I Made My Choice, Now Leave Me Be

Youth is wasted on the young for many reasons. One of them is that the young have all the energy and creativity to potentially make great decisions, but don’t have the mental capacity to inhibit stupidity. The same holds true for me, at twenty-three years old, depending on what side of the coin you land on. I am simply trying to make a life for myself. However, the reminder that I am foolish and doing everything wrong is never far away. My mother called me recently and let me know exactly that. Granted, it wasn’t her intention to call me up and simply let me have it, that was just the course of the conversation. As if a year of a secret relationship didn’t cause enough chaos, let’s throw politics and a global pandemic into the mix.

“You what?! Why would you get the vaccine?”

“I had to for work.”

“Why didn’t you get a religious exemption? Don’t you know the effects it could have? I sincerely hope you don’t have chronic myocardial problems later. Don’t you know it could leave you infertile? Do you think that stupid company will care about you then? They don’t even care about you now, Emily.” I’ve always hated my name, but it’s truly despicable when laced with such a disgusting venom as contempt.

“I just… I had to. I thought you would be disappointed in me if I lost my job over this.” Through defeated tears and hopeless sobs, I tried to explain that I simply chose the lesser of two evils because the world is crazy and there’s no winning either way. Lose your job or lose your freedom.

“I’m just really disappointed that you didn’t fight for yourself more.” I tried for a year to fight for myself and convince you and dad that David isn’t trying to marry me for citizenship, get me pregnant, then leave me on the streets, but you didn’t want to hear anything I had to say about that, either.

“I’m sorry, mom, I felt like I had no other option.”

“You have so many options! You just need to get away from David and that tiny town where there is no opportunity for you and you would see that there is a world of options out there!”

But that’s not what I want. That’s what you want.

The rest of that phone call was spent in silence, sniffling, sighing, and sniffling some more until I saw a dot of bright red on the back of my hand.

“Oh my gosh, I have a nosebleed. I’m sorry mom, I have to go.” She hung up after she huffed ‘love you, bye,’ with none of the sincerity I was so used to behind it. She was so busy ranting during that call she didn’t get to hear my side of the story. I relived it as I sobbed in David’s patient, loving arms:

One blazing Sunday in August, Providence called out to us at St. Peter’s church. A speaker made an announcement at the end of mass: “Anyone who needs to receive their second dose of the COVID-19 vaccine can do so today, here in the church.

“Mi amor, I think we should go get in line. This is the last chance we will have before the deadline at both of our jobs - you won’t get the bonus unless we do this today.” Of course, the money was a nice incentive, but that wouldn’t last long if we couldn’t keep our jobs, so I was eager to snatch up the opportunity for all the above reasons.

“I don’t know, they only called for the second dose, I don’t think we can get it.” David mused.

“We can go and ask.”

“Well, yeah, but what if we have a bad reaction?” He pondered, unsure.

“Well, I don’t think God will strike us down while we are in His house.”

“...Ok. You’re right, but I will go first just in case.” Ever the gentleman, David led us to the extensive line where numerous people were chatting comfortably about their experiences with the first dose or their lunch plans for the day. Meanwhile, I was perspiring, feeling lost amongst the Spanish chattering. We endured a polite interrogation about our vaccine status, scribbled through the paperwork, and suddenly, I felt the crowded presence of silence in the church as the last people shuffled out after their dose.

“Amorcito, let’s say a prayer first.” David and I bowed our heads and gripped each other’s hands to devoutly mumble our petition for protection, guidance, and thanksgiving. Even David was able to let go of his anxiety because the couple who prepared and gave each injection were old friends from his pueblo whom he hadn’t seen in many years. He valiantly smiled kept a straight face when the needle took its toll, as traditional machismo had prescribed. He toughed it out.

“And… all done! You are good to go,” the beaming volunteer patched him up quickly with a Tweety-bird bandaid and he popped out of the chair, which I was ushered into.

“Which arm do you prefer?” To intentionally inflict pain upon? Neither really, thank you very much.

“Left.” I swallowed a dry lump in my throat. It seemed like the cheerful chattering in Spanish faded into a buzz that melted and ran down the walls and dimmed the lights. I glanced at David and reached out to him with my free hand.

“Come over here! I need you.” I pouted on the outside to hide the panic on the inside.

“Oh, okay, here I come.” As I tried to wrench his crossed arms apart to hold his hand, the tension mounting in my heart, he focused on his old friend and whatever run-of-the-mill life story he was spouting about work and marriage and a new baby. I stole a glance at the needle, the syringe filling with medicine or poison or saline water - who knows - and David took no notice of my quiet, ragged breathing or darting eyes, begging, pleading for him to save me from certain death.

OUCH!... oh. That felt like a normal shot. I’m not dead yet. I’m still conscious, at least. I sighed nervously and watched the bead of blood bloom from my shoulder and quickly disappear behind Tweety’s smiling face. The sound of friendly voices returned to my ears, although still muddled because of the language barrier. I inhaled, not just to breathe, but to remind myself I’m still here, still alive! I half-turned to the volunteers to assure, ‘Oh, yeah, I’m fine, thanks,’ and we made a swift exit into sweet sunshine.

“You okay?” David finally noticed the lack of color in my face, and finally seemed concerned about it.

“Yes, I'm fine, praise be to God, but you didn't hold my hand! I needed you to support me.” He pulled me into a hug outside the car door and apologized.

"Aww, I'm sorry, baby. I'm here now. It's okay." Yes, please spoil me. I was terrified for my life and you were making small talk.

"Thank you. Are you okay?"

“Yeah, it only hurt a little bit. But right now, we’re okay. Praise God!”

If you are vaccinated too, good for you. If you are not, good for you. My family is all over the board, some who are highly wary of COVID chose to vaccinate ASAP. Others are still firmly anti-vax. I don’t discriminate based on vaccination status and I try to live by the Christian principle that one must “love others as himself,” therefore, no one is unwelcome in my house because of the choices he has made. I won’t throw away reason and logic, in favor of being young and reckless, but I won't be a ridiculous tyrant to my adult children who don't live at home, don't need me for financial support, and don't need any more reasons to be in therapy. Because of that, I have promised myself many times over: “I won’t grow up to be like my parents.”