A Place We Shouldn't Be

            The staircase is so narrow, it’s almost claustrophobic.  The eggshell white walls are bare, and look tired, as if they have not been painted in over a decade.  The generic carpet is a maroon color and frayed around the edges.  Turning the corner, I see a decent sized waiting room.  The seats, also a maroon shade, are almost completely filled, so I quickly take a seat.  The room mostly consists of young females, many accompanied by, I’m assuming, their mothers.  Though there are a variety of races, all of the faces have the same exact look of fear and uncertainty.  The mother’s faces are filled with anger and discomfort.  Directly across from me is the reception area. The small cubicle is filled with countless folders and files.  The three women, dressed in different colored scrubs, have impatient scowls, as if they want to be somewhere else.  Every few minutes, girls walk through the large metal doors, returning with cotton swabs and band aids covering their arms, and sit down to anxiously await the results of a blood test-THE blood test.

            It seems as though every one of these places is the same, or so I’ve been told.  I have only heard recollections through friends of friends who have been here before.  It is not the most pleasant place to be, but it gets the job done, without costing you your whole paycheck.  While I’m sitting here, I don’t feel better than any of these people, nor do I feel any kind of disgust.  Instead, I try to empathize with and be supportive of Emily.  She’s the reason why I’m here this morning. 

            Emily and I have not been friends for very long.  In fact, up until this point, I think I’ve only known her for about a year and a half.  We don’t have too much in common, besides the fact that we work together and like some of the same music.  Pink is our absolute favorite, and I can’t help but think that she is the reason why we initially began talking. 

            Emily, at first sight, can come off as a bit tough, and most definitely exudes an attitude of being streetwise.  She has more than ten tattoos, including the most dominant and noticeable one, a butterfly, across her upper chest.  She has a few on her wrists, and two large ones on her arms.  She also has numerous facial piercings, including one on her lower lip. Either way, it does not take away from her beauty.  She is strikingly beautiful, her light green eyes one of her most likeable features. Emily is a sweet person, but a part of me can’t help but feel kind of sorry for her.  I feel guilty for even thinking this, but it’s the truth.  Over the last few months, I have gotten to know her so well, and she has shared things with me that no one else, not even my life long friends, has ever shared. 

            She dropped out of high school in her late teens, but ended up going back a year or two later and graduating.  She became pregnant in her mid teens, but lost the baby due to the fact that she was being threatened at school.  This caused her to become so stressed, she had a miscarriage.  Emily had never told her parents, and to this day, even more than ten years later, they still have no idea. 

            A few weeks after we began working together, she revealed to me that she had a 2 and a half-year-old son.  When she spoke of him, her face magically lit up, and I found it beautiful that he had such an amazing and positive effect on her.  Through our discussions, I learned that she has a live in boyfriend, Freddie (also the father of her son), and that they have been together for about four years.  That was the extent of the discussion when it came to him. 

            Emily seemed to be a very reliable and hard worker.  She was always on time, and got every job done that was assigned to her.  She was polite, had good customer service, and got along well with the other associates.  However, about three months after she started, she began calling out once or more a week, and when she was at work, she started spending a lot of time in the bathroom.  One of the managers told me that she heard Emily vomiting.  The next time I worked with her, I asked her if she was alright.

            “Oh, I’m pregnant!” she said nonchalantly, but with a smile on her face.  “I had really bad morning sickness with my first son, so I knew something must not have been right.  I took a test, and it came out positive.”  I didn’t know whether to be scared or happy for her.  I just told her congratulations and went on with my business.

            Emily was on and off at work.  She went almost a whole month and was not on the schedule, and when she returned, she was six months pregnant and had a big belly.  It was the holiday season, so things were hectic and ridiculously busy.  I felt an urge and a need to protect her.  If I saw her trying to lift a heavy bag, I would run over to her and pick it up.  If she couldn’t reach something on the ground, I would get it.  Whichever way I could help her out, I did. 

