‘Sandy! Sandy!’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sister Wilson, I wasn’t listening.’
‘I think we are all aware of that, Sandy Harris.’
The class tittered.
‘Would you like to share your thoughts with us?’
Sandy turned a bright scarlet.
‘Are your thoughts so shameful that they make you blush? I think you will need to go to confession. When did you last make your confession?’
Sandy was ashamed to admit that it had been six months, ever since she had started having sex with Brett Johnson.
‘I can’t remember?’ she lied.
‘Well, it can’t have been very recent then’, Sister Wilson replied. ‘Don’t you know that if you die with un-confessed sin, your immortal soul will be cast into the burning fires of hell, where you will writhe in agony forever more,’ she asserted uncharitably.
‘Yes, Sister,’ Sandy replied meekly, ‘I’ll go on Saturday.’
Sandy knew from bitter experience that it was pointless to argue with the stony-hearted Nun, but she knew that she couldn’t go to confession on Saturday either.
‘If any of you other girls have not confessed recently, then you had better go on Saturday, as well,’ Sister Wilson commanded.
‘Yes, Sister,’ they all intoned. But none of them had any intention of confessing to Father Wilkinson, because they all knew something about him that Sister Wilson did not.
‘What are you going to do?’ Louise, her friend, asked Sandy after class.’
‘I’m not going to that Priest. If I tell him I’ve been having sex with Brett Johnson for the last six months, there’s no telling what he might expect me to do for penance.’
‘You could go to another Priest.’
‘I’m too scared, I think I’m pregnant.’
‘Oh no!’ Louise sympathised. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Well, I’ve missed two, so far.’
‘What are you going to do, have you told Brett?’
‘No, and I’m not going to!’
‘Why not, I’m sure he would marry you?’
‘I’m only sixteen, I don’t want to get married and I don’t want this baby.’
‘Oh that’s a wicked thing to say,’ Louise said involuntarily.
‘Yes, I know,’ Sandy agreed. ‘But as I have already committed a mortal sin and commit a mortal sin every time I have sex with Brett and as I am already consigned to hell by Sister Wilson, I don’t care anymore.’
‘Oh, don’t say that, Sandy, you can confess to the Priest and obtain absolution.’
‘I’ve told you already, I’m not going to Father Wilkinson, after making me do some vile penance, he would try to persuade me to tell my parents that I am pregnant.’
‘Aren’t you going to tell them?’ Louise said expressing her shock.
‘Not if I can help it,’ Sandy replied emphatically.
‘But surely you will need their help now that you are pregnant.’
‘My father would kick me out of the house and my mother would call me all the whores and bitches under the sun and condemn me to roast in hell for all eternity.’
‘Surely your father wouldn’t kick you out of the house when you need his help,’ Louise said incredulously.
‘My father would be ashamed of me and would tell me that I have brought shame on the family name of Harris and that if I should ever darken his door again he would kick me into the street like the bitch I was.’
‘Surely he wouldn’t call his own daughter a bitch?’
‘Louise, Louise, my dear naive friend, I have often heard my father say that fallen women are like bitches on heat. I never understood what he meant before, but now I know. When Brett touches me I lose all control and even in class today, before Sister Wilson called me I was day-dreaming about Brett and felt all hot.’
‘Sandy Harris!’ Louise exclaimed. How can you mention such things?’
‘Because they are true ,’ she replied simply.
‘You really will end up in hell, if you’re not careful,’ her friend asserted.
‘I’m afraid you’re right, Louise, but before I do, I’ll have to get rid of this baby.’
‘Oh, I do wish you wouldn’t say such things, Sandy,’ Louise said in obvious distress. ‘You are so wild.’
‘I am desperate and it makes me wild. I just can’t give birth to this baby. I can’t go to the Priest to confess my sexual sins, I can’t tell Brett and I can’t tell my parents. I’ve just got to get rid of it, can’t you see that?’
‘But Sandy, it is such a terrible, wicked sin, aren’t you afraid that God will punish you?’
‘Of course I am, but what can I do? I am already being punished for my sexual sins and I can’t see any other way out.’
‘But how will you do it?’
‘I don’t know yet, I once heard of a girl who did it with a knitting needle, so I might try that.’
‘A knitting needle? What do you have to do?’
‘Oh, you know!’
‘I can’t imagine.’
