And then Mori, in an eerie resemblance to the Virgin Mary falling down at the cross of Jesus, comes out of the bathroom, collapses on her knees to the floor and starts wailing. 

            Ideally, this would be the story of Gertrude.  But some will argue that Gertrude never even existed, and how on earth am I supposed to write about something that never even existed?  This story, therefore, should be about Mori.  But I cannot go into Mori’s head and tell you what she was thinking and how she was feeling, so I do not feel comfortable telling you her story.  So instead, I will tell you my story, and henceforth the story of three other girls and the bond between the four of us that can never be broken.

             

We dressed up as “the Plastics” from Mean Girls for Halloween, but only because there are four of us, not because our personalities even remotely resembled the characters.  Cat, the nicest of us four, was “Caty”.  Mori, the promiscuous and stubborn one, was Regina.  Vicki, the richest and biggest partier, was the dumb one.  I, the token vegetarian, was Gretchen.  That night, Halloween, will forever be referred to as “the fateful night.  On this day, at approximately seven o’clock in the evening, Mori took a pregnancy test.   This probably sounds more dramatic than the actual occurrence was.  Mori did not think much of the test, because she had only had sex once in the past couple of months, and she had used a condom.  This test was simply meant to calm Mori, as she had not gotten her period in five weeks.  Unfortunately, as this story unfolds, we will see how condoms do not always work and situations like this can change lives forever.

I.            Here is the layout: Cat studies hard at the library.  In our room, Vicki puts the final touches on her face, ready to go out for the night.  A girl on our floor, Meg, and I sprawl out on the floor and watch TV.

            Mori, through the closed bathroom door, asks me if everyone could leave.  I, puzzled, kick Meg out.  Vicki leaves for the night, telling me to call her if there were any problems with Mori.   And then Mori, in an eerie resemblance to the Virgin Mary falling down at the cross of Jesus, comes out of the bathroom, collapses on her knees to the floor and starts wailing.  I kneel in front of her, try to hug and comfort her.  She cannot even talk.  Then I get up and look at the pregnancy test, and then at the second pregnancy test.  There is no denying it.  I do not know what to do.  Mori cries, screams “how can this happen?”  I tell her it is okay; maybe the tests are wrong, please do not panic just yet.  And then I call Cat.

            Cat, above all, is a great comforter.  She has a very calm, soothing demeanor.  She rushes home from the library. Cat puts Mori into her bed and lies with her, quietly talking. I call Vicki.    Vicki does not come home, not when I tell her about Mori, not anytime that night or the next morning.  Oddly enough, Vicki and Mori had always been the closest, but perhaps we can assume that Vicki could simply not bear to see Mori in such a state.  This is a very serious problem, after all.

           

II.    Mori’s wails have died down a bit; Cat still lies with her.  “I am going to have to kill this baby, this poor little baby that never did anything to anyone . . .” Mori mumbles.  I cannot look at her tear stained face.  I pray to God that she does not kill this baby. 

“Fuck, I have to go get my laundry,” Mori says, starting to rise from the bed. 

“I’ll get it,” I volunteer, eager to get out of the room.  I take the elevator down to the basement and slowly take out Mori’s clothes from the dryer.  I sort them into piles and smile absently at a boy from my floor as he puts his clothes in the wash. 

None of this feels real.

II.    I wake up the next morning as I always do.  It is not until I get in the shower that I realize what had happened.  I pray to God she does not kill that baby.  When I get out of the shower, Mori, Cat, and Vicki are all online, looking up abortion clinics.  I sit down without saying a word.  “I can’t afford any of this,” Mary complains.  I comb my hair, ripping out as many strands as possible.

Mori goes tanning that day.  And the next day, and the day after that.  Mori drinks that night, and the night after that, and the night after that.  “This baby needs to die,” she says. 

I go outside and run and run and run until I think I am going to throw up. 

Mori and Cat go to a doctor to confirm the pregnancy.  “Are you planning a pregnancy? Because you are pregnant,” those doctor’s words have been repeated multiple times by Mori, so that the four of us have them permanently implanted into our soul.

Mori makes an appointment at an abortion clinic, but she cannot get in there for six days.  Vicki and Cat lend her the money for the abortion.

III.  We start referring to the baby as Gertrude.  I do not how or when it started, but that is and will forever be this baby’s name.  On the rare occurrence that silence fills the room, I timidly try to tell Mori that she has options.  She does not have to kill Gertrude.  She can put Gertrude up for adoption; she can put her life on hold for a year so that she can have this baby.  “Fuck God.  I had sex with my boyfriend of two years. I have never slept with anyone else.  This is not fair; look at all those girls out there that sleep around with half the school.  Why me?” she half says, half wails.

“Yeah, fuck God,” Vicki agrees.  I sit in silence.  Mori and Vicki get mad at me for even suggesting that Gertrude should not die. 

I hate my life.

IV. Mori hits her stomach a lot.  She stands in front of the full length mirror and pounds on her abdomen.  I walk in on her one day, lying on the floor and hitting her stomach with my lacrosse stick.   I yell at her about the lacrosse stick.  I do not want any of part of me to contribute to the death of Gertrude. 

V.   The night before d-day, I e-mail a local priest.  I ask him if I should still be friends with Mori, if I can be there for her mentally and physically after the abortion, if I should request a room change, and if I had sinned for not trying hard enough to convince Mori to have Gertrude.  He never responded

VI. D-day, inevitably, arrives.  Cat goes with Mori to the clinic.  I skip all my classes and sit in church and cry for this poor child and the horribly weak sinner than I have come to be.  Good Catholics aren’t afraid to stand up for what’s right, aren’t afraid to lose their friends, aren’t afraid to act like Catholics.  For lack of a better place to go, I eventually return home. 

Mori is at her computer, Nat is doing homework, and Vicki is getting ready to go out to dinner with some friends.  Everybody acts normal.

VII.        Cat goes to the library, and Vicki leaves with her friends.  They both tell me to watch over Mori.  Ironically, the responsibility of entertaining her that night falls on me.  We go into one of our friend’s rooms down the hall and watch a movie.   

Mori complains about stomach pains throughout the movie.  She’s bleeding a lot too.  Eventually, Cat and Vicki come home.  Mori, Cat, and Vicki all lay together on Mori’s bed: comforting her, trying to make her laugh, and soothing her nerves.  I sleep in my own bed that night, huddled in the fetal position as close to the wall as I can get.  For the first time in my college career, I cry myself to sleep.

VIII.      Mori makes constant inappropriate jokes about Gertrude and the pregnancy.  She makes light of the whole situation, as if it is nothing.  I cannot stand being in my room.  I am the outsider, the intruder.  I cannot share this bond with them.  I go to church fervently, praying for a solution.  I wonder if I can still be friends with Mori and still be a good Catholic. 

IX. I wish I could talk to someone, but I promise Mori, Vicki, and Cat that this secret will never leave our room.  I consider talking to a priest, but reject the idea.  I know I will start bawling, and after never getting a response to that e-mail, I feel hesitant. 

X.   It does not get better, and I do not think it ever will.  If I cannot get these feelings out, then I cannot get over it.  I should have tried harder to save Gertrude.  I should not have let Mori’s temper and Vicki’s anger intimidate me.  I don’t know how to treat Mori, and I don’t know how I can live in this room for six more months.  I should have tried harder.  I should have been a better Catholic.  I should have been a better person. 

XI. People said that college would change me, but I never though it would change me like this.

"Gertrude" by Emily ZED.