Ava

            What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.  It’s something we hear for a greater part of our lives.  The thing about living is that there are good things and there are bad things.  In one of my favorite quotes from Doctor Who, “The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”  Sometimes the bad things happen when you least expect them and don’t know how to react.

            April 2012

            I looked in the mirror and saw the red goop that was my hair.  As I washed my face of the excess dye, my phone rang.

            “Jazzy?”  It was Grace.

            “Hey, girl!  What’s up?”  I picked a piece of dye off my ear.

            “Can I come over later and spend the night?”  She sounded fine.  But her asking out of the blue to come over was odd.  This meant either she was having a fight with her parents or wanted to go to a party and needed an alibi for the night.  At least, those were the usual reasons.

            “Sure.  Why not?”

            As I stepped into the shower I was reminded of the scene from “Psycho”, and not just because of the unexpected news that was currently on its way over. 

            I watched as the red blended with the water and slid on the wet floor of the shower. Running my hands through my hair, I felt the dye working its conditioner through my scalp.  I didn’t have anything to think about, my hair was perfect and that’s all that mattered right there and then.

            It wasn’t until after I dried my hair, got dressed and sat down to watch “Merlin”, and 11:00, that Grace texted me, I’m here.  Will she ever learn to use a door bell?!  I thought to myself.

            “Hey.”  I said, as I opened the door.

            “Hi.”  She didn’t seem normal; in fact she was quite far from normal.

            “Who died?”  Just like the one other time in my life that I’ve used that phrase, I realized it was a poor choice of words.  All of a sudden she became scared and I knew something bad had happened.  “Let’s go to the kitchen.”

            “Can we actually go to the basement?  I don’t want your mother walking in on us.”  I said ok and we walked down to the basement.  For a moment after she put all of her stuff down, it was an unusually large amount of stuff, she just stood in place and looked around her.  I, sitting in the lounge chair, didn’t know how to fill the awkward silence.  However, I soon figured out I didn’t need to.

            “I need to tell you something.  And you’re going to have to promise not to judge me.”  I nodded a couple of times.  “Um, I guess it all starts with when I called you a couple of months ago about the Plan B thing.”  I froze.  Where was this going?

            “Grace,” I stood up, slowly, “are you pregnant?”  There was a long silence, as I stood, facing her, and she stood, refusing to look at me. 

            “Let me just talk.”  She said, gently, motioning for me to sit down.  I did.  “You know I got it and that time was fine.  But that wasn’t the first time it broke, and it wasn’t the last.”  She laughed bitterly.  “Actually, it broke a lot.  And, well, more recently, I’ve been late.  Really late.  I thought it was stress, I mean I didn’t show any signs.”  She paused again.  I held my breath.  “Anyway, I was at work and all of a sudden I felt a huge pain in my pelvis.  It hurt so bad I didn’t know what it was.  You have no idea, Jazzy, how bad it hurt.”  Tears were in her eyes now.  “I looked it up, and this is actually normal for someone like me.  I talked to a girl at my work and she said what happened to me was similar to other cases like it.”  She saw my confused expression.  And then she collapsed on the floor and pulled her legs into her body.  Like a child, she began to rock; tears began flowing and didn’t stop.  “I had a miscarriage.”

            Silence, absolute silence.  Nothing.  There was nothing, except for Grace’s sobs.  A ringing filled my ears.  I couldn’t move I couldn’t speak.  I couldn’t even breathe.  I didn’t know what to do.  And then, I realized, it wasn’t about me.

            “How long ago did this happen?”  I finally asked.

            “About a month ago.  I didn’t know how to tell you, or anybody really.”

            “Does your mom know?”  I asked, tentatively.

            Grace gave a hollow laugh that sounded more like a scoff.  “No, of course not.  I wouldn’t even be in the house if they knew about this.

            “I highly doubt that.”  I was telling the truth.  Grace’s parents were like any parents.  They definitely didn’t want her out of the house, especially not on the street, and especially not with a kid.

