Annie's Baby: The Diary of Anonymous, a Pregnant Teenager by Beatrice Sparks
8:15 a.m.
Mom is really worried about me. She said I look like a ghost, and she wants to take me to the doctor. I don’t know how I can get around that, but I guess the old “flu” thing may work. She’s gone to get me a fresh pillow because mine was soaked. She thinks I had a fever, but that it’s broken. She’s made me promise I’ll call her at school if the slightest little change takes place in my condition.
I WISH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!
4:31 p.m.
Mom called school and had me paged during lunchtime. She’s treating me like a five-year-old. Once I almost blurted out to her what was wrong with me when she was giving me the old goo-goo, goo-goo stuff. Of course, I didn’t though. I know she senses something is really really wrong, and I have no clue as to how I’m going to face telling her. Maybe I should talk to Tina first. Oh, I will, I will! I’m glad I thought of that. She’s been through the whole thing. I feel better already. Not good by a long shot, but at least able to get up and be mobile. I’ll call Tina as soon as I’m sure she’s home from school. She’s got to come straight home today! She’s got to!
5:55 p.m.
Tina met me at Ritter’s Park, and we talked for almost an hour, but it hasn’t made me feel any better. She’s so, so, so different than I am! She didn’t even tell Kip she was…you know, and she didn’t tell her mom either. Marcie arranged for her to have the abor—I still get sick to my stomach and my all-over when I think about that. She tried to convince me that before the third month the fetus isn’t an anything. I hope she’s right, but it doesn’t seem to me that’s what the nurse at school showed us and told us. Maybe I’m wrong. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if I am wrong and Tina is right?
Actually I think Tina messed me up more than ever. I wish I’d never talked to her, but then I wish a lot of things right now!
6:30 p.m.
Mom said she tried to call me after school, before she stopped at the market for some special things I like. When I didn’t answer, she presumed I was either asleep or in the bathroom, thank goodness for that!
7:10 p.m.
Danny phoned. I’m so disconbooberated that I told him I was SERIOUSLY GROUNDED, for I didn’t know how long, and I’m not allowed to even use the phone. He seemed more sad than pissed like I thought he’d be. He can be sooooo sweet!
February 17, Saturday
I’m going crazy. REALLY TRULY GOING CRAZY! I think Danny suspects what’s happening because I’ve been doing everything in the book to avoid him. And Mom? I just stay in my room and say I’m trying to catch up on my studies and that I’m having PMS. PMS? Huh! I wish! Thank goodness they’re doing some remodeling at Mom’s school, and she’s having to teach late extra classes, so she comes home late and wrung out.
Me: in the past, I’ve been lying and doing everything else that’s bad, and I’ve been getting away with it, but…now…being…you know…there’s no way I can hide that. Actually I may be two months pregnant. THERE, I SAID THE WORD PREGNANT, SO IT’S REAL!
I’ve been denying it for so long that it’s almost a relief in some masochistic way to have it out. I’ve pretended my breasts weren’t a little tender, and that I just had an upset stomach…I’m such a phony! But now it’s “Pay-up time!” Shall I do what Tina did? I’m not sure I can. I mean I’m not sure I can get those pictures of the squirming little semi-human things floating around out of my mind. But having a baby myself—I don’t think so! I remember watching Francie, who finally had to quit school because the kids were giving her such a hard time. Ugg, this really is a choice between a rock and a hard place.
February 20, Tuesday
1:22 a.m.
Three days have passed since I found out the news. I still haven’t been able to face it enough to go back to school, but I guess tomorrow I’ll have to choose between school and the doctor, some choice. MOM CAN BE SUCH AN ASS SOMETIMES.
1:23 a.m.
The telephone number of the anti-abortion office just flashed up on my mind like a huge red neon sign. It was weird, almost like a spooky omen or something. Then I remembered that the antiabortion lady who had talked on TV one time had had a big banner with huge red numbers printed across it, hanging behind her on the stage, so the night vision of whatever it was probably didn’t mean beans, but anyway, just to be sure, I immediately got up and wrote it down.
