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CHAPTER 9: A Christmas Story
 By Jim Caple |
Previously at 24 College Avenue: Jenn Robbins is forced to give up her cherished
role as Bubby, the Red Devils mascot, and move back into her parents home when she
becomes pregnant after sleeping with Kenan Hill, her ex-housemate and star
linebacker for State College (24 College Avenue: Summer Aborad). To ease her
boredom, she starts a hugely popular blog, LongelyPregnantGirl, that charts her
pregnancy on a daily basis (Chapter 3). At the annual 24 College Avenue Halloween
party, however, she develops severe cramps and begins hemorrhaging (Chapter 6). .
. .
“Jenn, are you all right?’’
“Yes, Mom. I’m FINE!’’ Jenn shouted back, holding back her additional thought:
EXCEPT THAT YOU AND DAD ARE DRIVING ME ABSOLUTELY FREAKING NUTS!
“Well, don’t stay in your room too long. You know how we worry about you, dear.’’
“I know, Mom.’’
How could Jenn NOT know? It was the constant theme of every conversation she had
with her parents ever since . . . IT happened. They worried about her. They cared
about her. They loved her. That they knew how she was so depressed that she hadn’t
even been able to cry since IT happened. And they were there for her if she ever
wanted to talk about IT.
The thing was, Jenn didn’t want to talk about IT. She wanted to talk about anything
but IT.
What she wanted to talk about was re-enrolling in school and moving back into 24
College Avenue and maybe, somehow, some way, getting the athletic department to let
her be Bubby the Red Devil mascot again. But all her parents would say was that it
was too soon to talk about such things, that she needed to take more time to recover
and get make sure she was going to be all right, physically as well as emotionally.
“Maybe next fall, sweetie,’’ her father said. “But not now.’’
Next fall? If Jenn waited until next fall to move out of her parents’ home, the only
place suitable would be an insane asylum. She had to get out, to resume her life.
Which is why she had secretly re-enrolled in school and asked Josh if she could move
back into 24 College Avenue. Now THAT was going to be a conversation when she told
her parents. THAT would finally give them something to talk about.
Oh, she knew her parents meant well, knew that they loved her. And their support had
been crucial at first, in those first days in the hospital and those first weeks
back home. She really did need them then. It was just that she was fine now and she
couldn’t take their suffocating concern anymore.
This Christmas had been the worst. In an attempt to lift her from her depression,
they showered her with love and presents, took her to Christmas shows and rented
Christmas movies every night. They baked so many cookies Mrs. Fields probably feared
a hostile takeover. And in addition to the elaborately wrapped gifts under the tree,
they gave her a present every day, saying, “We just saw it in the store, honey, and
couldn’t wait until Christmas.’’
What Jenn REALLY wanted, though, was to go out and get drunk with her friends. To
play beer pong and dance and talk about the Red Devils national championship hopes.
What she REALLY wanted to do was get in the van with Josh and Danny and drive
through the night to the big bowl game in Arizona where it was sunny and warm and
they could drink and party and forget everything.
Instead, she had spent Christmas trapped in the house, enduring hugs from her
cousins and aunts and uncles, listening to them tell her that THEY were always there
for her (even though they never were) and listening to them eat at the big table
while awkwardly avoiding any topic that might remind Jenn of IT.
“Did you see that adorable baby at Mass this morning? Err, I mean, did you hear it
crying during the sermon? Wasn’t that an interesting sermon? About the true meaning
of Christmas and all?’’
“I saw the most exquisite nativity set in the display this year. I swear, the baby
Jesus looked like he was almost alive. Ummm, I mean the donkeys and the sheep were
so life like.’’
“I just love the Pussycat Dolls version of ‘Santa Baby.’ . . . I mean, well, not the
words so much but yeah, ummm, they’re pretty hot, don’t you think?’’
Once Christmas dinner was over and everyone retired to the family room, Jenn
retreated to her room for needed privacy. She brushed the crumbs from a slice of
pumpkin pie from the thick, black-and-red patterend Norwegian sweater her parents
had given her three weeks earlier (“It just screamed your name!’’ they had said),
sat down at her narrow maple desk and turned on her laptop. Finally. A little peace
and quiet. God, why did you have to spend Christmas with your family? Why couldn’t
you just get together with your best friends? Wouldn’t everyone enjoy that a whole
lot more?