            I found the courage to speak, “What do you want me to do?”  I gasped, desperate.  “I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do!”  I flailed my arms, I was so desperate to do something.

            “Hold me.”  The pang in my heart began to swell until I couldn’t hold in anymore tears.  I immediately knelt down next to her and wrapped my arms around her, and together we sobbed.  For how long, I’m not sure.  It seemed like forever, a horrible situation that will never go away.  The tears flowed down my cheeks and into my long forgotten hair and onto her sweatshirt, making a puddle that was a mix of both of our tears.  The agony of the loss of a child, whether known or unknown, a gap that will haunt you for a long time and will never be full. And yet, part of the story didn’t make sense.  I slowly broke away.

            “What do you mean for people like you?”

            “What?”  She looked at me, confused.

            “You said, it’s normal for people like you for this to happen.  What do you mean?”

            She broke apart from me and looked me straight in the eye.  “Jazzy, I can’t have kids.”

            And then I understood.  We had discussed this before; Grace’s body was not apt for child bearing.  It was something that tore her up a lot, and this was the last straw.  This was proof.  The loss of a child was bad, the worst, except for not being able to have kids at all; especially if you’re like Grace and have wanted kids for most of your life.

            “I’m so sorry.  I don’t know what to say to make it better.”

            “There’s nothing to say.  It just sucks so bad, I’ve wanted kids my whole life.”

            “You may still have kids, there are always miracles.  Haven’t we always talked about the fact that we’re both miracle babies?”  It was true, at the time of conception, neither of our mothers were supposed to be able to get pregnant and both had miscarriages before us.

            But Grace shook her head, “I think this is different, my body doesn’t make sense for it to give birth!”  She sobbed even more.  I rolled my eyes.

            “That is ridiculous!  Do you know how many skinny ass girls have given birth?  It’s not pleasant!  But it does the trick!”  Grace produced a laugh through her tears.  “And even if you can’t give birth, there’s always adoption.”

            “But it’s not the same.  It won’t be my kid,” Grace sniffled.

            “Grace, how can you say that?  So many kids are adopted now and they all thank, well most at least, their adoptive parents for adopting them!  No matter where they came from or who they came from, they will be your child!  If you adopt a little girl, she will adore you for the rest of her life, just like any daughter of yours would.  And if it’s a boy, he will look up to you as a role model because you are strong-willed and don’t let anyone push you around.  You will be a great mother no matter what happens.  You know I’m not super religious, but I do believe we were all put on this earth to serve some purpose.  And you know what?  I think you were meant to be a mom, and maybe you weren’t supposed to be the biological mom.  Maybe it’s something bigger than that?”

            “Like what?”  She choked.

            “Like being a savior to orphans!  I don’t know!  I’m not God!”  She laughed at this.  The first real laugh, I realized, I’d heard from her in a long time.  And , once again, there was silence. 

            Until, “Does Chris know about this!?”  It just occurred to me that maybe the father of the baby would like to know his girlfriend was pregnant, regardless of how brief.

            “Oh he knows.”  Grace got up and walked over to her stuff on the couch and picked up a Walgreens bag.  She opened it as she brought it over to me and placed it in my lap.  Inside were Skittles, Sour Skittles, Wild berry Skittles, Sour Patch Kids, Twizzlers, gummy bears, sour drops, and other kinds of candy.

            I just stared at the bag of candy.  And then I laughed, which made her laugh, and then we were laughing together.

            “All he knows how to make you feel better is to buy you candy!”  I said, in amused disbelief.

            “Well, he does know me well.”  She said, taking out the sour skittles.  “You can have the wild berry ones; he only got me those because they only had one of sour and one of original.”  When I pulled out the bag, Grace held up hers.  “To new things and new beginnings.  Cheers.” 

            I laughed.  “Cheers.”  And as we dug into the bags of candy,

            It’s funny how things turn around.  Grace has a funny way of showing she’s fine when she’s really not.  I knew the miscarriage ate her up inside, but it wasn’t until a little over a year later that I realized how much.

