November Blues (4 page)

AFTER A NIGHT OF TOSSING AND TURNING,
November got up early and told her mother she'd be gone all day, working at the YMCA book fair. Her mother gave her some spending money and promised roast beef for dinner when she got home. November hugged her mom, apologized for her outburst the night before, and hurried out of the house.

After talking to Olivia, November had made an appointment at the office of a lady doctor she had never visited before. She had picked the name out of the phone book. November walked down to the corner and got on the bus that would take her downtown. She felt queasy and hoped she could manage the bus ride without being sick. Fortunately, the bus was almost empty. She felt completely alone. She tried not to think about anything—not about what the doctor might say, not about tomorrow, not about the next few months.

When November got to the office, she was asked to fill out lots of paperwork full of questions about her general health, her family's health background—
pretty awful
, she thought to herself—and information about medical insurance. She had copied the number off the card in her mom's wallet. She wondered how long it would take for her mother to get the bill and figure out what was going on.

Finally she was taken to a small room and given a paper gown to put on. On the end of the examining table were funny-looking footrests. She'd seem them in movies, and she shuddered when she realized their purpose. Tuneless music played from somewhere in the ceiling, and a photo of a mother duck and her ducklings crossing the street decorated one wall. Otherwise the room was white and sterile and very cold.

A woman walked briskly into the room. “Good morning. I'm Dr. Holland,” she announced. She had long, gray-black braids tucked under a scarf, and the smoothest taffy-colored skin November had ever seen. The doctor had a warmth about her that made November instantly relax—she seemed motherly and professional all in one package.

“Hi. I'm November.”

“That's an unusual name. I like that. I think a name ought to stand out and be bold. My first name is Obioma. It's a Nigerian name that means ‘kind and caring.'”

“Well, I hope you are—kind and caring, that is. I'm in big trouble,” November said quietly.

“You want to tell me about it?” asked the doctor gently.

November looked up at the woman and began. “Looks like I got myself pregnant.”

“All by yourself?” The doctor smiled kindly.

November felt stupid. She couldn't even talk straight, let alone think. “No, of course not. My boyfriend was…” She didn't know what else to say.

“He's not around anymore?” the doctor asked.

“No.” November didn't go into details. She bowed her head.

Dr. Holland scribbled something on the chart, then took November's blood pressure and listened to her heart. “Have you talked to your mother?” the doctor asked.

“No, ma'am.”

“Will she be understanding?” The doctor motioned for November to lie down on the paper-covered table.

“Not a chance. She'll roll over and die.” The ceiling was cracked, November noticed.

“She might surprise you. And you're going to have to tell her eventually,” Dr. Holland said.

“That's what my friends tell me,” November replied glumly.

“When was your last period?” the doctor asked as she adjusted the lights at the end of the table.

Instead of answering, November said, “I know when it happened.”

The doctor looked mildly surprised. “You're absolutely sure of the date?”

“Yes, ma'am. It was January twenty-ninth.”

“You're sure about that?”

“It was the night before my boyfriend died.”

Dr. Holland inhaled sharply. “How did he lose his life, child?”

“Stupidity. He jumped out of a window.” Fury coursed through November, and she balled her hands into fists.

“Say what? You poor child. What was his name?”

“Joshua Prescott.”

“Hmm. Was that the young man who died over at Douglass High School in that school club accident? I saw it on the news.”

“Yes, ma'am. That was Josh.”

“Such a shame.” She shook her head and gently placed her warm hand over November's cold and trembling one.

November, trying not to cry, nodded in thanks for that small gesture of understanding.

“Well, let's examine you and we'll take our time and discuss all your options,” Dr. Holland said then. “You have nothing to be afraid of. I'm going to take good care of you, okay?”

November nodded and let herself be examined. She was glad she had chosen a woman doctor. She figured having this exam done by a male gynecologist would be a little like getting a car checked by somebody who had never owned a car.

The whole examination was incredibly embarrassing. She had to put her feet into those footrest things—the doctor called them stirrups.
Isn't that what you use when you ride a horse?
November thought. The effect was the same—her legs were spread wide apart. The doctor began inserting a cold metal examining tool into the most private part of her body. Even though she was covered by a paper sheet, November felt nasty as the doctor palpated her belly and checked her rectum.

“Sit up, dear, put your clothes on so you'll be warm and comfortable—I know it's like a refrigerator in here—and let's talk. I'll see you in my office in five minutes.”

November, terrified of what the woman would say, hurriedly got dressed and found her way down the hall to Dr. Holland's office, which was decorated with dozens of pictures of laughing, smiling babies. She relaxed a little as the doctor sat down.

