Skyler — Letter 2 of 7 — Why Would She?

The writer is 17, a girl - Skyler, and she likes to sleep alone barring that day she slept with a boy.

I take my school shirt off & pull on my three-year-old grey T-shirt. It has cigarette burn holes, teenage soul & awkward stories. I like this T. ‘It’s front to back.’ My mom’s words float as she walks through the house’s living room. The clock’s needle has crossed 11 & moon is looking out for us. I hear the click of the door and the faint grunt of her car 13^1/3 seconds later. I will have the house to myself tonight – a routine occurrence. I look into the mirror and it confirms mom’s observation. I don’t flip the T back. I’m distracted. ‘Why Would She?’ those words have been revolving in my head since 7.07 O’clock. I lay on the floor. The ceiling reads ‘Why would she?’ I let my eyes close & still a tear breaks away. I’m not sentimental and rarely something gets inside me and pulls out a tear. Today, something got to me. It really did.

‘It’s 7^th – where’s my period?’ Water asked looking at me. I knew it was rhetorical. If it wasn’t then it became one as I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know where her period was. ‘I’m getting myself those sticks & finding out if that rocker dude knocked me up.’ Water got up, turned around rapidly; almost injured herself as she almost rammed it into a lady in a wheel-chair. Escaping the narrow escape, she disappeared from our vision quickly leaving the other two 17-year-olds in the alone. Silence stayed between us till I stabbed it ‘If Water is pregnant, you think she will keep it?’
‘Why would she?’ Ria said reflexively. Silence recovered rapidly from the stab wound and kept any more words from coming in between Ria & I. The three words —‘Why would she’ have kept me disconnected with the reality of existence for the last four hours. I forgot to unclip my hair & I’m still wearing a sock in my left foot. I’ve felt shivers and I’ve thought a lot. I drag out a paper & pencil from my loose pyjamas. I always have paper & pencil in my pockets. I start to write Ria a letter. I write letters to set my thoughts fly out my body’s prison.

“January 17^th was the 9^th day after Rohan had kissed me for the first time – behind the Protestants church. I had been kissed before, but never against the wall of a church & never with such intensity. January 17^th was the day when 7 of us – you were there – were drinking beer at my mom’s house – mom & dad were out separately for the night. Rohan was still there when you & all others had gone – this was not a coincidence. About 7 minutes after we were alone, he put his hand on my neck and slid it through my hair – I felt the shakes through my body & felt my body rise on toes & heaving like leaves on a gusty dusk. Soon our clothes abandoned our bodies. I will not say we made love - we were not in love. Love is the pinnacle of the mountain most of us try to climb. He stayed over & we did it thrice. I will say ‘did it.’ I don’t know if it was good – I do not have much to compare with. It felt natural with him. We felt at home.

Three weeks later, I hadn’t got my period. About 9 days off the mark, already.

I was sitting on the floor with my dark chocolate brick. I touched my stomach & thought if there was another life in me. The same way my life began in my mom’s stomach 18 years ago. There is a difference. She was 23, married, and had wads of inherited money to raise a kid. I’m 17, unmarried, without a boyfriend, and have no money. As I live in India, the consequences of having a life in me in high school without marriage are dire. I’m in luck that my parents went to big schools & will not beat or abandon me. I, under any circumstances, do not expect them to accept the situation. “Nipping ‘it’ in the bud” will be their wise words. The trouble is ‘it’ is a life – like you & me – ‘it’ is alive. The life in me – the ‘it’ doesn’t know the rules of the world. ‘It’ doesn’t know anything & isn’t aware if his/her mother is married or not, 17 or 23, rich or broke. The life doesn’t know anything. Perhaps, it isn’t even aware of its own existence. But, it’s alive and everything else – all the rules of humans become hollow.

If in that moment someone had asked me, “Will you keep it?” I don’t think I would’ve been able to answer. I think I, even with my unemotional nature, would have broken down. Broken down knowing that I can’t keep it – Knowing that I don’t have the choice to keep it – Knowing that if I keep it, I will perhaps not be able to give it the life it deserves – Knowing that simply because the life, with a tiny heart, is inside me, doesn’t grant me the right to make the decision to let it live or nip it in the bud – knowing all that I would be overcome with raw emotion & break down knowing my first child will never see the beautiful skies, my first child will never smile, my child will never hug me, my first will never see, feel or fall in love, my first child will never be born, my first child will be killed by me because I’m 17, because I do not have a husband or money. Knowing that I will become mute & lose my ability to create words

And I hope, I never reflexively say ‘Why would I?’”

I handed the letter to Ria at school after lunch. A day later, she gave me a painting she had drawn of a girl – it was me. This is the first time someone had drawn me. I felt better. ‘I’m sorry, Skyler.’ She had scribbled at the back of the painting. I was not mad at Ria. I was, I think, mad at the world. But, I knew I will be alright. I knew I will be alright because Ria is a beautiful person who draws true portraits and writes raw poems. Like all of us, she says things that hurt and when she says sorry, she means it. That’s why I know even if I’m mad at the world; I will be alright & the world will be better when the sun lights up our hair tomorrow.

‘I found my period.’ Water smashed our silence. ‘And I’m not so sure if I’m happy about it.’ she said & smiled reflectively. I know we all will be alright - Three of us & everyone who lets their hearts be.