Tags:
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Literature,
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family drama,
Latvia,
eco-fiction,
butterflies,
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Sikh
Her mother switched them off.
âPoor creature.â Her mother slowed the car, and the moth escaped.
Potholes punctuated the remainder of the ride to Dr. Gottâs office. Her mother seemed tenser than usual. Isabellaâs stomachaches were worsening, and in a female form there were so many other organs down there, from ovaries to fallopian tubes, that Dr. Foster, their family physician, suggested Isabella make her first gynecological appointment to rule out ectopic pregnancy, cysts, and endometriosis. She could only imagine what her mother mustâve felt and thought when Dr. Foster even said the word pregnant . She must have freaked out. Isabella had no desire to have sex. Kissing, however, she thought of often when she saw Erik.
Her mother had told her that Oma had never mentioned to her how babies were made but that sheâd managed to make two. When Isabella woke at thirteen to blood in her panties, her mother said, Donât fret, meita . This is a part of your life now. You are a woman now. And she left a box of tampons under the bathroom sink.
âSo, Izzy,â her mother said. âThe exam might feel strange, but it only takes a second, and before you know it weâll be on our way home.â
âOkay, Mama.â Isabella clenched her jaw.
Her mother inhaled, gripped the wheel, and said, âDo you have any questions youâd like to ask me? I mean, about, you know, theâsex.â She whispered the word sex .
âNo.â Isabella wished she had never heard the word sex from her motherâs mouth.
âBecause you know it is only meant for people who are married.â
âYeah, I get that.â
âFor making of the babies.â
âUh huh.â
âYouâre too young to have a baby.â
âMama!â
Isabella wiped the small beads of sweat from her upper lip and daydreamed about being anywhere but locked in a moving vehicle with her mother skating around a sex talk. When they arrived at the doctorâs office and were assigned an exam room, Isabella said, âMama, maybe you can wait in the car or the waiting room?â
âNo, no, I should come in with you.â
âI donât know, Mama.â Isabella imagined her motherâs awkwardness making the exam even worse.
âIâll come in.â
âMama, I justââ
âIzzy, fine, go on and change and I will come in afterward.â
Isabella sighed, frustrated by her motherâs cluelessness. She wanted to tell her she needed to do this alone. Instead she said, âWhatever.â
Isabella entered the room, closed the door behind her, and put on the gown. She left her green-striped tube socks on as a remnant of a less naked world. The mint-green gown did not feel fresh, and it was rough against her skin. Theyâd said âtake off everything,â so she had, almost.
Now she examined the room: Q-tips and cotton balls, tongue depressors and a box of gloves, size extra-large. Dr. Gott must have big hands, Isabella thought, big paws. She opened the first drawer and found open boxes of syringes, small bottles with soft plastic lids, and a cream she couldnât pronounce. She took a syringe and put it in the pocket of her jeans, which were folded up on a chair with the rest of her clothes.
The next drawer was full of tubes of lotion, most with the word glide integrated into the brand name: AstroGlide, SureGlide, GlideRight. She looked at the biohazard waste can and noticed a scrap of tissue hanging out of the top. Doctorâs offices should be sterile so you forget about all the other butts that have sat on the table before yours, Isabella thoughtâlike a thin piece of white paper can actually protect us from one another anyway. Might as well be sitting butt to butt with Mrs. Mulch (who sheâd seen in the lobby making a follow-up appointment for something contagious) or Ms. Charlotte (who smelled as though she needed immediate