I answer the doctor’s embarrassing questions with shakes of my head. Negative. Negative. Negative. When required, I use words, but as few as possible, and most of them consisting of the letters ‘N’ and ‘O.’
After the Q&A session with the doctor, I’m directed to an examination room. A nurse explains how to fasten the gown and steps out while I disrobe.
Five minutes later, the doctor returns. She asks the same questions, only phrased differently, as if my answers might have changed now that I’m without the armor of my clothing to protect me.
The doctor calls for the nurse and explains the state-mandated protocol for the examination.They’re just doing their job, I remind myself as I place my feet, as directed, in the stirrups.They’re just doing what my mother told them to do. Just like everyone else.
I stare at the ceiling tiles, trying to find faces in the texture—a vainattempt to separate myself from what’s happening beneath the sheet draped over my knees. I wish I’d worn shoes that require socks, instead of flip flops. If I had, at least a small part of me would still be hidden.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, but I make no move to acknowledge them or wipe them away. I try to distance myself from the violation of this unnecessary examination.
I dress. Endure the discussion of birth control options by concentrating my thoughts on the illusory map in my head, plotting where Noah might be, moment by moment, and picturing the ocean he’ll soon fly over, the landmarks he might view from the air, flying into London.
Big Ben. Buckingham Palace. That huge Ferris wheel thing... What’s it called, the London Eye? Yes, that’s it. I wonder if he’ll be able to see the West End theatre district from the air.
The doctor is nice enough, I guess.
She does agree, at my request, to share her findings with my mother. Sort of.
“Your daughter has expressed that she is not sexually active. After my interview with her, and from the condition of tissues I observed during the exam, I am inclined to accept that assertion.”
That’s as much as she can say, she tells me, as it is virtually impossible to prove a girl’s virginity, considering today’s active lifestyles.
My mom only nods. She thanks the doctor for her time but says nothing to me that would indicate she’s accepted my innocence as truth.
Because that would prove she’s a monster?
I don’t care. I am numb. An empty shell of flesh. My heart is safer outside my body, on its way to London, where no one can touch it.
After the appointment, Mom makes a quick call and arranges to meet Gretchen for lunch. After lunch, the three of us go to the mall to do some back-to-school shopping.
Shopping.
Mom goes to the counter to pay for a deep pile of stuff she’s buying us at Forever 21. Gretchen grabs my arm. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You’re walking around like a soulless zombie, and Mom’s acting like she’s on a triple dose of happy pills.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
She stares at me, pursing her lips. Her mouth drops open. “Oh! Geez, I’m sorry. Noah left, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. This morning.”
“You’re sad, and she’s thrilled. Makes sense.”
“I guess.”
“Well, there’s no better cure for a broken heart than making Mom’s credit card melt.” Gretchen links her elbow through mine. “For whatever reason, she’s feeling generous today. We might as well fill our closets while the card is hot!”
We hit all of my favorite stores and Gretchen’s. When my level of enthusiasm doesn’t lead to a dressing room, Gretchen leads me there, sometimes even yanks me there.
“Faith.” Gretchen pulls me into a dressing room. Again. This time, she comes in with me. “Seriously, kid. Are you okay? What aren’t you telling me?”
I swallow. I want to spill my guts, but I can’t. She won’t believe me.
I don’t blame her. If I hadn’t lived it, I might not believe me either.