July 2013

            “Jazzy?!”  Shouted the voice through my receiver.

            “Mark, I can hear you just fine.”  I shouted back.

            “Sorry, I’m at a party.  Hold on.”  I held on.  “I’m back.  Sorry about that.”

            “It’s fine.  What’s up?  Are you ok?”  It would only be a dire emergency for Mark to actually call me instead of text.

            “Um, well, I’m ok.  It’s Grace, though.  She’s not ok.”  My heart sank.

            “What’s wrong?” 

            “She’s drunk.”

            “Mark, it’s Grace, she’s drunk a lot.” 

            “Yeah, well this time she drove.”  Oh, great.  Now I really needed to know where they were.

            “Where are you?”  I sounded defeated aparantly.

            “I’m sooo sorry, Little Red.”  He sounded like it too.  I felt bad that he felt so bad.

            “It’s ok.  That’s what friends are for, right?” 

            I got the address and plugged it into my phone’s GPS.  It was somewhere near downtown, the sketchy part of downtown, faraway from anyone I knew.  What was Grace doing there?  It wasn’t near her home.  It wasn’t near Kushel’s house either.  Why did have to be so dark out?  Oh yeah, it was one in the morning!  And why did I have to go save Grace’s ass?  Oh yeah, it was Grace!  And why were there so many stoplights in downtown Louisville?!

            After I pulled up to a sketchy house filled with people I didn’t know, I called Mark again.  He answered on the first ring.

            “Hi, are you here?”  He sounded desperate.  Things couldn’t have gotten that much worse, could they?

            “Yeah.  Where are you?”  There was so much noise, now I knew why he shouted on the phone earlier.

            “In the bathroom on the second floor.”  And there was the dreaded puking noise, then a wail sounded a lot like “AVA!”  “Jazzy, please hurry.”  I did.

            “Hey, what are you doing here?”  It was Neil Cross, Grace’s ex.

            “Looking for Grace.  Have you seen her?”  I shouted over the noise.

            “Ooo, yeah, she’s up there.  She’s not looking so hot.”  He motioned to the set of stairs across the room.

            “Thanks.”  I pushed through the crowd of people and ran up the stairs.  The hallway had many doors, but the sound of a small girl upchucking lead me to the bathroom.  I knocked on the door.

            “It’s Jazzy.”

            “Oh thank God!”  Mark opened the door.  “Thank you thank you THANK YOU!”  He rushed towards and smothered me in a hug.

            “You’re welcome.”  I peered around him a looked at my friend, whose head was in the toilet.  “Is she ok?”

            Grace’s head snapped back suddenly.  “Avaaa.”  She wailed.  And put her head back in the toilet.

            “We can’t take her home like this.  She wouldn’t make the car ride home.”  I let my back fall onto the wall and slid down.  My head was so heavy from being so tired that I let it fall onto my knees.  “I’m soooo tired.”  I mumbled into my jeans.

            “I’m so sorry, Jazzy.”  Mark came over to me and put his arms around my ball of a body.

            “Seriously, what is she going to do next year?  I won’t be at Murray to help her when she’s like this.  And you won’t be either, will you?”  Sometimes as the mother of the group, I felt I had an obligation to worry about everyone.  The only problem is, it gets tiring after a while and soon there’s no more energy to worry about anyone but yourself.

            “I’m sure she’ll be fine.  She’ll make friends, she’s Grace.”  I rolled my eyes, Mark was so optimistic.  He always had a blind spot when it came to Grace, she could do no wrong.  Well I saw her in a different light.  I loved Grace but I still worried about her ability to make new friends, she always hung on to her clutches: me and Mark and ex-boyfriends.

            We all jumped as someone knocked on the door.  “Everyone ok in there?”  It was Neil.  He cracked the door and peered around.

            “Yeah we’re fine.”  I said.

            “She not though.”  He said, nodding to Grace.