‘Oh, Louise, you really are naive. You push it up inside you to kill the baby.’
‘It sounds absolutely horrible, what happens to the baby then?’
‘It comes away.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I don’t know, I think so.’
‘What happened to that girl you heard about.’
‘I don’t know,’ Sandy lied. ‘But after a few months she was alright again.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ Sandy began tentatively, ‘I don’t think she was quite well for a bit, but you have to expect that.’
‘I suppose so,’ Louise said naively. ‘But won’t your parents suspect something if you are not well?’
‘I’ll just pretend that I have a stomach ache,’ Sandy said.
‘Sandy! You’ll be late for school,’ Mrs. Harris called.
Sandy ignored her mother and curled up in a foetal position clutching her stomach. She tried gently rocking to and fro to ease the intense wracking pain that she felt.
‘Oh why did I do it?’ she agonised.
She remembered the shock of pain as she sat on the toilet and thrust the knitting needle into her womb. When the blood and mucous came gushing out she had cried out in pain and mental anguish: ‘God forgive me!’ The blood had poured out of her for a long time and Sandy had wondered if it would ever cease. Finally, she had been able to stagger back into bed, but the blood kept on flowing all night until now she was lying in a pool of blood. Sandy wondered what she was going to tell her mother. She wanted to get up and wash the sheets before her mother saw how much blood she had lost but she was in such agony that she was unable to get out of bed. Sandy continued gently rocking herself and hoped that her mother would forget all about her.
‘Sandy, it’s time you were getting out of bed,’ Mrs. Harris hollered once more.
Sandy groaned and wished she could die.
‘Sandy! Mrs. Harris said firmly as she came finally into Sandy’s room, ‘didn’t you hear me calling you?’
Sandy turned her sickly, white face towards her mother.
‘Sandy, whatever’s the matter?’ Mrs. Harris said in alarm.
‘It’s just a heavy period, mother, and I’ve got stomach cramps.’
‘I’ve never seen you looking like this,’ Mrs. Harris said. ‘I’d better send for Doctor Lucien.’
‘No, I’ll be alright,’ Sandy replied. Sandy tried to keep the alarm she felt out of her voice. ‘I just need to stay in bed and rest.’
‘Well, if you think you’ll be alright, I’ll be off then. I’ll be back at 1.30pm anyway.’
‘Alright mum. Don’t worry, I’m fine.’
Mrs. Harris bent over and kissed Sandy and as she left the room Sandy let out a sigh of relief. She listened for the sound of the front door closing and then she knew that she was by herself in the house. Her father, she knew, had already left the house. Sandy lay in bed trying to gain her strength to get up and wash herself and her blood-stained sheets, but every time she thought of getting up, she felt completely dispirited and lacking in energy.
‘What have I done?’ she asked herself over and over again. But she received no comforting answer, just the knowledge that she had killed an innocent life and that she was damned to eternal torment. She thought of her un-baptised child and wondered to what torment she had consigned it. Sandy wondered if the mental and physical agony she felt now was what it felt like in hell and she supposed it was.
‘Oh, why couldn’t I be a good girl?’ she asked herself hopelessly. ‘I’m a fornicator and a murderer, and I’m condemned to hell. I’m afraid to live and I’m afraid to die.’
Sandy began to feel very uncomfortable lying in her sodden bed and she desperately needed to use the toilet, so in spite of her feelings of worthlessness and helplessness she forced herself to get out of bed. After she had relieved herself Sandy noticed that blobs of congealed blood were in the bowl and she felt relieved that the baby was coming away. She ran a bath and put in some Sainsbury’s Herbal Foam Bath. Sandy remembered that her mother told her they were on special offer, buy one and get one free. Sandy smiled to herself as she thought of her mother always looking for the special offers at Sainsbury’s. Last week she had bought three tins of Sweet corn because the third one was free, Sandy remembered.
