Out There Somewhere

PROLOGUE

"Come on, Heather," the doctor shouts from between my knees. "Push."

"I can't," I cry. "I can't do this."

"Yes you can," my mother says.

"Just one more push and you'll have a baby in your arms," Dr. Vicandor says.

"No," I say. "As soon as they're born, take them away."

"Are you sure?" my mother asks. "You can change your mind. I'll help you."

"Mom, I'm 18 and I got accepted into an Ivy League university. I'm—" I get interrupted by a contraction.

"Push," the doctor yells.

"10... 9... 8... 7..." the labor and delivery nurse counts.

"The head has been born," the doctor smiles.

When the nurse gets to one, I throw my body back and relax my head against the pillow to rest until the next contraction. I take in a couple of deep breaths, exhausted from labor.

"I'm not ready for a baby," I finish my thought from earlier. "This baby deserves better than me."

"I just know how hard this has been on you," my mom says.

"I can't give this baby what the [last name] can."

"Your father and I—"

"Mom!" I shout, interrupting. "I've made my decision."

The saddened expression on her face tells me I've upset her, but I don't have time to apologize because another contraction surfaces. I grip on to the bed handles, curl up into a ball, and push.

"You've got to push harder than that Heather to get the shoulders out."

"I'm trying," I scream.

"You can do it sweet pea," my mom says. "Push."

I feel a release of pressure and hear a tiny wail come from the little person that's been growing inside me for the past nine months. This is supposed to be a happy moment for me and the baby's father. I'm supposed to be older and married. We're supposed to raise this baby together. Find a name together. Argue about who will get up with the baby in the middle of the night. But instead, I'm an 18-year-old, newly high school graduate, who was stupid and naive, and thought she was in love.

The doctor tries to place the baby on my chest, but my mother is quick to stop her. I had to force myself to look away from between my legs, away from the child. I let my gaze travel from the ceiling to the door at the side of the room and continue to cry.

The wailing coming from the other side of the room gradually gets louder, making me cry even harder. All I want to do is comfort my screaming child.

"What's going on?" I ask my mom, afraid that something might be wrong.

"The nurses are cleaning the baby off," she answers, placing a hand on my cheek, stroking it with her thumb.

Dr. Vicandor comes over and takes her place back between my knees.

"Ok, Heather," she says. "We have to deliver a few more things, alright?"

I nod, keeping my head in its direction. I don't want to accidentally see the baby.

"Just a few gentle pushes and everything will be over with, ok?"

"Ok," I manage to say.

"Whenever you're ready."

As I do what I'm told, the crying quiet downs a bit and I catch a glimpse of a tiny pink bundle leave the room.

Pink.