“You're almost three months pregnant, November,” Dr. Holland said without preamble.

November inhaled quickly, even though she already knew. This was the official confirmation. “Is my baby okay?” she whispered.

“As far as I can tell right now, yes, of course. But a healthy baby needs good prenatal care. You shouldn't have waited so long to see me, and you must promise me you will return every month for checkups.”

“I promise.” November felt like a preschooler being scolded by her teacher. How could she feel like such a child when her body was acting like an adult? “How big is it?” she finally asked.

The doctor smiled. “About the size and weight of four quarters in your hand.”

“That small?” November exclaimed.

The doctor nodded. “Would you like me to walk you through the story of your child's life to this point?” she offered.

“Yes, please. I thought I knew all this stuff from health class, but…it didn't seem like info I'd need for…”

“I hear you. Okay, so, according to what you told me,
somewhere around January twenty-ninth, a ripened egg burst out of your ovary. Several hundred million of Josh's sperm headed for that egg. A couple hundred survived the trip. But just one of those bad boys got through.”

November tried to suppress a giggle. Somehow the doctor's description sounded just like something Josh would say.

Dr. Holland continued, “As soon as the winner sperm broke through your egg's membrane, the rest of them gave up and went home. And in that instant, your baby's sex and skin color and hair color was determined.”

“For real? Just like that? It's already a boy or a girl?”

“Yes. And it's already destined to have sandy brown hair or copper-colored skin, or whatever coloring it will end up with.”

“I had no idea,” November said in amazement. “Then what happened?”

“By the end of February, that fertilized egg had divided lots of times. Then it connected itself to the wall of your uterus—a safe, soft resting place.”

“So why do I feel sick all the time?”

“Your body is adjusting to its new visitor. It takes a little time to make all the systems work together. You should start to feel better next month.”

“Does it look like a baby, or just a glob of cells and stuff?” November asked, not sure how to word the questions swirling in her head.

“At this stage it's called an embryo, but it looks like a teeny, incomplete person. It's got little feet already.”

“Wow,” said November. “Feet!”

“It's about a half inch long, and most of that is taken up by the head,” the doctor continued.

“Josh had a big head,” November said in a soft voice.

Dr. Holland smiled. “The baby's eyes are forming now, as well as its ears, nose, and mouth. When you come for your visit next month, you will be able to hear its heartbeat.”

“Really?” November glanced down at her belly, afraid to touch it.

“Yes, indeed. Loud and clear. All your baby's internal parts are present, but they are tiny and immature.”

“When will I start to show?”

“You already have a little swelling around your waist.” Dr. Holland looked directly into November's eyes. “You're not going to be able to keep this a secret much longer,” she said gently.

“Are you going to tell my mother?”

“No. It's not my place to tell her. But
you
should confide in her as soon as possible. You're going to need your mother's help.”

November suddenly felt claustrophobic. She couldn't tell her mother—she just couldn't! She covered her face with her hands.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Holland asked when November didn't respond.

“I can't tell my mom,” November blurted out. “She'll be so disappointed.”

“Does your mother love you?”

“Yeah. I'm like her dream child—the one who makes it. I can't do this to her.”

The doctor nodded slowly. “Yes, you can. Trust her. I
have confidence that she has enough love for you to handle this.”

November shook her head, then asked, “When will this happen? I mean, when am I due?”

“Since we are pretty positive about the date of conception, I'd say around November second.”

November looked up with a small smile. “Hmm. A November baby. How ironic.”

“There's nothing ironic about it, my dear. Everything is very physiological from now on.”

“Thanks for being straight with me. There's so much I don't know—I'm not even sure what questions to ask,” November admitted.

“You can call me any time of the day or night. I promise to get back to you within a day if it's a general question, and right away if it's an emergency. I'm here for you and your baby. Understand?”

November felt herself getting teary-eyed. Her emotions changed as quickly as she blinked, it seemed. She sniffed and thanked the doctor once more.

“Here are some pamphlets that describe every single month in bright juicy detail, as well as some vitamins I want you to take every day.”

November opened the jar and looked at the large red capsules inside. “How am I supposed to swallow these things? They're huge!” November sniffed the bottle and made a face. “And they stink. Why do I have to take them?”

“To keep your baby healthy. Don't worry—you'll get used to them,” the doctor said. “You'll be surprised what you're going to get used to in the next few months.”

“Like what?” November asked. All this information was making her dizzy.

