Chapter 2: Well maybe I should tell someone?

So here I am. I’m 14. It’s 8th grade. ahhhh that is wild to think about. I was a baby. Have I mentioned that yet? A child.

I hated school. Seriously hatedddddd it. And school hated me. Or teachers. Or the system. Whatever. I had spent the last 8 years acting out in very minor ways and 8th grade I ended up way behind in school. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I spent the entirety of classes just doodling and day dreaming. Obviously all my test scores were very low. On top of that, I really didn’t have any friends. Like right now, I’m trying to think back to middle school and I honestly never want to run in to anyone I knew in middle school ever again. Unfortunately Nashville’s a pretty small town masquerading as a city so it’s bound to happen eventually.

So basically I was dying to get out of there as fast as I could. Well somehow, and I honestly don’t know how, but I convinced my parents to let me be homeschooled. I remember leaving on the last day before Christmas break, of 8th grade and being like ya, I’m never coming back to this shit hole. And you guessed it, I never did.

hahaha looking back on this, I see my 6-ness majorly showing, I was so suspicious of e v e r y o n e. Anyway…

So my parents let me be homeschooled. And it was sometime over that break that I got pregnant. Off to a great start here, aren’t we?! I must have found out I was pregnant in late January ish, and then rolls around the Super Bowl.

Obviously, I knew I had to tell an actual adult that I was pregnant. Sure my friends were like 16, 17, 18+ but as all real adults know, that’s not a real adult. SO! I had to tell my mom. There was no way around it. Here was my plan… Leave her a note and basically never come home. Well, not never, but delay it as long as I could. In my head, she’d read it on Friday night, this would give her time to cool off.. like 48 hours.. and eventually when she was over wanting to kill me, I could come home and we’d have a normal conversation about it. Yes, that’s right, a “normal” conversation about your 14 yr old daughter being knocked up. Wow. A kid can dream, right?

So that’s what I did. I left her a note. I stayed out of the house with some girl friends. There’s actually a very cute pic of us all like 5 of us in the bed drinking Pepsis. I had a pit in my stomach the whole weekend. Or maybe I was just nauseas because ya know, I was pregnant, we’ll never know. My mom called basically just to check on me, but I guess she still hadn’t found the note. Finally on Sunday I went home but I took friends with me, You know, as back up, so at least I’d have witnesses for when my parents murdered me. We all watched the Super Bowl and everything was mostly normal. No one said a word. I even had a mostly normal Monday the next day.

Then Monday afternoon rolls around. I’m watching Gilmore Girls on the couch (best show of my teen years btw). It’s like 4:30 pm. My mom comes in. She crouches down near the couch and very quietly asks me if the note was real. My dad was in the house and she didn’t want him to hear us.

I started crying and nodded my head yes. She said, let’s go in your room and talk about this. So we did. And as you can imagine, we both cried… err, um, sobbed, really. And all I really remember was that she said just this…

“Not that I think you’re old enough to decide, but what do you want to do about this?”

And I just told her, “I want to keep have it and give it up for adoption.”

My mom crying more, “I think that’s a good idea.”

LOVE,

MEL BELL SHEFF

P.S. a while before this took place, my mom’s dad aka my Popa, had called my mom and asked if all the girls were ok. He’d had a dream that this was taking place. Weird, right?