2:01 a.m.
I’ve got to, I’VE SIMPLY GOT TO maturely and rationally work this problem out! It’s not like leaving one of my rollerblades in the park or forgetting to give one of my teachers a note or something. Ummmm. Should I go to Planned Parenthood first to learn all about the truths of abortion, or to the anti-abortion people or…maybe some church person, not someone Mom knows for sure, but…I feel like Alice in Wonderland: everything is getting curiouser and curiouser by the second, and I’m getting more lost and more lost in the rabbit holes; and the stupid Cheshire Cat won’t tell me anything about the keys to the big door and the little door and…
How could I ever take care of a baby—I couldn’t even remember to change my cat’s litter box and feed and water her half of the time—remember?
February 21, Wednesday
I just woke myself up shivering and whimpering. It was the most realistic and horrifying experience I have ever had in my life! So real I can still feel the…but let me tell you from the beginning because it wasn’t like a dream at all! In some demented way I think it actually happened! I remember every detail, the blood on the doctor’s coat…Whoa, back up.
First I called the doctor Tina told me about. His nurse said to come in at 1:30.
With fear and trembling I dressed, went to the bank, and drew out money from my savings, then took the A bus to River Road, a kind of run-down part of town. A storm was just beginning to blow in, and trash and dirt gusted around my legs. In the waiting room there were four other girls, all about my age. Only one had her mother with her, a heavily made-up, tense-looking, sullen woman. Two of the girls were escorted through the small door into nowhere by a burly looking Amazon-type woman in white. Before Days Of Our Lives was over on the tiny television in the office, the first girl was led back. The Amazon called my name then, and my legs felt like cooked spaghetti as I got up and tried to follow her.
I was put on a cold metal table with only a sheet of paper under me, and I will forever feel the cold, hard tongs pulling the baby out of me and throwing it into a huge wastebin with a plastic liner. They had given me a shot like Tina had said they would, but it hadn’t taken, for some reason, and I don’t know why they didn’t use the vacuum thing.
After the procedure I took the longest, darkest, coldest bus trip home I had ever taken, and I know this sounds crazier than crazy, but I HONESTLY DO FEEL LIKE I’VE REALLY HAD THE ABORTION AND IT’S ALL OVER! Do you think that’s possible? That through some kind of science fiction thing I…OHHHHHH, I’ve never done this before, but I’m going to go take one of the sleeping pills Dr. Harmon gave Mom when she sprained her ankle…No, I’ll take two…. I’ve got to escape from this…crazed cage I’ve imprisoned myself into.
I wish I hadn’t talked to Tina, or at least that she hadn’t told me all the gory details. I’m not handling things like that very well these days.
February 22, Thursday
3:14 p.m.
I really did go talk to the clinic people. They were nice, but…I guess I shouldn’t have talked to Tina first…and maybe the dream got me off balance. Anyway, I’ve had little Whose it in my belly for over two months (I forgot to ask how they really count when they don’t know), and I remember how lonely I felt for her coming home on the bus after my dream abortion. Oh, I am soooooooooo sick…sick…sick…probably terminally mentally ill! I just had a horrible thought. What if I’m programming my baby with my sick, morbid thoughts? Wouldn’t that be a terrible unforgivable thing? But if she’s just clumps of cells now…but I don’t think she is! Actually, the books say she looks like a teeny one-o
I wish…I wish… I wish I had someone to talk to before my mind splatters all over the room. I’m hurting so bad, I don’t know how much more I can take. The hairs on my head ache. My toenails hurt. I’m desperate. I wish there was some way I could just quit living.
Die?
I’ve always been afraid of dying before, but…maybe it’s soft and warm and floating and dark and no-thinking forever…
I don’t think I’d like that!
What about Heaven?
Heaven sounds good, but I’m not sure people who commit suicide can go to Heaven, especially if they KILL their absolutely, totally innocent little growing baby along with them.
