Families logo

A Different Kind of "We"

life doesn't always lead us where we think it will

By KayCee CooperPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
Like
Bertha in all her brown striped glory

#vanlife Not a hashtag I thought I'd ever be using. Some days it was sunsets, coastlines, and beautiful mountain views. Some days not so much. I woke up this morning when the sun started peeking through the gap in the window curtain. My little mini-me was still snuggled in my armpit, snoozing away. I gazed around the "room". Really, the inside of our van, sort of renovated into a quasi-camper situation, but not really. My mind started to drift off into that tangled web of memories I lately have been trying to avoid.

We (my husband and I) inherited this van (AKA Bertha) from his old Uncle Bob when he was downsizing into one of those senior citizen condo places. Young and full of dreams (me), along with a lot of doubt (the husband), we drove her home and began to plan her makeover. Bertha actually had good bones. Uncle Bob had spent the majority of his adult life in Florida so Bertha had never even seen snow or met salt or ice. She didn't have a lick of rust, but looked super groovy with her multi-brown graphic stripe situation happening on the exterior, landing strips of lighting all along the edges of the ceiling and floor with her seats covered in plush burgundy velour(?) upholstery. Likely very swanky back in 1984, but nearly 40 years later, she was looking a little sad.

Looking back, Bertha and her makeover was just another notch in the belt of the failure of our relationship, probably like Notch #4. Notch #1 probably got made the night we met. I was 17 and he was 25. Too much beer, friends with no sense, and a pool party with more delinquents than the poor pool deserved. I don't even remember whose house we were at, or why he was even there. He was so much older than any of my so-called friends. All I know is somewhere after 8 beers in, he and I were getting it on in the pool house. He was so handsome, looked amazing in his tropical swim trunks with washboard abs and I was too drunk to care about much more than that. Somehow during the night's activities we had drunkenly texted each other, so we had each other's numbers to continue flirting over the next couple weeks. It was summer so we spent a lot of time at the coast and hiking in the hills. Six weeks after that first night in the pool house (and two weeks after I turned 18) I found out I was pregnant. Oops.

I think back now and believe that had we met in the winter or during gloomy weather, we wouldn't have ever hung out again after that first night. But the glow of the summer sun, the long sunny days, the beautiful sunset nights, and the freedom of the warm sand and forest trails just made everything seem really dreamy. Maybe its just the filmy haze that time has pasted over the days we spent together, maybe we really did like each other at first. It seems like a thousand years ago at the same time it feels like just yesterday. Really it was not even a year ago, but man, so much has changed since then it feels like a millennium has passed.

When I told him about the Bean inside of me, he actually seemed excited (after he was really surprised, of course). My parents are super strict Catholic church-goers that always behave; he comes from a long line of hippies that just kind of go with the flow. To appease my parental units, we got married. This was probably Notch #2. He already had a small house of his own, so me and the growing bean moved in. Notch #3. I don't know that we were awash in happiness per se, but we definitely didn't seem UNhappy. I had started to imagine we might actually have a little life together. Until the belly started to *really* grow, that is.

It seemed that once my belly began to bulge his interest in me seemed to wane. I was so busy trying to fight off the endless nausea of my all-day "morning" sickness, that I didn't really notice at first. A little more than halfway through cooking the Bean, I was making a half-hearted attempt to decorate for Christmas. In my search for something akin to ornament holders, I thought paperclips would be the perfect substitute. I pawed through the kitchen junk drawer only finding one lonely paperclip. Logically, paperclips should be in a desk drawer, right? I headed to the desk next. "Desk" being a very loose term for this piece of furniture. Typically we piled mail and magazines and bills there, not really ever using it for the purposes designed. I had grand ambitions to create some watercolor paintings or make crafty things, but had been spending a) too much time barfing in the bathroom, or b) sleeping off the nausea. Yay me. But today, I had the holiday ambition and commenced the pawing around in the drawers. I found everything from Scotch tape (note to self: remember this is here for when present-wrapping time comes) to unsharpened pencils, and pens that had long run dry. I went to push aside a pile of crusty rubber bands hoping for paperclips underneath, but instead I found the rubber bands were actually wrapped around a little black book. A small journal-type book, like I used for making my little nature sketches or scribbling the creative ideas to do someday when I didn't feel so sick.

