The Morning After 

“Oh no!” Michael’s brown eyes that I loved so much met mine and everything went quiet. My lip began to quiver. 

“The condom came off,” he said. 

My heart dropped to my stomach and I grabbed his arm for support; I felt lightheaded. He pulled me into his chest and I breathed in his scent, Burberry, his favorite. 

As we dressed, tears streamed down my face. He hugged me and mumbled into my hair. “It’s going to be OK.” He rubbed my back reassuringly. But I was terrified that I had just gotten pregnant. 

It was 6:00 p.m. and I knew my mom would be home from work soon. I walked Michael to the door. “Remember to be quiet. My uncle’s downstairs,” I reminded him. He told me he loved me for the third time that day. I wanted to say “I love you” back, but I knew that if did, I would cry again. 

I could tell from the way he looked at me that he blamed himself. He kissed my forehead and gave me one last embrace before leaving. I walked slowly toward my room, feeling the tile cold beneath my feet. I got back in bed and the tears returned. 

I couldn’t stop thinking that I might be pregnant. Questions flooded my mind: How could this happen? How would I tell my mom? My dad? I cried even harder as I imagined the disappointed look on my father’s face. I had never been so lost; I had never screwed up so bad. Getting pregnant was something I had never anticipated. The idea of my life changing so drastically in such a short amount of time made me nauseous. To say I was scared would be an understatement. I was devastated. 

“Dear God,” I whispered, closing my eyes, “Please help me.” I had never been one to pray, but in that moment I needed guidance, even if it was from someone that I wasn’t sure was really there. 

I woke up to a phone call in the middle of the night. “Hello?” I answered groggily. My head was spinning. “Babe, here’s what we’re going to do…” Michael said. Suddenly the events of the past several hours resurfaced in my mind and I reluctantly listened, sitting up and wiping the sleep from my eyes. 

“Tomorrow we’re going to the Rite Aid by the school to get Plan B.” 

“What’s that?” I asked, trying to hide my anxiety. 

“It’s emergency contraception, basically the morning-after pill,” he said matter-of-factly. I had seen commercials about Plan B One Step, but I thought it had something to do with pregnant women. It was as if he read my mind. “It’s a pill you take to prevent yourself from getting pregnant,” he said. 

“But isn’t that birth control?” I asked even more confused. 

“Yes, but it’s emergency birth control. It’s taken after you have sex just in case an accident like ours happens.” 

I sighed worriedly. “OK.” The fear and uncertainty racked my body, refusing to let me sleep. 

After school we walked hand in hand down the hill to the Rite Aid. My stomach began to turn. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled ten-dollar bill. “Do you think this will be enough?” he asked. I nodded and took the money. 

“Look, this way you won’t get pregnant.” 

“I don’t even know if I a-am,” I stuttered. 

“Well, this will make sure that you’re not.” 

“But isn’t that like an abortion?” 

“No, it just prevents pregnancy. It’s the morning-after pill.” Later, I found out it takes six days for the egg to be released. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Look, babe, it’s perfectly safe,” he said. “We’re too young to be parents.” 

I knew he was right, but I still felt confused and overwhelmed. Michael’s decision was already made, but mine wasn’t; I felt rushed and unsure of what to do. I was stuck between what I knew was the right decision and my fear of the unknown. Was I ready to be a mother? No. I was 15. I could barely decide what I wanted for dinner. The pressure of the decision took a toll on me. 

I felt simultaneously angry and envious of him. He had no idea how I felt. Would a baby be his responsibility as much as it was mine? Yes. Was it me, by myself, who engaged in the act of creating it? No. But it was my body that would have to carry the baby for nine months, just like it was my body that would have to take emergency contraception. Although he was by my side, I felt alone and afraid. 

Part of me wished he’d been more understanding of my conflicted feelings. But I also understood his hasty decision, the panic and fear that come with the idea of possibly having such a large responsibility at our age. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get things over with. Who wants to have a child when you’re still a child yourself? 

“I don’t want to go in there.” I turned my back to the Rite Aid, facing him. “How will that look? If I, a girl, go in and buy one of those pills?” 

I could feel my face burning. The last thing I needed was for strangers to know of my misfortune and then judge me. I was so young. I could envision the dirty looks I would get from the cashiers. 

Michael sighed in exasperation. “Fine, I’ll buy it,” he said. 

I watched as he walked in. I played with my hair, anxiously awaiting his return. I looked around, praying that no one I knew would walk by. If anyone were to find out, the news would spread like wildfire. 

He strutted out as if to say “mission accomplished,” holding up the box as if it were a trophy and he had just won the world tournament. 

“Will you quit showing it off and just give it to me?” I snapped, snatching the box from him. I read the warning label as we walked. Some of the possible side effects were nausea, lower abdominal cramps, or spotting or bleeding before my next period. 

I still didn’t know much about how the morning-after pill worked, and I was nervous about it. But I gulped down the pill and it was gone, circulating through my body. I thought I’d feel nauseous or endure excruciating abdominal cramps. But I felt fine. 

Michael wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close to him. “Are you OK?” He asked, his chin resting on my head. “Yeah,” I managed to squeak out. I didn’t know how to feel in that moment. I felt relief but a pang of regret also lurked in the pit of my stomach. He kissed my head. 

“Babe,” I said quietly. He shifted so that we were now facing each other. He cupped my face in his hands, looking intently into my eyes. “I don’t want to do it for a while,” I said. My voice cracked slightly and he seemed to pick up on it. 

“I understand,” he said. He kissed me and we continued our walk home, silently, two kids, just holding each other. 

I worried for a couple of days: What if I was a part of that small percentage of females whose period cycles get thrown off? Would this negatively affect my future pregnancies? Gradually, the worry and the confusion disappeared. I knew I had done the right thing. 

At first, Michael and I were closer than ever. It made our bond stronger, except when he’d ask the dreaded question, “So when are we gonna do it again?” 

I knew that the chances of another condom snafu were unlikely, and I was more informed about my body and what to do than I had been before. But I wasn’t ready to have sex again. I would try to talk myself into it, but I’d lost the urge. So when he asked, I would play along and make plans that I kept putting off and ultimately cancelled. We eventually broke up. 

It’s two years later and I still remember the fear I felt. It was such an intense and scary experience that I haven’t wanted to have sex since then. Maybe sometime in the future, when I’m older and feel like I can better handle a similar mishap, I’ll engage in the act again if I’m with the right person. But for right now, as a senior in high school, I’ve chosen to just enjoy all of the other things life and relationships have to offer.