So here's an intro to a story about a teenage girl in high school who finds herself pregnant at the beginning of her senior year. Pregnant and alone. She faces ostracization, peer pressure, family disownment, everything that a teenage girl on the brink of adulthood isn't ready for. The father was a boy she met at a summer bible study and yes, they did naughty things. But when it comes to paying the price, truly the girl stands alone. And she stands tall.
The girl was young.
Well, yes, obviously the girl was young. It’s important to acknowledge this right away.
Acknowledge it and move past it.
The girl was young.
Yes, now we know. Can we move on to more pertinent information?
The girl was also – and there’s no delicate way to put this – female. And, dear God, try not to marvel at the need to voice this observation.
Yes, the girl was female.
So what’s the point?
Why, there is no point. Not in this way about the girl. And the girl is the point, you see?
The girl and not the preconceived notions attached to age and gender.
Please do recall we’ve acknowledged these notions. We’ve acknowledged them, given them their due.
(And aren’t we kind for doing so? Very civilized.)
We’ve acknowledge them and moved on.
Oh, having trouble moving on?
It’s quite easy actually. Merely abandon everything knowable and learned through tradition and experience.
Abandon all as if your lighter had snuffed out the flame with a resounding click.
Place the notions in your pocket and give it a pat.
Know the notions are there and at the ready to be relit.
(Isn’t that comforting?)
Not that they’re needed.
(Sure, needed like a hole in the head.)
But no, needed like sunglasses that dim vision and skew perception of color and shadow.
But why? Is the truth too bright for you?
Put them away!
Away notions, away!
Because the girl is the point and everything you need to know—
She will show you.
And finally later on in the fic:
"Are you sure you should be driving in, uh, your condition?" Brett asked, eyeing the car keys with suspicion.
She glared. "Yes. I'm pregnant, not disabled."
He scratched his neck and stared down at his sneakers. "You just haven't been acting yourself lately. Is it the, uh, hormones?"
"Really? You're gonna go there?" She scoffed. "'Cause I don't blame your awful taste in trashy, opportunistic girlfriends on the weed you smoked under the bleachers every day during 9th grade gym class, do I?"
“Oh, well, that’s just…” Her English teacher looked flummoxed when he caught sight of her t-shirt with the bright red ‘P’ emblazoned across her chest.
She shrugged nonchalantly into her seat in the front row of the classroom. “I thought about your offer to go to the ‘special class’ for girls in my ‘condition.’ Then I remembered we’re reading the Scarlet Letter today and I figured, hey, might as well serve as a cautionary tale for all the other unspoiled students. Gotta take one for the team, right, Mr. Williams?”
“I—I, uh. Please have a seat.”
“I’m already sitting.”
As always, any and all comments and/or feedback is appreciated.