Just Write #1: The one about the pregnancy test
This is what I wrote as an assignment in free-writing for Heather’s class. I promised myself I’d start posting on Just Write Tuesdays, and so I will. Click on the links if you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ll hum to myself while I wait. Mmmmm mmmmm mmmmm…
I am peeing on the stick in a Starbucks bathroom. Somehow I decided on the subway that I had to have an answer to the extremely important “pregnant: yes or no” question before I got to work that night. So I ran from the ubiquitous Duane Reed to the omni-present Starbucks, where I locked myself into the bathroom. (Maybe the only positive to these giant megalochains is that they make extremely personal tasks easier to perform. Buying condoms, pregnancy tests or hemorrhoid cream is way less intimidating when you’re not greeted by name at the register.)
Stick soaked, I blot it off and look for a place to set it. The flattest place is on top of the toilet paper dispenser, so there it goes. I remember deciding NOT to look at the stick while it was… um… working. I’m not usually superstitious, but I didn’t want to jinx it, I guess. This wasn’t planned, but if I ended up pregnant, I would get to be a mom, which I so wanted to be. I didn’t know how Phin would react, but… I stopped myself from making that mental trip, from loading up that moment with worry. Just wait it out. (Phin = sperm producer/boyfriend/significant other)
I can’t believe no one is knocking on the door. When do you ever get two minutes to yourself in a Starbucks bathroom? Maybe it’s a sign. Don’t be an idiot. But don’t mean to yourself — you might be a mom. Be positive.
My heart has moved somewhere between my upper chest and my esophagus. I can hear it pounding in my ears. I reach for the stick, then close my eyes so I don’t catch a sidelong glance at it. Then I open them and see… (I can’t believe I don’t remember — was it a blue line? Two lines? A plus? I think it was two blue lines. Let’s go with 2 blue lines, now that I’ve clearly killed the momentum) two blue lines**. I. am. Pregnant. I am pregnant!
Ohmygod, ohmygod. I gather my stuff: purse, giant anvil of a backpack filled with tutoring materials, blue pee stick, and leave the bathroom. I calmly order a coffee. Despite the roiling maelstrom in my brain, I know I look stoic. In times of crisis and exultation, I’m Spock. (That’s a topic for another day: what about my upbringing taught me not to uncork my emotions? Why does everything travel to my brain before my gut?)
I flash on images: tiny fingers wrapped around my thumb, touching skin so soft I can barely feel it against the pads of my fingers. I feel fleeting jabs of ecstasy, then terror. But I’m sure my face shows nothing, except maybe the trace of a Mona Lisa smile.