This little black book was hidden way in the back of the left middle drawer. I gingerly picked it up and looked around the room, for what reason I knew not. The husband was at work for at least another hour, who the heck would be watching me? I peeled the crusty rubber bands off the cover, and removed one still-stretchy one, so I could open it up. It looked like an address book. I flipped through a few pages. Oh boy. This was definitely NOT an address book. Well, not in the typical sense of relatives, friends, and co-workers and such. It wasn't even a list for Christmas cards. No sir. It was a for real LITTLE BLACK BOOK. My stomach churned with a feeling that was a nausea not of the baby-growing variety. On each page I turned was the name of another woman. And another. And another. And another. So many names. There went Notch #5. Notch #6. Notch #7. I thought I was really going to be sick when I saw there was even a rating system. Notch #8. Notch #9. I saw names of women (girls, really) that I knew. Notch #10. Oh my God. Notch #11. THIS was why he was at that pool party. It had to be. Notch. Notch. Notch.

My stomach kept churning as the pages kept turning. Name after name. My head started hurting. I realized what a damned fool I had been. He had been staying at "work" late and going to "hang with the guys, babe" more and more as each week passed. The last few weeks, in fact, I had hardly seen him at all. What a fool I was. I ran into the bathroom and heaved for what seemed like hours. I heard back door slam and the clomp of his boots walking through the house. My heart started beating faster. The desk drawer was left open. The black book was lying next to me on the floor. Oh no.

What happened next was like out of a dream. Not a good dream. More like one of those 20/20 stories. Pool Party Pregnancy. Ack. That was a horrible title. The Sins of the Father. Ugh. Why was I thinking about this? Once he saw me and the little book, all I could do was curl up to protect my belly as his steel-toed boot kept kicking me. In my ribs, on my legs, even once right in the head. So many more notches in that damned belt. I could see blood on the cold tile floor and just decided to lay still. I held my breath. Maybe he would leave. He grabbed the little book off the floor then clomped back across the house and slammed the back door again. My heart pounded. I laid there trying to catch my breath. I heard his diesel truck rumble off into the distance and knew I had to leave. I couldn't have my baby in this house with this monster I hadn't even known existed.

His truck was our only real mode of transportation since we were fixing up Bertha. But she was my only hope right now, I thought as I shoved my clothes and belongings into duffel bags, tote bags and even a couple of Rubbermaid tubs. I just knew I had to leave. Get out of there as fast as I could before he came back to find me again. I heaved the last tub into Bertha's vast belly, praying a silent prayer that she would start up and get me the hell out of there. Thankfully she fired right up. I just started driving, heading for the highway to get out of town as fast as I could. My parents lived three states away, I couldn't really go there and be subject to all their Catholic-ness. I was already on the edge of failure in their eyes, this would just push me further off that cliff.

Driving out of town, I was still feeling a tightness in my chest and tears kept streaming down my cheeks. I couldn't make them stop for anything. Once I passed the county line without coming across anyone I knew, my breathing started slowing down and finally the tears began to subside. I started to breathe almost normally again. It was only like 4:30 in the afternoon, and it was a beautiful day that day. The sun shone between the towering pine trees. The further I drove, the better I felt. I felt like a gigantic weight had lifted off my shoulders. This wasn't going to be easy, but I would make it happen for this little Bean inside of me. They deserved so much better than what we just experienced. Suddenly, I knew exactly where we were going. We. Yes, we. This little Bean and me. WE were going to be OK.

My tears had totally dried up now, the sun had started going down and I kept heading north. In a few hours we would be at my Auntie K's house. She lived in this amazing little beach town, where the salty breezes wafted around you and drew you to the sand. The place smelled sunny, salty, and I realized just then how much I had missed it. I called her from my cell phone, and told her I was on the way, but my phone would likely die by the time we got there since I didn't have a lighter-charger-adapter thingy. She asked no questions, just said she'd be waiting for me when I got there.

When we pulled up in the dark, her porch light twinkled at me and she rushed out and wrapped me in a huge hug. I sank into her warmth and felt so loved. We sank into the rocking chairs on the porch and drank hot tea. She never asked what happened, but the story just started spilling out. She didn't ask me any questions just held tight to my hand. So I stayed in the van outside her house at night, helped out inside as much as I could during the days. Once my beautiful baby arrived, Auntie K was right there to help us. A different kind of "we" than I had always imagined, but so much better than it could have been.

Maybe today would be a great day, after all.

extended family
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.