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What should I do? I wonder. Should I call him and tell him? I got a new phone after ruining my old one, and he’s been calling, texting, emailing. He even tweeted me once. Literally there have never been so many forms of communication in the history of humankind that a person has had to dodge just to keep out of contact with another human being. But how can I contact him now— and about this— when I’ve been avoiding him for the second half of the first semester?
I told myself that if this was positive, I was going to just drop out. And now that feels like the only plausible way to do things. I can’t be a single parent in college. I’d never have any time for my kid, then she or he would grow up with a complex and would resent me. And then what would I do? I’d never be able to properly care for the kid.
I think I should drop out and move home with my dad. He’ll be upset, but at least he’ll be glad to see me get out of my creative writing program. He’s always told me he hated that I was wasting such a brilliant brain in the arts. I could do school online and become an engineer like him. I could get a job on the weekends at the local Kroger or Target and then I would at least have benefits for me and the baby. Because no matter how good of a living my dad makes, there’s no way he can foot the bill for me to have this kid. And I’d never expect him to.
I call Jessica to tell her the results, but she isn’t exactly thrilled when I tell her that I’m going to drop out.
“Caroline, no!” she tells me. “You cannot drop out of college. You are too bright. You have too much going for you. You are probably the most talented writer in our entire program. I won’t let you do this.”
“You don’t really have a say in the matter, Jess,” I tell her. “And honestly, as my best friend, it would be really nice if I could get a little support out of you on this front.”
I shrug my shoulders, but she obviously can’t see that. “You know, my mom dropped out of school to raise me. She was a wonderful poet too.”
“Was she?” Jessica asks. I don’t talk about my mom or my dad much with anyone, not even with Jessica. So this is all brand new information to her.
“Yeah, she used to write these amazing poems about falling in love with my dad and I found a box of them in her closet after she died. They’re in our dorm now. I’ll have to show you before I start packing up. But she gave that up because she said she knew that being a mother was the only job that mattered and she wanted to be there for me and nurture my dreams instead of her own. Who knew they’d turn out to be the same dream, and that they’d be foiled in just the same way.”
Jessica sighs.
“Listen, Caroline, you’re my best friend. And I will support you no matter what you do. Just make sure that whatever you decide, you don’t decide it now while you’re still emotional and in shock. Just please, please, please promise me that you will think this through.
I do promise her this, although I think it’s safe to say that my mind is made up. I can’t possibly raise a child and maintain my status as a 4.0 GPA student. Plus, I just want my kid to have what I had growing up. It’s not going to be easy, and I’m not sure that I’ll even be to do it nearly as well as I want to. God knows my father might kill me, but, if he doesn’t, but I can do this.
I’m somehow actually excited to do this, even though I know it’s a very untraditional situation. As much as I can’t stop thinking about telling Trenton, it really wouldn’t be fair to do that. And not just because I haven’t spoken to him in so long, but also because he has a child he’s in the process of raising. I can’t burden him with anything more.
I walk back to my dorm room, deciding to take the rest of the afternoon off and wait for Jessica to get out of her classes to come and have fun with me. I pull out the box of my mother’s old poems while I’m waiting. I figure it’ll be kind of neat to show them to Jessica.
As I start to flip through them, I notice that there are more here than I had had the time to notice after her funeral. I guess I kind of stopped reading them back then because I always assumed they were all about my dad. But upon closer inspection, I see that there are a sort of thick stack of them with one of those big binder clips holding them all together.
