The Center

Chapter 34 - "If you want to make sure of keeping it (love) intact

It only takes a couple weeks for me to adjust to The Bracelet. Like the cameras. Like The Shackle. Like anything else in The Center, my mind found a way to adjust. Things my heart either accepts or forgets. How else do I explain trusting Daniel? My mind completely forgot he was a loser and jerk. I had no reason to believe him, yet like an idiot, I pranced into the forest high on fake flirts. I own that stupidity. All I can do now is make every attempt to never forget again. That's it. My next few months should consist of three things.

Serve my sentence.

Deal with the baby.

Never forget men are lame.

Of course, part of serving my sentence is counseling. I exhale. Fifteen minutes before another round of fun. Not. I stop at a secluded bench preparing myself. I hate being confined in another room. In my first week with Dr. Maggie, I didn't talk at all.

I pull out a cracker from the paper bag and battle a hint of nausea. Of course, being silent won't work forever. So, I'm stuck. I want to serve my sentence without completely losing myself. I'm not an awesome person, but I don't know how to be anyone else. Giving in won't work for me. I snap the saltine in half, crumbs rain down on the dirt in front of me.

Instead, I've been concentrating on the baby. I've never been pro or con about abortion, but it suddenly no longer feels like the undo button I thought it was. I mean. I can never be unpregnant. Just like I can never go back to being a virgin. This pregnancy will always be a part of me. Always.

I stuff half the cracker in my mouth and watch an ant investigate a crumb in the dirt. If I abort the fetus, I will forever be someone who aborted a fetus. It won't erase the pregnancy. If I put the baby up for adoption, I will forever be someone who gave up a baby. It won't erase the pregnancy. The last choice is to keep the child. But, I'm not ready to be a mother. That's for sure. I swallow. Maybe for today I can worry most about serving my sentence. Dealing with the baby will have to wait, another reason men are lame. They can honestly walk away and not deal with it. For now, I'll pocket those two tasks. Today, I'll serve my sentence, which consists of finding something to talk to Dr. Maggie about.

My mandatory Velcro sneakers suffocate my toes. I tear open the straps and slip my feet out. Reaching into my sock, I scratch the skin beneath The Shackle. I put my feet on top of my shoes and stretch back against the wooden bench. With my eyes closed, I let the sun attempt to soothe me. I need to find a way to talk to her, but do it on my terms.

The quake of aspen leaves whispers to me through the air. I could tell Dr. Maggie about my father. But I refuse to go there with anyone.

A soft breeze encourages me to relax. Maybe I can fool her into thinking I'm jealous of my mother. That would be fun. I could plant a few seeds. But that would require digging into some worm-infested history. I think not.

Above my head, birds whistle and chat to each other. While a list of alternatives come in and out of my head, a voice interrupts the calm and any hope of concentration runs away before I can get my fingers around it.

Opening my eyes, I squint and scowl. The sun is harsh and hot.

"Mind if I sit down?" I recog

"No, go ahead."

A bird makes a chick-a-dee-dee-dee call from a tree behind me. I never did thank him, but now I'm afraid it will sound delayed and lame.

"Tough call, getting a Bracelet." He leans back and stretches out two short legs.

I place each heel on the edge of the bench and wrap my arms around my knees. From a tree not five feet away, a camera records our every move. For the first time since noticing them, I don't care who watches. I turn to Mario and say, "Thank you."