Copyright reserved. No part(s) of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author. JEREMY by Marcie Pierson My name is Anna Carlton. I'm almost nineteen, and four years ago, I had an abortion. I think about it all the time. When my boyfriend and I were sophomores in high school, we had sex. It was the first time for both of us. He said he loved me and would never leave me. I believed him, but he was such a liar! I got pregnant in Jnuary. I thought about keeping it and delayed having an abortion. I bought bigger and baggier clothes, which I love to wear anyway, and I was sure no one would know. I finally had the abortion that summer, and as far as I knew, no one found out about it -- not even my parents. The clinic I went to said I didn't have to tell anyone, so I didn't. There were rumors around school, but my boyfriend and I denied everything. Then I had the abortion. He left town to go live with his mother, and I haven't seen Aaron Michaels since. Now I've finished my second year of college and am sitting on the porch at home, working on a landscape. I discovered last year that painting calms me. I can escape into the picture and empty my mind of problems and worries. I can imagine a place where there is no pain; no harm ever comes to the people there. No one condemns anyone else for choices they have made, and no one ever feels guilty, because in this place, people do no wrong. Only peace reigns, and for the length of time I work on a painting, I live in that wonderful place. The sound of a car turning into the driveway brings me out of my reverie. Since Aaron's dad is my dad's regular golf partner, I'm not surprised when Mr. Michaels opens the door and steps out. "Hi, Mr. Michaels!" I call. "Hello, Anna. Are your parents home?" "No, they went shopping. I'll tell them you stopped by." "Actually -- " he hesitates. He shakes his head, then shrugs. Finally, he decides to speak. "Aaron's home. There's something he wanted to tell your parents." I freeze as he catches himself, perhaps afraid of saying too much. "I'll call later tonight." Mr. Michaels turns to leave, but I jump up, afraid to ask what he wants yet desperately needing to know. "Wait! I mean, Aaron's here?" He turns and nods. "But I thought he lived with his mother." Mr. Michaels sighs. "Sit down, Anna." He comes up on the porch and sitsbeside me on the swing. "Aaron has been home because he's going to college, and it's closer to me than to his mother. He also has someone with him he wants you to meet." "A girlfriend?" I ask. I begin imagining her. She would be tall and pretty, a complement to Aaron's trim physique. I wonder if they are serious. "No, it's a boy." Mr. Michaels looks at me as if I should know what he is talking about. "His roommate?" I guess. How nice of Aaron to bring him home for his dad to meet. Aaron has always been thoughtful that way. But why would he want me to meet his friend? "No, it's his son." I am stunned. Aaron has gotten someone else pregnant? The dirtbag! I feel cheap, like an old rag, used and tossed away in favor of a clean one. I ask, "Who was she?" "You." At first, the word does not register. But then it hits hard. "Me? That's not possible." Mr. Michaels just sits there staring at his hands like he has never seen them before. "You can't be serious," I continue. "Aaron and I never--" "Had sex?" Mr. Michaels breaks in. "That's what Aaron said at first. He said it was all a misunderstanding, and they sent the wrong boy. But he looks just like you, Anna. He's like a miniature you with Aaron's personality. So even if you deny it, we will all know the truth." He lowers his voice and says gently, "What really happened, Anna?" I slowly twirl my paintbrush between my hands, studying it from all angles. "Look, Anna. You don't have to tell me. Aaron's side of the story was enough. I just thought you might want to tell someone instead of keeping it inside." I place the brush on the easel's rack and look at my visitor. "You were going to tell my parents, weren't you?" It's more of a statement than a question. He nods. "Aaron said they didn't know about you two, er, being romantically involved. I was going to leave things alone, but when Jeremy came, I had to do something." Jeremy. The name echoes in my mind. I had always told myself that if I ever had a son, I would name him Jeremy. "Where did Jeremy come from? Who sent him to Aaron? Why didn't they send him to me?" The questions tumble out like stones rolling down a hill, gathering speed as they go. It's impossible for me to stop them. I am suddenly interested in this Jeremy, who was a part of me yet distanced from me. I don't yet fully realize that he is mine. Again, Mr. Michaels keeps his voice soft and gentle. "The abortion clinic sent him. It seems the baby wasn't quite dead, and the nurse who found him couldn't bring herself to finish what the abortion started, even though he was so tiny. So she did some digging around and found out whose he was. She probably figured you didn't want him, so she contacted Aaron." Mr. Michaels looks at me directly. "Young as he was, Aaron loved you. He didn't want you to have the abortion, but he didn't know how to tell you, so he chose to ignore the problem and live with his mother. You know, if you had told your parents in the first place, this probably wouldn't have happened. You could have given him up for adoption or raised him yourself. But since you didn't choose either of those options, I will have to look after Jeremy until Aaron finishes college and can find a job to support them." The words begin to settle in my brain. All the emotions rush to me, anger at being found out as well as guilt and the need for absolution. I decide to take advantage of my willing listener who doesn't seem interested in judging me. "Mr. Michaels, I wanted to tell my parents, but I didn't want to admit I'd had sex. Besides, I figured it was all over, and since no one knew about it, I didn't want to bring it up." The words are hard to say, but giving them voice opens a small hole in the wall I had built around my heart four years ago. Like water breaking a dam, the words widen the hole until the wall crumbles. Tears run down my cheeks. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I didn't want to keep this a secret, but I just couldn't tell my parents. They would have been devastated." Mr. Michaels smiles in a funny kind of way. "Yes, at first. But don't you think they would've realized you were trying to protect them?"

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