The Deep Impossible

January 21, 2010
Rape. It was one of the most unspeakable crimes. Most people-not just woman- that got raped, would never tell a soul. They would live in there own little worlds for months, and sometimes even years, secluding themselves from the rest of the world.

I didn’t have the chance. Because the minute I even thought of doing that, I found out much worse news, something that couldn’t be hidden for long. Now by any one person.

I was pregnant.

It did surprise me at first. But then the surprised feeling left, and it was the frightening feeling of knowing that my child’s father was a rapist, a monster. But soon even that feeling went away. And now it was the feeling of, how was I going to take care of a child? A baby? It was an almost impossible task. But then I thought, of a task that was just about one hundred times more impossible. I still had to tell my parents.

At the time my parents we not doing well in there marriage. And the word divorce was floating around like you would say something happy. So truthfully I didn’t know what kind of affect this news was going to have on the family.

It was raining that day; I was shaking, as I walked into our families beautiful home. We weren’t rich, but we did have money. When I walked in, the sound of Nightwish’s music played in our kitchen. And I knew right away what that ment; mother was doing the only thing that made her happy. Cooking. And when I say the only thing, I really mean the only thing. When she’s cooking she has no time for the family. But personally o didn’t think this was the kind of thing that could wait for after dinner.

I walked into the kitchen, the smell of my favorite food-stake, potatoes, and green bean caesural-filled the kitchen. It was one of the most beautiful smells that you could even smell. I took a turn around our island in the middle of the kitchen and walked toward my mom where she was chopping carets.

“Hey mom.” I said. I guess that if I started off on a good note with her, she wouldn’t be totally mad. “I got an A on my English test.” I said. Which was actually nothing knew, I was good at school, but I never really shared that with my parents.

My mother did say anything. She was in her own little world. It was like my presence of being that wasn’t real. That I was really somewhere else and she couldn’t see me.

“Um...” I started. “Mom, I have something I need to tell you.”

She slammed the knife down on the cutting board. And I could tell that she wasn’t happy with me interrupting her. “What, Katie? What is so important that you have to stop me in the middle of doing the only thing that makes me happy?” Tears started to swell up in my eyes, but before I could tell her about the baby she started talking again. “Really Katie? Really? I mean you know that I hate when people do that. I have told you and your brother, Jack, that for your whole lives. I mean come on.”

Tears were running down my face by this time. Everything she was saying what true but… I thought this would be important enough to stop her. I guess I was wrong. “I’m sorry I interrupted you.” Now I was sobbing as I ran up to my room on the top floor of our home. I ran into my room and slammed the door. I was screaming now, screaming tears of a pregnant rape victim.

I cried for hours that day. And the one thing that made my heart cry even louder is that I’m sure my mother heard me, and all she probably thought was ‘Its just PMS.’ That’s what she always thought.

“Can I come in?” I heard a voice say. But no, it wasn’t my mother, it was far from it. The person at the door was my brother Jack. We were close, very close.

When I didn’t answer he walked in. “Hey, Katie.” He could tell I had been crying, or should I say sobbing. “So what’s your problem?” Our family wasn’t a family known for sympathy.

I took a deep breath. I knew when know one else would listen, Jack would. So I looked into his eyes, and only said the outer part of the problem. “I was raped.” I said. His brown eyes got big and his fist clinched together.

“By who?” His voice what raspy and hollow.

“I don’t know.”

“Ok, didn’t you tell mom?” He asked.

Again tears started to flow from my face. “No. Because that…” I stopped. “I tried but she was cooking.” He understood right away.

“Ok, well if she was like that them she doesn’t deserve to know.” He said. I gave him a sourer look.

“Yeah, that won’t exactly work.”

“Why is that?”

“Mostly,” I said. “Because I’m pregnant.”

He sat on my bed for moment stunned. He didn’t say anything for a very long time. “We’ll get thru it.” Were his first words. “You’ll be a great mother, if you keep it.”

I touched my stomach. Something told me keep this baby, but I knew that I probably would hate part of it in my heart to. “I’m keeping it.” I said.

I next few months went by as follows:

I told my parents, they spazzed just as much as I thought they would. People looked at me weird, well mostly the kids at my high school. I was 16 and pregnant. I guess people saw me as a threat, whatever.

I went to find out the sex when I was five and a half months. I was going to have a little girl.

“What should I name her?” I asked Jack when we had a sister brother day out.

“I don’t know.” He looked over at the river we were picnicking by. “Name her River.”

I snorted at the thought. But as I kept saying the thought in my head, I liked it even more. “River.” I said.

When I went into labor two months later I was ready for baby River. I knew she was going to be beautiful. And as a surprise to me, I didn’t hate her, not one bit. Because she wasn’t just the man who raped me’s daughter, she was mine also and that’s all that matters.

When I first saw her, she was the light of the room. All that matters what her. And my firsts words to her were, “Hello River, I’m your mommy.”

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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Sketched97 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 22, 2012 at 11:58 pm
 As a rape victim myself this isn't all working for me, especially when she just says "I was raped" to her brother like it's no big deal. A year later I still can't say those words, let alone to my brother. That being said, even I would have trouble getting what it's really like written down. It's tricky.  I think in spite of that it's still pretty well written and very touching.
twiwrite said...
Mar. 1, 2010 at 2:56 pm
it was sad at the beginning but had a beautiful end.
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