“It doesn’t sound like that’s going to happen.” The look of raw agony on his face tugs at my heartstrings.
“Coach, I want to go to college. After that, I want to move somewhere across the country and have a big life. I don’t want to be like Alfonse’s parents, stuck in Elk Lake because they made a bad decision. Do you know what I mean?”
“I don’t think having Alfonse was a bad decision,” I tell him. But I do know what he means. I felt like that when I was his age. Kids who grow up in a small town tend to either stay put and raise another generation in their hometown, or they run fast and hard to reinvent themselves elsewhere. “Your dreams are still an option, Jordan. But you can’t walk away from your current responsibilities.”
“I offered to pay for the abortion.”
“Which Margie doesn’t want,” I remind him.
“If she has this baby, I’m going to be on the hook for child support until it turns eighteen.” The panic in his tone is evident. “And if that happens, I won’t be able to go to college because I’ll have to go to work to make money.”
“That’s why you need to talk to your folks,” I tell him. “You need to find out where they stand and what kind of help they’re willing to offer.”
“They’re going to be so disappointed in me.” Shaking hishead, he adds, “They aren’t the kind of people who believe in kids having kids. They think it’s low class. That’s why Margie needs to have an abortion. So this mess can disappear, and we can both get on with our lives.”
“Not that it’s my business,” I say, “but would you and Margie get back together if she got an abortion?”
“I doubt it.” He sounds guilty and sad at the same time. “It would just be a reminder of all of this. And I don’t want to think about it again. Not ever.”
“Do you think Margie’s ever going to forget? Even if she has an abortion?”
He closes his eyes and exhales loudly. “She could if she tried.”
I take his arm and lead the way over to the bleachers before sitting down. Once we’re both settled, I tell him, “A lot of people already know, Jordan. As such, Margie’s life will never be normal again.”
“How do you figure?” he wants to know.
“As far as the town goes, she will always be …” I make quotation marks in the air before adding, “The girl who had an abortion in high school, or the girl who had a baby in high school.” I let that soak in for a minute. “Meanwhile, you’ll simply move on with your life, carrying little, if any, stigma about her choice.”
Jordan looks like he’s about to cry. “That’s the thing, though, Coach. It’sherchoice, not mine. So why should I carry any responsibility?”
This right here is one of the many reasons children shouldn’t have children. “You participated, Jordan. And if you aren’t prepared to take responsibility for your actions, you shouldn’t have done what you did.” Hammering my point home, I tell him, “It took two people to get Margie pregnant.”
“But only one of those people gets to decide how to handle it!” he exclaims heatedly.
“Son,” I say like I’m ninety, “if you have an open line of communication then I’m sure Margie will let you help decide how to proceed.”
He stands up abruptly and shouts, “I don’t want to be a father!”
Luckily the gym is echoing with the sound of bouncing balls, so no one seems to hear him. “It might be too late for that. You need to stand up and be accountable. You also need to talk to Margie and tell your parents. This is not something you can hide from.”
The poor kid looks like he’s going to burst into tears, and honestly, I can’t blame him. No high school senior expects their life to alter this dramatically.
“My parents are going to kill me,” he says with certainty. “Either that or they’re going to throw me out, and then what will I do?”
“Your parents are going to find out either way, Jordan. And it seems to me that they would much rather hear the news from you than from some random person on the street.”
“They’ll hate me.”
“I’m guessing they might be disappointed,” I tell him. “But they love you, too. You need to give them a chance to show that.” Before I can think it through, I offer, “If you want, I can be with you when you tell them.”
His eyes open so widely you’d think he was being offered a lifeline right before succumbing to drowning. “Would you, really?”
“I really would,” I tell him. “Why don’t you have them stop by the school after practice tomorrow morning. You can tell them in my office.”
“My dad golfs on Saturdays,” he says. I know he’s trying to find a way out of doing it so soon.
“This is more important,” I tell him. “It’s the right thing to do, Jordan.” I hurry to add, “Doing the right thing isn’t always easy, but it shows good character. Good character that I know you have.”
