The Year of Firsts [1.6]

There's something about firsts. They're made to be special; most times memorable for either a good or bad reason. Firsts are the uncharted territories, never knowing what to expect...no experience to navigate you forward. With firsts come discoveries. My senior year, I had a lot of firsts to look forward to: my first time taking part in a graduation and receiving a diploma, first time going to college, first time living on campus...and all the other firsts that happen in college. Although there were many firsts I anticipated, there were some I did not. 

Like processing Joane having a baby with my first heartbreak. We weren't super close yet, but we did have our own friendship independent of the larger friend group. When Joane shared with me her pregnancy that summer before my senior year, I knew what he and I had shared was no longer relevant. My heartbreak couldn’t overshadow a baby. And I wouldn’t let it— so it wasn’t relevant to discuss. It’s not like he and I were still communicating. Her news had a personal effect on me, but I decided I'd pray about my heartbreak privately. The moment called for me to push my feelings to the side and support Joane the best way I knew how. 

And I had enough to distract me that year: balancing new and old friendships, making college application deadlines, keeping up my grades, working, and making sure I was leaving room to have fun.

But then June hit and more unexpected firsts came rolling in one after another. The first week of June, a few days shy of my 18th birthday, I’d find out that I would not graduate. I would have to go to summer school for the first time in order to attend my already accepted seat at Bridgewater State College. In July, I’d get fired for the first time from my job of one year. Then in August, I’d find out… 

I'd be having a baby. My first. 

His second. 

I didn’t anticipate reconnecting with him. Thoughts rushed over me and questions flooded my mind. She’s my friend. He had a son. This can't be real. Damn. Regret of my decisions settled into my heart. A battle between my spirit and flesh brewed inside my mind. My flesh wanted to hide. Erase what had happened. Heal in solace and pretend it never happened. Never to be spoken of again. 

I did what I knew best: bring it to the altar. There, I hid in plain sight— church services seemed to be the safest place to open the floodgates without fear of being asked what's wrong. Aside from the 3 people I confided in about my pregnancy, I went into seclusion. I knew the decisions I had made would have a great effect on many. And more than ever before, I needed time alone to sit and process with God without any other outside influence— I knew there'd be time for that. I kept replaying a list of people I needed to tell first before news spread like wildfire:

• Parents

• Brothers

• Joane

I knew she was aware of something going on. She hinted at it in the massive group text she had sent months prior. Although, by this time, I was away at college, away from "the crew", I knew we needed to talk and confront the tension between us. I prayed about the conversation. I repented for wronging my friend. I accepted my part and prayed my side would be heard. 

My phone rang. Joane's name showed across my Nokia 5310 Xpressmusic phone. "Hey, are you busy? Can we talk?..." 

There was no anger in her tone. She spoke, I listened. I spoke, she did the same. The conversation ended with sighs of forgiveness and readiness to move forward. But there was more to be said. "I have something I need to tell you." Knowing my next two words would bring her world spinning once again, I sighed and released, "I'm pregnant."

"Is it his?"

"Yes."

"Where are you?"

"At school but my father is on his way to pick me up."

"Can you come over?"

"Yes."

"Okay, see you soon."

No anger in her tone, still, but this time, concern. We ended the conversation in her room with Joane praying for me, just as I had done a year prior. 

“A friend loves at all times, and is born as is a [sister], for adversity.”

— Prov. 17:17