Free Sunlight on My Shadow by Judy Liautaud Page B

self-control. All the guilt I was squelching came forth in relentless stabs. After the first time, I kept telling myself over and over, “I’m not a virgin anymore.” My soul was blackened with mortal sin. I don’t know why I expected to have self-control. I never set out telling myself I wouldn’t do it. It just kind of happened. I didn’t think ahead. But yet, I beat myself up with my lack of self-control. It started back in second grade when I got those black marks on my report card for “lacks self-control” because I was talking to my neighbour. It was a long-lasting character flaw, branded right into my heart.
    Now the real arrow struck the center of my soul—what about the chance of being pregnant? Oh, God, I couldn’t even go there. Another wave of nausea stabbed at my stomach.
    I knew from the Maturation Booklet we got in seventh grade that on the fourteenth day after your period, you are fertile. When was my last period? I got out of bed and checked my notebook calendar where I marked my periods. They were always twenty-eight days apart, just like clockwork. The date circled was September fifteenth. Oh, God, NO. That was two weeks ago. I grabbed my feather pillow and stuffed it to my face so I could cry without Dad or Mom hearing me. I sobbed until the pillowcase had a puddle the size of a pancake, smeared with streaks of leftover black mascara.
    “Judy, come on now,” I told myself. “Pull yourself together. Don’t jump to conclusions.” Then I prayed, “Please, God, just this one time. I promise I won’t ever do it again. Please let me off the hook on this one.” I felt a sense of comfort and knew He would answer my prayers. Up to now, I had almost anything that I really wanted in my life. This would be no exception. I mustered up some faith and started to believe it would turn out okay. “Lots of people have sex and don’t get pregnant,” I thought. “It can’t happen to me. If I get away with this, I will never, ever go there again. I promise, dear God, I will be pure until I get married someday.”
    I felt some hope after praying. I felt that God must love me because He had been good to me. I could have been killed the time I fell out of Jeff’s Model T, but I survived with just some bruises. Even when I fell off the pier, Uncle Phil was watching and rescued me from the lake. God had been watching over me. I had been mostly a good girl too. I knew I had missed confession lately, but I would go back soon. What about those mornings when I got up in the dark, grabbed my white leather missal, and took the city bus into town so I could attend Mass before school started? I used to do that for weeks on end during Lent. God would remember that. I had some good deeds in my bank. I should be allowed a withdrawal. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. The inside of my head felt like there was a razor blade churning on the end of a drill.
    I shivered from the open window’s icy breeze as I got out from under the warm covers. I found my robe on the floor and shuffled to the bathroom to find some aspirin. I put two tablets in my mouth and leaned over the sink faucet to fill my mouth. I swallowed. I crawled back into bed. The wind was wailing and moaning, shaking the window-panes. I pulled the covers over my head to get out of the draft and snuggled into a fetal position. I lay there awake until the aspirin dissolved into my veins and quieted the throbbing in my head.
    Still in bed at 3:00 pm., I noticed that my fancy dresser had the skirt popped open, clothes dripping from the drawers. I was such a slob. The phone rang.
    “Hi, Goonsfield. How are you?” It was Mick. I was annoyed that he sounded so cheery, like nothing happened, and that he was calling me that name. It was his term of endearment for me.
    “Not so good,” I said. “I got the worst headache and I feel like I’m gonna puke.”
    “Oh, man, me too,” he said. “I think we drank too much yesterday. That was a wild