Then there’s Hell? I don’t know much about Hell, but it sounds like hell. That attempt at humor was pathetic. I’m pathetic! And I am sooooooooooo tired, it’s an effort to breathe. What shall I do? What shall I ever do?
“You can talk to Mom?”
Now you’re even crazier than I am. Why would I want to hurt her like I’m hurting? She’s not responsible for any of my stupidity and suffering. She doesn’t need to be involved in my…
“Yes, she does.”
No, she doesn’t!
“Yes, she does! Hasn’t she helped you out of every other hole you’ve gotten yourself into in the past?”
But nothing, NOTHING I’ve ever done in the past compares with this! Have you ever considered the lifetime, forever complications a baby involves? The problems.
“You know very well that problems DO NOT go away by ignoring them! Get real! You can’t handle this big one without Mom’s help. No way can you handle it.”
But what will she think of me? She’ll hate me. She’ll be sorry she ever had me.
“What other choice do you have at this point?”
I guess you’re right. Maybe tomorrow—next month—next never-day.
“WHAT ABOUT RIGHT NOW?”
I can’t! I can’t! I CAN’T!…but maybe I can…no, I can’t! I won’t! So there!!!!!!!!
6:15 p.m.
Danny called. I pretended I had laryngitis. I don’t know why I can’t talk to him when I want to and need to talk to him more than anything in the world! His team is playing Torrance and Bayfield, so they’ll be gone tomorrow and Saturday. He hangs up when Mom answers.
February 23, Friday
Today I finally forced myself to go back to school, but I’m held together by a thread. I keep thinking if one person said anything out of the ordinary, I would either scream or cry.
I must be sending out weird vibrations or something because no one tried to bug me like I thought they would. I thought honestly that everyone would see my problem like the scarlet letter on Hester’s dress. And they’d all be giggling and talking behind my back wondering what I was going to do.
Danny and some of the guys passed me in the hall between science and English, and for a moment my heart almost burst with joy as he gave me a quick hug and whispered in my ear that he hoped I was being a really, really good girl, so I’d soon be “ungrounded.” Then he winked and said, “I need you,” as he dashed off. I could feel myself blushing because I knew the guys knew, as well as I did what he meant.
Jake pushed Danny as he yelled over his shoulder, “Don’t get too eager because he’s ours for the next week or so. We’ve got practice and traveling games up to our kazoos.”
I just waved self-consciously.
February 29, Thursday
4:46 p.m.
I haven’t talked to you for about a week, but I couldn’t! I don’t have anything to say, and yet in some crazy way, I’ve got miles and miles and hours and hours of talking I want to do. I want to talk to Mom with all my soul. I want to have her hug me and tell me everything is going to be all right and that I’m not absolutely the worst, most evil person in the world. But I feel so scared! What if she won’t love me anymore? What if she kicks me out to fend for myself like I read about a mother doing to her daughter one time?
That’s stupid! I know Mom loves me. No other kid has ever been more loved than I have been. I remember when she was voted FAVORITE TEACHER in the whole high school and then the state. I wanted to get up and yell that she was also the BEST MOTHER. And my grandmas love me, and my dad. I don’t see them much, BUT I STILL KNOW THEY LOVE ME.
Okay, so I’m loved! NOW:
What about the…I’ve got to face it some time or another…I’ve got to say it! But I can’t; I truly can’t!!!!! Please say it for me, Daisy! Please!
“What about the little tadpole real-live baby that’s growing inside you?”
It probably is a real tadpolelike little girl or boy baby growing right here in my belly, isn’t it? But I still can’t believe it. I know this happens to other females—girls, women, married, unmarried, black, white, brown, yellow, and every other color, if there are other colors—BUT, IT CAN’T BE HAPPENING TO ME! I’m only fourteen years old! I’m in junior high school, in the eighth grade! Please, please don’t let it be happening to me!