            “Yeah, well, better out than in.”  I gave him a tight-lipped smile.    

            “Uh, ok.”  He seemed a little skeptic.  But nonetheless he turned around and left.

            The sound Grace’s stomach coming through her mouth, once again, was too much just then.  “I’m going to take a breather.”

            When I stepped outside, I ran into a Neil that didn’t seem to know what to do.  “Hey.  Weren’t you going to go back to your party?”  I asked, a little confused.

             “Well, it’s not my party.  But I was, and then I felt bad leaving Grace up here.”  He sounded like he had an obligation to fulfill.

            “Well, Mark and I are here so…”  I motioned towards the party.

            “Yeah but I drove them here.”  He looked guilty, I guess he did have an obligation towards Grace.

            “Oh.  That’s why they called me.” I realized.

            “Yeah.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry, man, I wasn’t thinking.”

            “It’s ok.  It’s whatever really.”  There was a long, awkward pause where Neil and I passed looks back and forth.  And then I thought, why shouldn’t I talk to him?  He’s not some untouchable, unknown piece of Grace’s history.  He’s Neil, the guy I’ve known since seventh grade.  “So, where are you going to school next year?”  Well that was lame.  Everyone in the senior class was probably annoyed with that question, having been asked that by basically everybody.

            “University of Kentucky, actually.”  He admitted.

            “Oh yeah, I remember you were thinking about them in the fall weren’t you?  Do you know what you’re majoring in?”

            “Design, scene design.  Same stuff.” 

            “Really?  Last I heard you wanted to major in pharmacy.”  Then again, last time we talked was last summer.

            “Yeah, but then my auditions at career day went really well and I decided that that was what I really wanted to do.”

            “That’s cool.”  I didn’t know much about Neil.  But I do remember back in eighth grade, when I asked him why he chose design and production as his major at YPAS, he said, “I like to build things.”  I’m the last person to say don’t follow what you love.

            “What about you?  Where are you going in the fall?”

            “Northern Kentucky University.” 

            He seemed surprised.  “For what?  Not orchestra?” 

            I gave him a look.  “No, not for orchestra.  I’m majoring in theatre.”  I paused, and then I admitted, “On music scholarship.”

            “That’s right, you do do theatre don’t you?”  Thankfully, Grace chose that moment to wail, “AVA!” again.

            “I should probably get her home.  She hasn’t thrown up in a while so maybe she’s done for the night.”

            “Maybe.”  Neil said.  “I’ll see you later, Jazzy.  Have fun in college.”

            “You too.”  And that was the last I saw of him that night.  When I walked in, Grace was ,half passed out on the floor; half mumbling that she wanted to go home.

            “You know she can’t go home like this.”  I told Mark.

            “I know.  What are we going to do?”

            “Well I guess she’s going to have to spend the night.”

            “Ok.  That’s probably best.”

            “I’ll text my mom that we’re coming home with her.  I’m assuming that I’m dropping you off.”

            “Ok.  Do you need directions?”

            “Probably.”  I turned to Grace.  “Hey, sweetie, you’re going to my house ok?”

            “Yay!”  She squealed, sleepily. 

            “Come on, up you get.  Mark, I’m going to need your help, I can’t lift her on my own.”

            “She’s not that heavy, though, is she?”  Mark, already holding her things, looked like had his hands full.  But I couldn’t lift her by myself, not with my back.  I reminded him of that.  “Ok, ok, but take some of her shit.”

            I grabbed her bag, he had her shoes, and between the two of us, we half carried half dragged Grace to my car.  The entire time I kept wondering, who was Ava, why was she so important?  I didn’t understand how I kept getting myself into these situations, and how I always managed to get myself out.  It was truly a miracle that I hadn’t yet found a situation I didn’t know how to handle.  And then I looked at Grace, a lump between Mark and I and I knew that Grace had found that situation.  Whatever had made her drink so much that she bypassed every known common sense she had, was tearing her up inside.  And then only thing I could think of that made sense was Ava.

