With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo

 

I Been Grown

Here’s the thing: These teachers forget that I have to make hard decisions every day. That I’ve been doing that for almost three years and that I know when they are trying to convince me to do something they think is right without them knowing my situation. I’ve had to decide whether it was better to breastfeed or wean Babygirl early so I wasn’t dripping milk in class. Whether I should tell my father how I feel about his absence or suck it up and be thankful that at least I have a father. Whether it’s safe to send my daughter to a daycare I don’t know, or try to coax ’Buela to raise a toddler when she’s tired and has other obligations.

Whether I should have had a baby.

And that was probably the hardest decision I’ve ever made. No one had the right answers; no one knew if I could cut it as a mom or if I should give the baby up for adoption. If I should have aborted her. For all his faults, Tyrone never pushed me in any direction. His parents wanted the baby gone, but Tyrone told me I should decide. ’Buela cried the night I told her I was pregnant, big, silent sobs, and I know it was partly for me and partly for her—she’d thought she’d raised her last child.

“Emoni, pregúntate, are you ready? If you have this baby, your life will no longer be about you. Every decision you make will have to include this child. You can’t be selfish anymore; you can’t put your wants above the baby’s. This is the last time someone will ask you what you want before asking you what your baby needs. Piénsalo bien.”

’Buela is a soft Catholic. She believes in the teachings of God, but she doesn’t push her religion on people. I went to church with her on Sundays, but she didn’t force me to do communion or confirmation. And she didn’t force me to keep the baby. She just held my hand and told me to think about what it would mean. I was fourteen; I had no idea what it would mean.

Julio was silent when I told him over the phone. Finally he asked me to put ’Buela on, and she took the phone into her room. We never talked about my pregnancy again. He didn’t ask if I would keep the baby or not.

Without telling anyone, I went to the free clinic. I sat in the plastic chair. I didn’t have a big belly yet, no swollen feet, no one kicking inside me reminding me of their presence. I didn’t have anything but a pee test and a missed period as evidence of a baby. The nurses at the clinic were so nice. The doctor treated me like a full adult and told me all the options, all the risks, all the procedures. She didn’t push anything on me, and she also didn’t pity me.

And the only question I kept asking myself was, “Can I do this?” And I realized there wasn’t going to be a perfect answer, only the right answer for me.