The Solutions to a Young Woman's Problem
by Alison Matayosian
Solution 1:
You feel the faintest twist in your stomach that something isn’t right, and the first thing you do is pee on a stick in the communal dorm bathroom. You see that second line appear in the tiny window and you know your life will not be the same. You’re only a college freshman, the first in your family to go further than a high school diploma. You barely know the man who impregnated you after a couple nights of “hanging out” and watching horror movies in his room down the hall. You could pretend it never happened. You could ignore the growing, changing body that is slowly trapping you. Ignore the morning sickness that is already making every piece of food that passes through your lips taste putrid. Ignore the judgemental stares and obvious looks of concern when people see first your rounded middle and then look up to see the baby weight still desperately clinging to your cheeks in your newfound adulthood. Live a life of make-believe even as someone gently places a wrapped bundle in your arms nine months from now.
You feel the faintest twist in your stomach that something isn’t right, and the first thing you do is pee on a stick in the communal dorm bathroom. You see that second line appear in the tiny window and you know your life will not be the same. You’re only a college freshman, the first in your family to go further than a high school diploma. You barely know the man who impregnated you after a couple nights of “hanging out” and watching horror movies in his room down the hall. You could pretend it never happened. You could ignore the growing, changing body that is slowly trapping you. Ignore the morning sickness that is already making every piece of food that passes through your lips taste putrid. Ignore the judgemental stares and obvious looks of concern when people see first your rounded middle and then look up to see the baby weight still desperately clinging to your cheeks in your newfound adulthood. Live a life of make-believe even as someone gently places a wrapped bundle in your arms nine months from now.
~
Solution 2:
You could search the internet for people who would do anything to have a child of their own. Search for the mothers who will never give birth but have had a nursery painted the perfect shade of sage green for years. Watch as their faces light up at each ultrasound picture, even as your body recoils from the blurred image of black and white blobs. Hope they don’t see how much you’re dying inside as their family grows. Spend twenty hours in labor to hear a baby cry but never hold it. Spend every day for the rest of your life searching for your features in strangers’ faces.
You could search the internet for people who would do anything to have a child of their own. Search for the mothers who will never give birth but have had a nursery painted the perfect shade of sage green for years. Watch as their faces light up at each ultrasound picture, even as your body recoils from the blurred image of black and white blobs. Hope they don’t see how much you’re dying inside as their family grows. Spend twenty hours in labor to hear a baby cry but never hold it. Spend every day for the rest of your life searching for your features in strangers’ faces.
~
Solution 3:
Call your mom and let her force you out of school. Move back home and watch what you eat. Listen to her list off baby names that she finds suitable, like Andrew, Cara, Loren, Michael. Watch as your life slowly morphs into hers. A single mother before you’re legally allowed to drink. No college degree to show at jobs that barely pay minimum wage but allow you to be with your baby every morning. Move from apartment to apartment because you are desperately searching for some semblance of comfort in a life you never thought would be yours. Watch as your baby grows into a person all their own and asks you questions about where their father is or why you can’t go to Disney during the summer like all of their friends. Resent that man you barely knew because you saw on Facebook that he’s a doctor now with a wife and a beach house on the Cape. Resent yourself for not trying to keep more of who you were intact. Resent your child for nothing at all.
Call your mom and let her force you out of school. Move back home and watch what you eat. Listen to her list off baby names that she finds suitable, like Andrew, Cara, Loren, Michael. Watch as your life slowly morphs into hers. A single mother before you’re legally allowed to drink. No college degree to show at jobs that barely pay minimum wage but allow you to be with your baby every morning. Move from apartment to apartment because you are desperately searching for some semblance of comfort in a life you never thought would be yours. Watch as your baby grows into a person all their own and asks you questions about where their father is or why you can’t go to Disney during the summer like all of their friends. Resent that man you barely knew because you saw on Facebook that he’s a doctor now with a wife and a beach house on the Cape. Resent yourself for not trying to keep more of who you were intact. Resent your child for nothing at all.
~
Solution 4:
Do what you know you were planning to do from the very beginning and call a clinic for an appointment the following week. Be poked and prodded by needles and probes to make sure nothing is wrong with you besides the foreign object growing inside of you. Try desperately to pretend like you don’t want to see the ultrasound screen that the technician has strategically turned away from you. Take the pill offered to you and set an alarm for the exact same time the next day. Take the second pill and the codeine-covered Tylenol for the pain. Run to the communal bathroom and hunch over the toilet as the pain pushes bile past your lips. Pull down your pants and press your lips together to stifle your cry as the blood and tissue drips down your thighs to collect at the knobs of your shaking knees. Take a deep breath and try to ease the pain stabbing at the lower half of your body. Spend the rest of the night in bed with a heating pad tucked into your side and a hand on your stomach. Close your eyes and imagine a baby with your chameleon eyes and that man’s ancestral nose. Think of a laugh that sounds like bubbles popping and cry at what might have been. Spend the rest of your life wishing you had had other options but loving yourself for choosing you.
Do what you know you were planning to do from the very beginning and call a clinic for an appointment the following week. Be poked and prodded by needles and probes to make sure nothing is wrong with you besides the foreign object growing inside of you. Try desperately to pretend like you don’t want to see the ultrasound screen that the technician has strategically turned away from you. Take the pill offered to you and set an alarm for the exact same time the next day. Take the second pill and the codeine-covered Tylenol for the pain. Run to the communal bathroom and hunch over the toilet as the pain pushes bile past your lips. Pull down your pants and press your lips together to stifle your cry as the blood and tissue drips down your thighs to collect at the knobs of your shaking knees. Take a deep breath and try to ease the pain stabbing at the lower half of your body. Spend the rest of the night in bed with a heating pad tucked into your side and a hand on your stomach. Close your eyes and imagine a baby with your chameleon eyes and that man’s ancestral nose. Think of a laugh that sounds like bubbles popping and cry at what might have been. Spend the rest of your life wishing you had had other options but loving yourself for choosing you.
Photo by Kinga Howard on Unsplash
Alison Matayosian is a current student working towards her master’s degree in Writing and Publishing at DePaul University. She grew up in a small coastal town in South Florida and is currently freezing through the winters in Chicago, Illinois, with her beloved cat, Romeo.
A 2024 Pushcart Prize nominee, Alison's essay can be found in Issue 27 of Glassworks.
A 2024 Pushcart Prize nominee, Alison's essay can be found in Issue 27 of Glassworks.
