No one in my family knew I was dating Robert. No one really cared what I was doing, period, and never had. Except for Robert. He cared. My mother reminded me often that I wasn’t good enough for anyone’s time, anyone’s care or anyone’s love. I was good enough for Robert. He told me so.
He was still careful not to leave any bruises on my face… until the day I got pregnant.
I had the perfect dinner date planned to tell him the news. Robert was great with his little cousins and loved kids, so I wasn’t scared to tell him. I was excited. I knew no one was at his house, so I let myself in to start making a cheesy and meaty lasagna with salad and garlic bread. I decorated the dinner table with candles and had everything laid out beautifully. I was dancing around the kitchen like a ballerina; I just had the feeling that this baby was going to make everything better. He would change. I would change. We would change … for the better.
I heard keys in the front door and knew it was Robert.
“What’s all this?” he asked, as he saw me standing in the kitchen with a deluxe spread of food.
“It’s dinner,” I replied. “We’re celebrating.”
He eyed me quizzically, waiting for me to share.
“I got some news today. I think you’ll be just as happy as I am. I was shocked at first but I think it’s meant to be. I’m pregnant Robert. We’re going to have a baby and I think it will help make things better with us.”
My heart was racing with excitement as I waited for his response. Robert wasn’t smiling. His face was stone cold and expressionless.
Suddenly he darted up out of his chair, knocking it over and stomped over to me, grabbing me by my collar and throwing me down on to the cold, ceramic floor. As he immediately began kicking me in the stomach in his fury, I flailed and tried to protect myself.
“We ain’t having no fucking baby!” He shouted over and over, punctuating each kick. “This baby will ruin my life!”
I cried and begged him to stop. When I tried covering my stomach with my arms, but he grabbed my arms away and stood on them and punched me instead. He didn’t stop until I was vomiting all over the floor, and bleeding.
As our baby bled onto the floor with my hopes for our future, the year of carefully placed slaps and punches designed to hide his cruelty, all the times he held me down to force blow jobs, flashed through my mind. What had I done to deserve it? Why couldn’t I be what he wanted? What was wrong with me?
Lying there, trying to understand how this went so wrong, I looked up at him as he stood over me, sneering.
“We’re done, Hillary. You’re just not good enough.”
“Don’t waste our money going to college, Hillary. Nothing will come of it anyway.”
May 4, 2001
FRIDAY NIGHT AND I’M WORKING. It’s all-good though. The Louis and Clark Drug Store I work at in North Hampton, Massachusetts, isn’t a particularly busy one. The “Paradise City” barely populates at twenty-eight thousand people. The teenagers I work with want to get out of here just as fast as I do, and since I’m only a couple of years older than them we get along really well.
“Hey, hey, hey! What’s goin’ on?” I hear, followed by an obnoxious laugh.
“Jesus, Tess. Can you be any louder?” I bark.
“Hurry up and come up to Dawn’s when you get out.”
I look up from the paperwork I’m filling out. “You’re going there now?” I question her.
“Yup!”
“Okay. Hopefully no one screwed up their drawer and I can be there by 9:15 p.m.”
Just as I had hoped, my lil’ teens were perfect coworkers. They had even drawers and by 9:09 p.m. we bounced. Doors locked and alarm set.
Dawn’s Coffee Depot was a little donut and coffee shop that my friends and I hung out at. It didn’t matter what time of day, it was just our spot. Have you ever watched “Saved by the Bell”? They had The Max. Beverly Hills 90210 had The Peach Pit. Well, I had Dawn’s Coffee Depot.
What we loved about Dawn’s was, even if we weren’t buying coffee, they still let us hang out in the parking lot, in our vehicles, or sit out on the picnic tables outside. We weren’t trouble makers; we just wanted to be simple “adults” if you would. Most of us were ‘newby’ twenty-one-year olds, some a year or two younger and some a year or two older.
I pull up to the drive-thru speaker at Dawn’s and order a Snickerdoodle hot chocolate. No whipped cream, there’s enough sugar in there. I pay, park my car, check my makeup, and grab my hot chocolate and cigarettes and head towards Tess.
Tess Boudreaux was hard to miss. Her long, thick, dark hair was always in perfect order. Her soft olive skin matched beautifully with her sweet smile and contagious laugh. I had first met her in my high school English class; she stood out to me because she asked me how to spell “moist.” I giggled as the memory resurfaced. We’re lucky enough to still be friends after all these years.