Deanna Roy - Forever Innocent

The moon glowed from its resting place in the sky, almost but not quite full. It looked forlorn, a piece of it shaved off, and I knew that as each day passed, it would get smaller and smaller, until it disappeared into the black.

The walkway to the Student Health Center wasn’t any different from all the other concrete paths that crisscrossed campus, but this one felt like a bridge to hell. My leaden feet dragged as I approached the glass door, and when my sweaty hand slipped on the metal handle, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anything after all.

The receptionist gave me a form to fill out, and I sat in a brown-cushioned chair against the wall. A few other students waited in the small room. A sniffling freshman looked to be wearing her pajamas. A couple impatient guys in rugby outfits looked around, tapping their legs and shifting constantly. A panicked woman in her late twenties picked at the bottom of her marine-blue sweater, creating a pile of fuzz.

I brought a book to study, but instead I pulled out my phone and scrolled through all the messages Gavin had sent me since I ran from his apartment almost a week ago. He wrote me throughout each day, short encouraging lines like “I hope your lit class keeps you awake today,” or “Don’t let the morning coffee rush get to you.” He wished me good night every evening. In between, he sometimes asked if he could see me, or said he missed me. I hadn’t responded to any, even the one this morning that said, “I’m thinking of you as you see the doctor.”

I felt like holding him at arm’s length was the best course for the moment. It gave me the ability to function, when otherwise I could easily succumb to embarrassing crying jags or fits of fury that we’d come to this dysfunctional part of our lives.

Today would probably be the last astronomy class I could skip. I’d taken my two free days, and I purposefully scheduled this appointment during class so I would have a doctor’s note. Robert and Amy seemed on my side, but I knew the professor himself could step in. Then I would have screwed up my grade over Gavin after all.

Jenny’s notes were pretty abysmal, but I could get by with her random bursts of typing that at least helped me peg what part of the book to study. I wasn’t worried about my grade. The class was one of the easiest courses I’d ever taken.

I am fine, I told myself for the hundredth time since I’d started skipping. I just wanted this appointment over, to know I hadn’t made any huge mistakes, and then I could start fresh again. Whether or not Gavin played a role in my future wasn’t something I had to decide right this minute.

Unless, of course, I was pregnant.

I placed my hand on my belly, wishing I could tell. The stick test that morning had been negative again, and since the last unprotected encounter was a week ago, I was close to being out of the woods. I was no more ready for the consequences of my actions than I had been at eighteen.

A nurse opened the side door. “Corabelle?”

I shoved the phone in my backpack and stood up. The woman in pink scrubs smiled, her hair an intricate weave of thick braids that instantly made me think of Angilee from the NICU. Same wide friendly eyes, dark skin, and powerful frame, the sort of person that made you think of a warrior princess.

“So tell me what’s going on,” the nurse said as we walked down the hall.

“I’m here for a VD screening and a pregnancy test.”

The woman nodded. “Let’s get your weight and blood pressure.” She led me into a small room that held only a scale and a seat with a cuff.

When we finished there, she pointed to a bathroom. “Urine sample. Write your name on the cup and leave it on the little ledge by the window.”

I knew the drill and left the cup in front of a frosted window that didn’t lead outside, but to another room. As I opened the door to the hall, someone on the other side slid the window open and collected my cup with a latex-gloved hand.

The nurse caught up with me and brought me to an exam room, and the sight of stirrups made my heart palpitate. I sucked in a breath and steadied myself with a hand on the end of the cushioned table.

“You all right, Corabelle?” The nurse set down her clipboard and took my arm. “Let’s get you lying down.”

She helped me up on the table. “You’ll have to undress from the waist down and cover yourself with this paper sheet,” she said. “But don’t do it until you’re sure you’re doing all right. Do doctor offices always make you this anxious?”

I shook my head. She turned back to the forms I’d filled out. “Okay, so I see you have been pregnant before.” She paused. “So your baby is how old now, four?”

My throat closed up completely.

“Corabelle, you okay?”

Tears escaped from the corners of my eyes and slid down to the paper pillow. “He died.”

“Bless your heart, child. When did that happen?”

“When he was seven days old.”

Her warm hand squeezed my arm. “I’ll check your test myself. Do you know the date of your last menstrual period?”

“I’m on the shot. It’s been a while.”

“When did you get your last shot?”

“Two months ago.”

“Did you do it here?”

“No, I wasn’t a student yet.”

“The doctor will take a look.” She gave me one more squeeze and headed for the door. “Take your time getting up and changing. He’s slow as molasses anyway.”

I stared at the ceiling when she left, reading a breast self-exam poster that had been taped there. One corner was peeling, and a patient was bound to get a surprise when it finally fell. Maybe I’d point it out when the nurse came back. Imagining the paper floating down, drifting side to side, helped distract me. I wiped my face and sat up, easing off the table to undress.

I’d gotten this far. I would make it the rest of the way. At least the walls weren’t lined with pictures of babies, like at my old ob/gyn back in New Mexico. When I went for my postpartum checkup, just a week after Finn died, I couldn’t bear to look at the collages of smiling mothers and red-faced infants. My mom had come with me, and she tried to block my view, but both of us sobbed pretty continuously until the exam was over. I think I was supposed to go back again later, but I never did, switching to Planned Parenthood for my shots since they didn’t have all the trappings of happy motherhood anywhere in their office space.

A rapid knock at the door made me startle. I jumped back on the table, snatching up the paper sheet.

“Everybody indecent?” the man asked.

I arranged the crinkly sheet around me. “Yes, I’m pretty indecent.”

He entered the room, followed by the Angilee lookalike. “I’m Dr. Alpern. I’ll be making you uncomfortable today.”

I managed a smile. I’d imagined someone stern and disapproving, lecturing me about unprotected sex.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your baby,” he said. “Was there a problem during labor?”

“He was eight weeks early. He had a heart defect.” I sucked in air, trying to make sure I breathed, but the next words still came out as a gasp. “They didn’t operate.”

The doctor nodded. “Well, your urine test was negative, but we’ll do a blood test to be sure. How long since you had unprotected sex?”

“A week.”

“So it could still come up. You can keep testing at home, but let’s take a look. Lie back for me and scoot to the edge.”

I fell back on the pillow and wriggled down to the end. The doctor aimed a light between my legs, and the nurse handed him something in a plastic wrapper. I focused again on the illustrated hand cupping the wide-nippled breast on the poster.