Too young

flash fiction

Too young, said the parents, when the test came back positive. Mum cried for three hours ‘cause her baby was ruined. Dad looked out of the window, his hands thrust deep in his pockets and nodded when asked, “Isn’t that right George?”

Too stupid, said Grandma, who remembered shame and the four-month stay with an imaginary aunt. A girl, they said, best not to hold her, or see her, best not to get attached.

Too much, said the boyfriend, who already had a necklace of love-bites from the replacement, was only fourteen and had a choice.

Too bad, said the girlfriends, who whispered ‘guess what…’, pointed the finger and bitched, and slowly stopped coming around.

Two o clock said the doctor, a small clinic on the outskirts, very discrete. He was sympathetic, understanding, compassionate, to Mum.

Too sinful read the placards carried by the pro-life demonstrators patrolling the gate.

Tomorrow said mother, your father will take you. She’d skip confession this week, stay at home and talk to God in her own way. He’d understand, no need to broadcast it.

Too busy said father, thinking it was right but was it what she really wanted. He’d be in the dog house for weeks now.

To the doctors for another appointment. Mother held her hand and made sympathetic noises. She was so young, so vulnerable, so fix it.

Two weeks, he said, another clinic, far away, a bus goes by. He checked and rechecked the dates, and told her not to miss this one.

Too late. Her belly was stirring, the smell of food made her sick, she cried at nothing then laughed at everything. She left in the night, a packed bag and a small pink teddy.

Two children, not three, Mum said. She’s not my daughter any more. Dad stared out of the window. Grandma would ring in a few weeks, when she was well settled with the imaginary aunt.