She signed into MyWeb and went to her LonelyPregnantGirl page.
Jenn had dutifully chronicled her pregnancy on the blog, posting a daily photo of
her naked belly and writing a diary of her feelings that day. In five months the
blog had become an Internet sensation, fueling intense speculation about the
identity of LonelyPregnantGirl (Jenn’s photos never showed her face). But her
entries had suddenly ended at Halloween. As much as Jenn insisted to her parents
that she was fine, she hadn’t been able to update her blog since IT happened. She
tried a couple times but could never find the words to describe what happened.
All sorts of rumors arose in the absence of any updates and Jenn read their comments
now on her page. Those readers who had long speculated earlier that
LonelyPregnantGirl was a hoax felt vindicated.
“I told you this was just some cheep stunt to get buzz going for a new movie. My
sources in Hollywood say she tried shopping her story to a couple studios but no one
bit so she cancelled the whole thing. She punked you people!’’
Many just wanted more photos. “What am I going to do without my fix! I can’t stand
those skinny Victoria’s Secret models. I want a woman with meat on her.’’
And many worried about the truth. “I can’t believe the horrid things you people are
writing! Did you ever stop to think that maybe something bad happened? That maybe
LonelyPregnantGirl lost her baby? And that maybe she just doesn’t feel strong enough
to write about her tragedy for your personal amusement? God, what is it about the
Internet? It’s supposed to bring us together and share our views. Instead it just
makes people a bunch of cold, rude voyeurs!’’
“Oh yeah?’’ read the next comment. “If you feel that way, just go #^& yourself you
fat whore! Because clearly no one else will!’’
Jenn deleted the last comment and prepared to reply. It was time to let people know
the truth. She felt oddly obligated to continue her blog. More than that, it was
time to get on with life.
She began to write. She apologized for the long delay in an update. She wrote about
the mixed feelings she had throughout the pregnancy, how sometimes she wished she
could just return to her normal life and how sometimes she desperately looked
forward to having a child. And how sometimes she had both those feelings within the
same hour.
Then she wrote about the Halloween party and how great it was to see her friends
again and how the incredible painful cramps began. She wrote how her skin turned
pale and she started bleeding. And how Cheryl, her old housemate Cheryl who had been
so hurt upon learning that Jenn would be having Kenan’s baby, how Cheryl had
examined her and held her in her arms while Josh called 911. And how Cheryl
comforted her and calmed her until the paramedics arrived. And how all the Christmas
lights and the ambulance lights and emergency room lights seemed to swim together
until it all seemed like a dream. A horrible, awful dream.
The blog grew and grew as Jenn continued to write, the words flowing almost
effortlessly now. She wrote about how she didn’t remember much about the hospital
until when she awoke in a bed and a doctor was telling her that she had lost the
baby. And how the doctor told her it wasn’t her fault at all, that she hadn’t done
anything wrong, that sometimes these things happen and no one could say why. And how
Cheryl had probably saved her life with her fast action and how she was sure Cheryl
would make a fine doctor.
And Jenn continued to write. About how it had been a boy, and how she was certain it
would have been an All-American at State College. And how she called him Lance. And
how the father had visited her in the hospital and dedicated the rest of his
All-America season to her (she didn’t name Kenan, protecting his privacy as well as
deliberately fueling speculation as to the identity of this unnamed star athlete).
And then Jenn stopped writing. She had figuratively and literally bared herself in
her blog but now she didn’t know whether she could say the one thing she hadn’t
admitted to anyone, certainly not to her parents, and not even really to herself.
She hesitated, summoning up the words and then plunged ahead.
“And now here is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write,’’ she typed into the
blog. “I’m not depressed about losing the baby. I’m not sad.
“I’m relieved.’’
Jenn hit post. And then for the first time since she lost the baby, she started
sobbing.
Next: Route 666
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