I Did 'It' On The Weekend

(This story contains themes surrounding abortion and alludes to other mature themes.)

I wasn’t paying much attention; I was investigating how long it would take me to drill a hole through an eraser with my pencil. Small grubby pieces of eraser were littering the desk like white ants, I’d look up every now and then to the whiteboard, but it was already something I knew. I glanced up a little more, changing hands to rest my face, we were all in a trance of boredom. The topic had lost its humour as people had started maturing, anyone who was listening would giggle or smirk occasionally but that was about it. I looked back down at my eraser, tragically losing blood as I plundered it with my sword. When it occurred to me, why has it taken so long to go into depth about this topic, this was something we should have been educated about two years ago at least. Time jump, back to year eight when most of the girls were still taller than the boys, the edge of puberty. In those two years, boys did their research through porn hub and girls did it from word of mouth or googling on inaccurate websites. None of it was very effective but we all figured it out.

At the corner desk, Hannah’s hand shot up, we were up to methods of contraception. Our health teacher gestured for her to ask her question, “What about abortion?”, she asked. It was a straightforward question, mildly related to contraception, if you forget to use it, I snorted. A few people looked at me, thinking I’d just laughed at a sensitive subject, I smiled awkwardly and shot my eyes down. Our health teacher had paused, longer than I would’ve thought normal. “We’re not going to talk about that.”, he said sternly.

“Why the fuck not?”, had I just blurted that out? Everyone was staring at me with gaping mouths or shrunken pupils. I quickly fumbled to straighten my posture, “I mean, why not?” I uttered nervously, prodding my fingers together clumsily. “It’s a bad word and not to be discussed in this classroom.” He continued. I felt my eyebrows tense.

“But we need to be educated on this sort of stuff.” I retorted. I heard him sigh.

“We’re covering contraception, this is enough.” I felt an eagle claw its way up my throat and it was ready to screech.

“What’s wrong with the word abortion?” I asked politely, trying to keep myself from sounding agitated. Everyone was listening now, in particular, I could see some of the girls around me cracking a smile. Our health teacher took a few steps closer to my desk, “Do not say that word.”, he said staring at me, “It’s murder.”

Behind me, a chair shrieked against the floor, it was Claudia, she grabbed her books and marched out of the classroom. The door slamming dramatically behind her. I didn’t get a good look at her face; she’d done a good job of keeping her head down, but I saw her eyes looking bloated with tears. The room went eerily quiet. No one said anything, but we were all thinking it. I didn’t know if this argument was worth pursuing anymore, it had already escalated enough that Claudia had left. I began to dread the aftermath; I’d be called into the office, and this would be hot gossip for weeks. During my headrush, our health teacher had taken a seat at the front desk, he was blinking abnormally, his mouth opened a tad and abruptly closed. His gaze shifted to his laptop keyboard, “You can all go to lunch early.”

I kept to myself at lunch, I walked to the library and sat quietly in one of the booths. I was leaning against the wall with my knees clutched closely to my chest, staring lifelessly at a shelf of books no one ever took out. Replaying the moment over and over. I went to school the next day expecting to be told I needed to go to the office and hear Chinese whispers of gossip about myself or poor Claudia. The day happened like yesterday didn’t.

On Saturday morning, my eyes were dry from the brightness of my phone, I’d spent half the night reading and watching stories about abortion. I’d likely seen every ethical, religious and personal opinion there was on the matter. I could understand both sides. I hadn’t realised crescent moons had formed in my palm after I read about a fourteen-year-old girl, a rape victim, who hadn’t had access to a clinic or been allowed to choose. I didn’t realise I was holding my breath watching a woman plead for babies' lives when she couldn’t fall pregnant naturally. I was sitting at the head of my bed, watching my foot fidget as I overthought it all. When I glanced down at my phone; tears forming at the edge of my eye, I tossed it onto the floor. I had to do something. Something outrageous. Our next health class was Monday morning. I sat for a minute or two, before jolting forwards, I had it! Then ran to my desk and started typing.

My eraser had been defeated; I could fit my pencil through it. I licked my lips before putting my hand up. I noticed the people around me raise their eyebrows, anticipating what I was going to say. I kept my slouched posture as he turned, stopped talking and frowned. “Yes, Gemma?”

I breathed loudly in, “Did you know that erasers…” I started, holding up my holy eraser to eye level, “are called rubbers in Australia, so they’re basically erasing with condoms.” A few people chuckled.

“I didn’t know that, but thanks for sharing.” He replied, I noticed something in his eyes, a slight paper crease in his expression that told me he found that annoying. I smiled, ready to continue my speech but he turned around ready to educate again.

“I had sex on the weekend.” People gasped, laughed and one person wolf-whistled. I continued my story, “I had sex with this college guy, I think he was on the basketball team, I came about three times, and each time we did it, we kept forgetting to use a condom. And I’m not on the pill or anything, so I reckon there’s a fair chance I could be knocked up.” I clutched my chin, pretending to think for dramatic effect. Everyone sat desperately trying not to crack up. Our health teacher hadn’t turned around since I started talking, I needed to keep going.

“And as you told us, when a woman’s ovulating, they’re much more likely to get pregnant, and my app told me yesterday that I’m ovulating.” The boys looked confused. I knew I was playing with fire, and with what I’d planned to say next, I wasn’t sure if I should say it, but he still hasn’t turned around. I inhaled again, though decided it would be wise to change my manner for this next line, “I’m far to young to be a mother. I’m not financially equipped, I doubt I’ll ever see the college guy again, my family and I will be burdened, it’s all too much, and I don’t see what other option I would have…” I trailed off, finishing my speech.

He didn’t turn but we all heard a mumbled, “There’s always another option.” He’d taken the bait, not in the way I’d hoped but I had my reply.

“Tell that to any woman, who will never forgive themselves but who didn’t have a choice to begin with.” I didn’t say another word, leaving people’s minds to interpret that as they will.

(this was inspired by a teacher in year 9 who wouldn’t let my class say the word abortion)