When the bath was ready, Sandy went and collected her sheets and put them down by the side of the bath, took off her bloody nightdress and underwear and put them on top of the sheets and then she eased herself into the hot water. As Sandy soaped herself and luxuriated in the foamy water she began to feel a sense of cleanness take possession of her. The pains in her stomach had eased and she was beginning to feel a lot better. She still felt a sense of weakness and the hot water made her feel drowsy. Sandy knew that she must not let herself fall asleep in case she didn’t wake up in time to wash her sheets and nightdress before her mother came home so she quickly washed herselfand then set about washing the bloodstains out of her underwear, the nightdress and then the sheets. After Sandy had done this and dried herself, put on some deodorant and a fresh sanitary towel, clean underwear and nightdress, she took her wet sheets, underwear and nightdress and put them in the tumble dryer. Sandy now felt hungry and decided to make herself a late breakfast. She made herself two slices of wholemeal toast. On one she spread Crunchy Peanut Butter and on the other Apricot Jam. She poured herself a cup of decaffeinated coffee and took the coffee and toast up to her bedroom with the intention of having it in bed. When she got there she saw that she had forgotten to remake the bed with clean sheets. Sandy couldn’t make up her mind whether to remake the bed first and risk her toast getting cold or go back down stairs and eat her breakfast in the lounge. Sandy had envisioned herself snugly in her bed with her toast and coffee and the vision was so appealing that she decided to risk the toast getting cold while she quickly remade the bed. She put the toast and coffee on the side table next to the book that she had been reading: How to Stop Worrying and Start Living by Dale Carnegie. She read the title of the book and thought how ironic the title was in her present predicament.
As Sandy snuggled into the clean bed and took up her toast, (she always ate the Peanut Butter one first), and took a bite of the delicious wholemeal bread, she felt a sense of enormous satisfaction begin to steal over her. After a couple of bites she drank some coffee and it tasted good, then she finished the peanut butter toast and began to eat the Apricot Jam toast with great relish. Apricot jam was her favourite and she thought it tasted delicious. She drained the last of her coffee and felt really satisfied. All the pain in her stomach had gone and Sandy started to feel really good.
‘I’ve got rid of the baby, I’ve been to the toilet, I’ve had a bath, I’ve washed the sheets, I’ve changed the bed, I’ve had breakfast,’ Sandy recounted to herself with evident satisfaction.
‘Yes, life isn’t so bad. Now let’s have a little read and see what Dale Carnegie has to say for himself.’
Sandy began reading chapter eleven, Don’t Try to Saw Sawdust. As she read, she wondered how she could make the past constructive. ‘I’ve got to calmly analyse my past mistakes and somehow profit from them and then put them behind me, ‘she concluded.
Sandy finished the chapter and put the book back on the side table and then snuggled down in the bed thinking about her situation and how she could improve it.
‘I’ve got to finish with Brett, I should never have got involved with him, but my, he was pretty wonderful, but no, I mustn’t think about that: if I hadn’t had sex with Brett I wouldn’t have got myself in this state in the first place. But what am I going to do about sex? I don’t know, I‘ll have to try exercising self-control, I suppose. If I stay away from Brett and try not to think about it, I think I might be able to cope. At least, I hope so. I definitely do not want to become pregnant again. I suppose had better buy some condoms, but won’t I be encouraging myself to commit sin? But what happens if I get the urge and lose control, I don’t want to become pregnant again. Dear God, what should I do,she prayed. No, I mustn’t despair, there’s got to be a way. Think, Sandy, think, she urged herself. I suppose I could practice self-stimulation, but that always makes me feel washed out and wretched. But what is the alternative. Self-control. The trouble is, I lack self-control. When I get the urge, it overwhelms me. O God, what am I going to do? she prayed despairingly.
Sandy could feel the pains beginning to shoot in her stomach again and she rolled over on her side to try and get some relief but they only came on stronger. She tossed and turned in physical and mental torment, trying to get some sleep in the hope that her torments would go away. She dozed for fifteen minutes and then woke again. As consciousness returned she groaned with the mental agony of her dilemma and with the pain in her stomach and she wished she could die. Sandy felt wet and so she reluctantly rolled out of bed and made her way to the toilet once again. She sat on the toilet wracked with physical agony as the blood poured out of her and she passed globules of congealed blood and mucous. O God, I’ll never do this again, she vowed. Just let me get through this. Sandy wiped herself and put on another clean sanitary towel and staggered back to bed looking as white as her clean sheets. She curled up and pulled the covers over her head longing for unconsciousness. I don’t care if I never wake up again, just let me sleep. Finally, Sandy drifted off into a fitful sleep and woke several hours later when she heard the front door closing. The
pain had eased and her mental torment had just become a mild depression. She felt weak and dispirited at the thought of having to face her mother. Then, to her dismay, she remembered the washing in the dryer.
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