            When we finally reached my car, it was 2:30 am.  “I really hope my parents haven’t noticed I’m not there before I have a chance to tell them why I’m not there.”

            “I don’t live with my parents.”  Mark gloated.

            “Whatever, let’s just get her into the car.”  I managed to get my backseat open with one hand.  “Ok, Gracie, if you’ll just get into the car.”

            “But I don’t wanna!”  She pouted.

            “But if you want to go home, you have to get in the car.”  I reasoned.  That seemed to be enough for her.  After we buckled her in, she slumped on the seat next to her and fell asleep.  “Well, you know what?”  I said, giving up on all sense of normality.  “It’s good enough for me.”  Mark laughed and got into the car.

            I dropped Mark off, with no peep from Grace in the backseat.  By the time we got to my house, I could tell she was sound asleep.  But that didn’t stop me from trying to wake her.

            “Gracie,” I coaxed.  “Graaaacieee, you need to get up now.  If you don’t, you’ll have to sleep in this uncomfortable car.”  She stirred, but only slightly.  “Think about a nice warm bed.  All cozy and warm.”  She stirred a little more.  “But we have to go inside to get to it.”  She reached her arms up and I put them around my neck.  I helped her out of the car, up the stairs and into the house.  It was difficult, because Grace kept deciding it was a good idea to fall up the stairs and on the porch.  But finally I succeeded and got her to the bed I had promised.

            If I had been in my right mind, and it wasn’t 3:00 in the morning, I probably would’ve written a note to Grace telling her what happened and why she was in my house.  I also would’ve told my mom what was going on and then she could’ve told my dad.  Unfortunately I did none of these things.  Being so tired, I fell asleep next to Grace in the guest room on the main floor.  We woke up to my dad, being pretty loud, parading around in a towel.  The way he tells this story, he actually saw us in the room and, went to go put on said towel.  The most frightening part about this story is that if we had woken up five minutes earlier, we would’ve seen my dad walking around in his birthday suit.  You can imagine my thanks that we didn’t.

            Personally I woke to Grace, talking to herself.  “Why the fuck is Jazzy’s dad walking around in a towel?  Where the fuck am I?  Why am I at Jazzy’s house?”  Her voice got louder with each question, until she turned on her side and saw me, still waking up, and let out a loud screech.

            “Whoa!  Chill out!”  I shouted over her. 

            “What the fuck happened last night?” And then she fell back to the pillows, face first,  with a whimper of pain. 

            “What’s up?”  I said, concerned.

            “My fucking head!”  She said into her pillow.

            “Yeah, that’s what happens when you get really fucking smashed!”  Now I was mad, she had done this, she was why I was up half the night at a party I wasn’t invited to.

            “Yeah, I figured that.  It wasn’t exactly my first party, you know.  I’ve been drunk before.”  She said all this very spitefully.

            “You need coffee.”  I said, getting out of the bed I had so graciously had given her last night.

            “I need coffee.”  She repeated, following me to the kitchen.

            After I had gotten the coffee started, I turned to the refrigerator to look for something to eat.  “Do you want anything?” 

            “No.  Just coffee.”  Grace put her head down on the table. 

            I poured her cup and set it down in front of her.  Not even looking up, Grace felt her way to the handle and dragged it closer to her.  I watched her as she raised it to her lips and put it back down.

            “Where did Neil go last night?”  She asked.

            “What do you mean?”

            “Like, was he there when we left?”  She seemed concerned about something.

            “Yeah, why?”

            “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” 

            I needed to know.  Thinking through the silence, I worded my sentence in my head.  “Who’s Ava?”  Not my best thought process.

            “What?”  Grace’s head popped up off the table.

            “Ava, who is she?”

            Grace froze, as if thinking.  “Did I say something last night?”

            “Yeah, actually, you did.”

            She took a deep breath, “Ava’s the child I lost.”  She talked slowly and quietly, as if she didn't know how I'd take it. 