“Your body is making room for a very demanding passenger. The baby rides first class. You're just the transport system. So take good care of both of you. You don't smoke or drink, do you?”

November shook her head emphatically.

“Good. Don't start now. You'll do just fine. Drink lots of water and juice. Eat lots of fruits and vegetables. No fatty foods like french fries and fried chicken.”

“That's all the good stuff,” November muttered.

“Here's a list of foods you should concentrate on, and some menus as well,” Dr. Holland said, reaching for a booklet.

November flipped through it. “Broccoli soup? Roasted asparagus? Yuck!”

“And oranges and apples and pears and plums,” the doctor added briskly. “Surely you'll find something you like that's good for you and that baby. And see my secretary about scheduling another appointment. If you don't, I'll hunt you down and show up in your third-bell class!”

“Oh, please do. I hate that class. Any excuse to get out is welcome,” November replied, glad for a chance to laugh.

“And November?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Talk to your mother.”

“I will.” November sighed and walked out of the doctor's office into the overcast Saturday afternoon.

WHEN NOVEMBER GOT HOME, HER MOTHER
was sitting at the kitchen table, working a crossword puzzle. “Hi, honey. Glad you're home early. How was the book fair?”

“It was okay.” November flopped down in the kitchen chair across from her mother.

“What's a six-letter word that means ‘worn down'? I think it starts with an
e
.”

“Eroded,” November answered.

“Thanks,” said her mother as she scribbled the answer. “Okay, here's another one. Who was Cleopatra's lover? Oh, it's a long one.”

“Marc Antony. It could also be Julius Caesar. Cleo got around.” November chuckled mirthlessly.

“Hey, you're good. Which reminds me, your registration for the Black College Tour came in the mail today,” her mother said as she frowned over another clue. “You're all set to leave when school gets out in June. Then, as soon as you get back, you're off to Cornell! I think checking out
the Black colleges is a good idea, in spite of the Cornell program, just to make sure you end up at the college that's right for you.”

November didn't answer. She shifted nervously in her seat. “Did you already pay for it?”

“Of course. Dana's mother has signed her up for the same tour, so the two of you can share a room at the various stops. We've got lots of time to work out the details.”

“Maybe I shouldn't go, Mom,” November said softly.

“Not go? Why not? The tour ought to be fun, even if you're just window shopping!”

November couldn't believe how hard this was. Her mother, blissfully unaware, chattered on about colleges and crossword clues without even noticing November's mood. “Maybe I should look into other options, Mom,” she said, her voice flat.

Mrs. Nelson looked up. “What's wrong, November? Did something happen at the book fair?”

“No.” November offered no explanation. She just couldn't get the words out. She knew that as soon as she said them out loud, nothing would ever be the same.

Her mother frowned. “Come to think of it, you've had the blues for the past few weeks. What's up, baby girl? You know you can tell me anything.”

Mothers say that kind of stuff
, November thought,
but they don't
really
want to know everything.
“Everything is a mess, Mom,” November began, her voice a whisper.

“Is it Josh?” her mother asked gently. “You know, when your daddy died, I felt cold all the time, like I'd never get warm or feel right again. So I really do know how you must
hurt about losing Josh.” She reached over and touched her daughter's cheek.

“You don't get it, Mom. It's worse than you think,” November mumbled, pulling away.

“What is it, baby?” November's mother asked again, even more gently.

November tried not to cry, but she couldn't help it. “What's an eight-letter word that means I've screwed up my life forever?”

Mrs. Nelson looked at her daughter sharply. “What are you talking about, November?”

“I didn't go to the book fair today. I went to a doctor.” She paused and studied the pattern on the kitchen floor. “I'm…I'm pregnant, Mom.”

Her mother said nothing for a full minute. Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again as if she was trying to speak, but no words came out. Finally she said simply, “Oh my.” Her voice was a squeak.

“Are you mad at me?” November stared at her wild-eyed mother.

“Oh, my Lord.” Mrs. Nelson stood up, sat down, then stood up again. “You can't be—you better not be!” Her voice was gravelly and threatening. She walked around the kitchen, then returned to her chair and put her head on the table. Then she sat up and raked her hands through her hair. “I can't deal with this! Not you. Not
you
, November!”

“Please don't be angry, Mom. Please…” November cringed.

“Angry? I'm not sure if that's the right word. Astonished,
maybe. Outraged, perhaps. Maybe even just plain pissed. The thought of you…my baby girl…oh my.”

“I'm sorry,” November whispered.

“How
could
you?” Her mother's face was the palest November had ever seen it.