But it is happening to me, and I’ve got to face it! I’ve missed two periods, which means I’M TWO MONTHS PREGNANT! MAYBE…even…
My skin is crawling. It’s like I’m possessed. I’ve got a living thing growing inside me, about to take over my life. I don’t want it there! I want to be just me again! Please, please, just me, just me.
Oh, Father, forgive me. I have sinned. Forgive me and make it not be so. But it is so! What to do? What to do?
March 1, Friday
12:47 a.m.
I can’t sleep. I can’t relax. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. But I’ve got to do something. I’ve got to tell Danny! It’s going to be hard, but sooner or later he’s got to face it too; I didn’t get pregnant all by myself. I guess I’ll leave an urgent message in his locker tomorrow first thing.
I’m totally scared to death just thinking about it but I’ve got to do it; I have no other choice. I won’t be like Tina. I won’t! I can’t!
3:46 a.m.
I tried to pray like I used to do when I was little, but I couldn’t. It used to be so easy and I felt so close to Heavenly Father, but now…I can’t connect. It’s like I’ve lost the combination to open the door. How sad and lonely and shut out I feel.
Hey, wait a minute, maybe I’ve just been looking for gloom and doom. WHAT IF?…just what if I talked to Danny and he…wanted us to get married? What if he wants an adorable little dress-up doll baby, a little skin-soft-as-velvet baby to coo at him and make him feel like he is the greatest creator in all of creation! What if his dad wants us to live in his beautiful big, big, big house, maybe take the east wing as our own private for-real playhouse. And Lucille, their maid, could tend little Whosit while we both went to school.
We’d get married in the garden under the big old oak tree by the river. Everybody we know would be there and…we’d live happily ever after just like in fairy tales.
4:49 p.m.
I think I am terminally wounded. I know I am. No one can survive this much pain, or can they? I hope so. What caused the pain? you ask. Oh, Daisy, it was so horrible, so unbelievable, sadistically horrible that I’m sure words can never describe it to you, but I’ll try. Last night I wrote a note telling Danny I desperately had to see him for lunch, and I poked it through the vent in his locker this morning.
It was a nightmare from the first because when he met me in the parking lot he thought I just wanted to go to his house and “do it,” like we’d sometimes done in the past, and I was too much in shock to tell him anything else.
He blabbed all the way there and didn’t even notice me or my feelings, just what he was doing, and had done, and was yet going to do. At one point I wanted to reach over and scratch his e
Once inside his house, he made a grab for me that made me feel like I was being attacked by some alien monster. I screamed and pushed him away. In fact, I pushed him so hard he almost lost his balance. “You shouldn’t have done that, Bitch,” he said between clinched teeth.
I stood up to him for the first time and said coldly, “I’m not a bitch. I’m…I’m the mother of your unborn child.”
“No way,” he hissed.
The rest of it is like a movie playing and replaying in my mind.
“We’ve got to talk this out calmly and sanely,” I said, ignoring his insults.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“There is too. I’m…”
“I know what you are. You’re a dirty, careless ‘ho.’” He slapped me so hard across the face, I could hear the bones in my neck crack, but I held my ground.
“I’ve been your girlfriend, and I’m pregnant! You’ve got to help me decide what to do about it.”
He hit me again, this time in the stomach and yelled, “Your little bastard could be any guy in town’s good-time slime.”
I felt so used and degraded, I wanted with everything in me to turn and crawl away, but something stronger than myself kept me there crying and begging him and pleading for him to take some responsibility.
Finally he asked, “What in hell do you expect of me?”
That kind of threw me, and I blubbered, “Maybe…maybe we could get married?”
He flew into an even deeper rage. “I’m sixteen years old, duh-head. You think I’m going to stifle my life for you and your slimy little bastard?” He gagged and shuddered. “Give up football? High school? College? Parties? Freedom? Fun? No way! You probably got pregnant just trying to trap me.”
I sniffled, “But…”
“Forget it, slut. I’m not buying into your shit. To me you’re just another piece of poor-white-trash flesh trying to flush the rich kid down the toilet with you.”