            In February, she invited some of my co-workers and me to her baby shower.  It was at her apartment, in the two family home she shared with her parents.  I was curious to see how she lived-what kind of family she came from, how Freddie treated her.  From what I saw, her family was very friendly, and Freddie seemed like the doting and loving boyfriend and father-to-be I expected.            Emily’s second son was born in March, and within six weeks, she was back to work.  I was surprised she came back as quickly as she did, but later on she revealed to me that Freddie had lost his job and his unemployment was running out.  It was then that she opened up more to me about him.  He was not quite the man I saw at the baby shower, sitting next to her, looking like he was madly in love with her as he helped her open up gifts.  As it turned out, Freddie was twelve years older than Emily, and had a few other kids from previous relationships.  While there is not too much wrong with that, what is wrong is the fact that he was lazy and could not hold a job for very long.  Emily told me that he had been through countless jobs and could not hold on to anything for a long period of time. 

            Months went by, and we still were not at the level of being much more than friendly co-workers, until one day, when we were putting out shipment together.

            “You know, Freddie and I are having a lot of problems,” she said, not quite looking at me in the face.

            “Oh, really?  Like what?”

            “Well, he cheated on me, months ago, with one of my best friends.”  My eyes widened with shock as I looked up at her.  She then continued and went into the whole story of how Freddie had left her when their first son was barely a year old, for one of her closest friends.  Scared to be alone, they eventually reconciled, and when she revealed to him that she was pregnant with their second child, he denied it and accused her of cheating on him.  She also revealed to me that he had hit her on numerous occasions, and each time he did so, he ended up begging her for forgiveness.

            I tried to give her as much advice as I could, but never having been in that situation myself, there was not much I could say.  I just tried to be there for her as much as I could, and take her out when she needed time to herself.  It was at this point when I started to feel closer to her.

            Which brings me to the present.  As I sit here, in this depressing waiting room, I am wondering how people allow themselves to get into certain situations.  A few weeks ago, Emily tells me that she isn’t feeling well.  She is throwing up, has constant migraines, and is overwhelmingly tired.  I know right away why, but I ask her anyway.  “Are you pregnant?”

            She replies with a definite no, and tells me that there is no way she can be.  I believe her, almost, and when she tells me two weeks later that she took a test and it came out positive, I’m not surprised.  Emily is devastated, and swears up and down that she has no idea how it happened.

            Since she has no insurance, she can’t go to a regular OB-GYN to get tested for sure, so instead, she begs me to take her to Planned Parenthood, since neither she or Freddie have a car, let alone a license.  I really did not want to, but for some reason, I just could not say no. 

            Emily stands at the reception area, dressed in what looks like her brother’s hand-me-down sweatpants, and the nurses give her some forms to fill out.  She squeezes next to me, and I watch her fill out her information.  I love her hand writing.  She lets out a few quiet sighs here and there, and when she returns to her seat, I swear I can feel her trembling. 

            I continue to look around at the other girls in the room.  I see a blond haired girl, dressed in sweatpants with my town’s name and mascot written across the front.  Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun.  She cannot be more than sixteen or seventeen.  Her mother sits beside her, cracking her gum.  Her eyes are on the television in the corner, but I can tell she’s not paying attention at all.

            I try and keep Emily calm, talking to her about things that have been happening at work, but I can tell she is pre-occupied.  When her name is finally called, she looks at me, stands up, lets out a sigh, and disappears through the cold looking metal doors. 

            She returns a few minutes later, accompanied with a band- aid across her arm, and tells me that it will take a few minutes for both the urine and blood tests to come back.  Those few minutes seem like hours, and finally she is called in again.  My heart races for her, and I find myself wondering how they were going to afford this baby.

            Emily comes back with a blank stare, and tells me we can go. I get up, and follow her down the endless flight of stairs.  I know what the result is already, so I don’t even ask her.  Instead, as I put the key in the ignition, I tell her that no matter what, I’ll be by her side.