            “Oh.  Ok.”  I didn't understand completely why she had a name for something that she was so devastated about.  But I had the feeling that understanding was not the problem, but accepting and remembering was what kept her going.

Prologue

 In the beginning, God created Man and, looking down at his masterpiece, realized that something was missing.  Therefore God created Woman.

Now, before you close this book thinking I’m some kind of “bible thumper”, chill and let me reassure you that I’m only Episcopalian.  And for all of you that aren’t religious scholars, that means less strict Catholic.  Religion has never really been all that important to me, and the old joke is told from a feministic view, not a Christian.  Feminism, oddly enough, has been a big component of who I am since I was around three.  But this is all nonsense for a prologue, there will be plenty of time to explain to you how I came to be this way; that is if you choose to finish this to the very end and not ask questions like “why is this relevant?”, all will make sense.

For about a year now, I’ve been experiencing these revelations, reality checks if you will, about my attitude and feelings toward certain things and people.  When you go through something as traumatic as the “incident” was for me at the time, and then suppress it for four years, things are bound to spill out eventually.

But before we delve into that hot mess, let me take you to the beginning of my being an outsider, or at least how I made myself one.  Let us go back to 2006, seventh grade for me.  To a time of confusion and utter resentment for who I knew I had to be…broken.

August 2006

            The bell rang for fifth period.  I tried to get up but almost fell from the weight of all my books in my backpack, I silently cursed the beginning of the school year and the fact we wouldn’t be getting lockers for another week.  Once steady on my feet I lounged for the door and nearly ran to Spanish.

            “You ok?”  Asked my friend, Kelsey, she looked as if she already knew, but that could’ve just been my imagination.

            “Yeah, I’m fine.”  I replied half-heartedly. 

            A high pitched bell went off, I jumped.  As Senora Batista answered the phone I tried to calm myself, I’d been jumping at things all day. 

            “Jasmine Michaels!”  I wanted to cry.  Before she had finished saying that I had to go to the office, I had had my backpack in hand, heart racing.  I passed staring eyes that told me they knew what was happening.

            “Good luck.”  Sadie Beaker whispered as I reached the door. I tried to smile, but as tears started to form I rushed to the office to my waiting mother.

August 2010

            I nearly jumped out of the car.  Shit, I’m late!  Shit, shit!

            “Have a good day…”  My mom began before I shut the front door and opened the back seat.  “Have a good rehear…”  I shut the back door and ran to the building, waving to her as I went.

            Readjusting my mass of script and violin case, I reached the door and pulled it open and ran to the back to the gym.  Above the “gym” (now turned theatre) was a sign: “Nancy Niles Sexton Theatre”.  Well that’s new… I thought to myself.

            “Get in here, you’re late. You look cute today,” Melissa Lockwood whispered loudly, doing her usual PMS greeting. 

            “Thanks.  Sorry I had a lesson.”  I sat next to her on the risers

Walden Theatre, an after school theatre conservatory for kids, was originally a preschool, but after the preschool moved and Walden needed new facilities, Payne St. became its new home.  Now what used to be the gym is now a fully functional theater, and the classrooms are used for teaching various aspects of the theatre world.  This was my 5^th year, my junior year, and I had made Walden my home.  I had irreplaceable friends that I knew I could always count on and teachers I knew I could trust.  Since seventh grade Walden had been a place for comfort, where I could be myself and not be judged.  I knew I owed a lot to Walden, but how much I didn’t know until much later. 

“Ok guys, let’s take it from Gutman’s entrance,” April called to us from the other side of the risers.

I jumped down and moved to the back of the skeletal set: two windows, two doors, and two balconies.  Jenna Wilson climbed up the rickety staircase to her “Gutman Perch”, as April calls it and waved to me.

“Where were you?”  She mouthed.

“Violin lesson,” I mouthed back, pointing to my case which was poking out of the risers.

“Oh you, multi-talent’s a bitch!”  She remarked snidely.  I rolled my eyes and shook my head, but I had to hand it to her, she was right.