry, and four guys are now monopolizing the couch with the television turned on to Sunday Night Football. I transfer my wet clothes into dryers, set the timers for sixty minutes, and return to my room, pondering whose call to return first.

Definitely not my father. I wouldn’t mind talking to Mike, and I really should call Tara. But, like my dad, I don’t want to talk to her until after this week is over. She’s been my best friend since pre-school, and she has this gift I call “Laurel-radar.” She can
always
tell when I’m hiding something or when something is wrong – even if it’s over the phone. There’s no way I can get through a conversation with her tonight without telling her. She’ll have it out of me in thirty seconds, maybe less.

So I dial Mike’s number, feeling my pulse quickening as I wait for him to pick up.

“Hey,” he whispers, “hang on. I’m in the quiet room in the library.” I listen as he exits through a door, then says in a normal voice, “Where’ve you been all day?”

“I was there.”

“I looked around but didn’t see you.”

My mouth can’t help smiling hearing he looked for me. “I was hiding. I had a ton of work to catch up on.”

“Yeah. Me too. That’s why I’m in the quiet room.” His voice is weary, but cheerful. “I’m still not caught up; otherwise I’d say let’s hang later.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I’m doing laundry. Then I’ve got more reading to finish.”

“I have an econ test tomorrow. I shouldn’t have waited until today to study. I’m going to be here ’til closing. Too much partying.”

“Yeah…Have you seen Liz?”

“She’s here. She’s totally hungover.”

“At least she’s alive.”

“You want to meet tomorrow? Maybe grab dinner?” he asks.

I think about the call I have to make. I might not be available. I might be out of it for a couple days, actually. “Let me see how things are going.”

When we hang up, I gather the courage to dial Karen’s home number.

“Hello.” Her voice is different from in person, less high-pitched.

“Um, this is Laurel Harris.” Mine comes out in a hoarse whisper.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m okay. Sorry to call you at home.”

“It’s not a problem. You said you’ve made your decision?”

The lump forms again in my throat. I swallow. “I want to take the pill this week. I don’t think I should have this baby.”

“And you’re certain about that? You seemed to be conflicted on Friday, that’s why I’m asking.”

I ignore the goose bumps that have broken out all over my arms. “It’d just be too much for me, I think.”

We set up an appointment for 4pm Monday, so I don’t have to miss another day’s worth of classes. Then I crawl into bed and pull my knees to my chest to relieve the knotted muscles that seem to have taken over.

I zone out all the way through Biology, Legal Ethics, and Swedish Massage, barely present but happy I don’t have to sit in my dorm room alone all day. I can’t seem to wrap my head around what is next. I know I’m making the smart choice. I can do this.

As I unlock my bike to ride downtown, I realize I’ve left the truck parked in front of the president’s house for two days. If it was towed, I don’t know how I’d get it back without involving my father as I have no proof I have any right to drive the thing. I pedal as fast as I can down the hill.

Thankfully, the dinosaur is still sitting where Mike parked it, looking very out of place among the nice cars and brick mansions that line the street along the lake. After I hoist my bike into the back, I climb in to see there’s something stuck on the windshield. Rolling down the window and reaching around, I see it’s a ticket. Apparently I need a permit to park in front of the president’s house.
Just great
. $105. I toss it on the seat next to me.

The waiting room isn’t as crowded as it had been on Friday. There are only a handful of people sitting around a television. I tell the receptionist I’m here and join them, but I’m way too fidgety for Court TV, so I reach into my bag and grab the envelope that contains the $500 cash I withdrew from the ATM. No one seems to be looking in my direction, so I don’t mind counting through the $20 bills.

$500. All it takes to end a pregnancy…

Karen stands in the doorway, wearing her white coat with a stethoscope draped around her neck, and waves me in. We go right to an examination room.

There are two cups on the counter – one with a pill in it, the other water. She gestures for me to take a seat.