November was sure her mother didn't really want the answer to that one. “I know you're disappointed,” November said to the floor.

“Right now what I'm feeling is disgust, I think.”

November sniffled. “I feel so bad, Mom. I feel like I just beat you in the head with a hammer.”

“I've got to be honest. I do too.” Her mother's hair was a mess as she kept massaging her temple with her fingers.

“Please don't hate me,” November begged.

Her mother said nothing for a minute or so. Finally she breathed deeply. “I hate that this has happened to us, November.” Then her eyes went wild once more and she moaned deeply, then began to sob.

All November could see was the heaving of her mother's shoulders. Afraid to even touch her, November stared at her parents' faded wedding photo on the mantel and wished she were on another continent, another planet. Any place but this small kitchen full of grief and disappointment. “Please stop crying, Mommy,” she whispered.

“How long have you known?” asked her mother, when she finally sat up. Her mascara had smeared.

“A month or so.”

“And you didn't tell me?” Her mother got up and blew her nose on a paper towel. “I need some coffee,” she said
absently. She turned to make a cup of coffee but seemed to have trouble finding her favorite red cup, which was sitting right on the counter, or locating a spoon in the drawer full of silverware.

“I was afraid to tell you. And ashamed,” November admitted, looking back down at the floor. It was easier to watch the floor than her mother's jerky, uncomfortable movements.

Mrs. Nelson scooped three tablespoons of instant coffee into a cup, added water, and popped it into the microwave. “I'm confused,” she said to November. “When did this happen? None of this makes sense.”

“Just before Josh died,” November whispered.

“I guess most parents are the last to know about what their children are doing, but I know that you and I have had lots of open and honest conversations about sexual stuff since you were a little girl.” The microwave bell dinged and she removed the coffee.

“Yeah,” November said, shrugging. “I know.”

“You always came to me with any questions, and I've always tried to be straight up with you.” Mrs. Nelson poured skim milk into her coffee.

“I always thought that was really cool you talked to me like that. None of the other girls' moms would even say the word ‘sex,'” November said, almost afraid to look at her mother.

“I guess that's why this hits me so hard. I thought we were kinda close and able to discuss everything. I didn't even know you were, uh, you know, sexually active.”

“It's not like we did it a lot,” November tried to explain.

Her mother looked as if she had been slapped. “It's like I don't even know you!”

November wanted to sink through the floor. “I'm so sorry, Mommy.”

Mrs. Nelson had returned to the table. She put seven spoons of sugar in her coffee before she noticed what she was doing. “Go on,” she said, trying, it seemed to November, to sound a little more encouraging.

“I'm scared, Mom. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. Me and Josh just got carried away—it's amazing how easily it happened.” November put her head in her hands.

“You didn't use any kind of, uh, you know, protection?”

“We never even thought about it.”

“How dumb can you be?” her mother almost screamed.

“There's a big difference between those movies they show at school in health class and the real deal,” November told her. “You don't even think about thinking, you know what I'm saying?”

“Not really. You're an intelligent girl. Where was your brain?”

November shrugged. “Stuff just happens. By the time your brain comes back, it's over.”

“I should have warned you better. Watched you better.” Her mother stirred the coffee. “It's my fault.”

“It's not your fault, Mom. I did this, not you.”

“Yes, I guess you did.” Her mother sighed and gave the coffee another furious stir. Then she looked up sharply. “Oh, my Lord!” she said with dismay.

“What?” November couldn't imagine anything worse coming from this conversation. She was wrong.

“The Cornell program,” her mother said, her voice thick. “There's no sense in going now. This was your stepping stone to get into one of the best schools in the country next year. There goes that dream.” She gave November a hard stare.

“What am I gonna do, Mom?” November asked quietly.

Her mother didn't answer right away. She blew her nose and finally took a sip of her coffee. “Good Lord!” she said. “That's the worst coffee I've ever had in my life!” She got up and poured it down the sink. Then she said, looking directly at November, “I've got to be straight with you, honey. I'm
real
disappointed, and I'm so angry I could bite something.”

“Please don't be mad at me,” November said again.

Her mother rinsed out her coffee cup and said in a measured tone, “I'm not mad at you, November, just at the mess you've gotten yourself into. This is certainly not what I pictured for your future. You're so young, and you've got so much potential. What a damn waste.” She wiped away another tear.

“I'm so scared.”

“It's going to take a while to absorb all this. We've been through a lot together, me and you. I don't know how, but we'll get through this.” She looked at her daughter. “Oh, my Lord, I wish we didn't have to.”

November ran to her mother's open arms.