Andilynn’s Song

I’d give you my life, I’d give you the world, And I’ll give you the best, because you are my girl...

At this moment, my mind becomes an abyss, deep and hollow, containing nothing more than that eternal echo of guitar strings and song. Ian’s voice sings a melody soft and deep, sings a song that was meant for me.

I hear this song, when the world around me silences. His voice rings in my ears, filling the silence as I’m driving to the clinic and gazing at the world through a cracked windowpane. It comforts me to know that the echo of his sweet baritone never ceases, never sleeps, to know that he will sing his heart out for me as I walk through those white halls today. Those halls are so cruel, condemning, because they are everything I am not - clean, perfect, and pure. I couldn’t face them without these familiar lyrics.

This song is the one thing keeping me company. At times, I think it is the one thing keeping me sane. I am alone now, though I have felt alone for weeks - I feel detached, single, isolated from him.

He is fading fast, and I know it.

But his song plays on.

3

It’s my song, really. Dedicated to me, on my sixteenth birthday. “Andilynn’s Song”, he called it simply. Sung for me, and me alone. I was everything to him, he said. He, in return, was my oxygen. We were sitting on his front porch swing on a late August night, and he strummed his guitar for me, playing over the chirping of crickets and the creaking of the swing. It was the first night he told me he loved me. He breathed the words softly, at the end of my song.

I love you, Andilynn.

I remember how I leaned against him and whispered back. Letting my sentiments mirror his own, letting my body fall into his. I wished I could stay in his arms forever, with the stars shining for us and this beautiful song never ending.

After his voice quieted and the night came to an end... after he drove me home in the darkness and I drifted off to sleep... I felt amazing. Ian and I were closer than ever, and I felt... wanted. He made me feel desired, needed, and the thought that someone so amazing could love me made me feel beautiful for the first time in my life.

He was my adrenaline rush, my novocaine, my secret-keeper, my best friend. We would last forever, he told me, because we loved each other more than life.

My sixteenth summer was ending. My life had reached a new high.

3

School started the next week, ending our summer bliss.

And four weeks later, I threw up.

My sister and I were at a track meet on a chilly Saturday morning. I doubled over moments before the starting gun went off. She helped me up, walked me out to her Ford. Drove me. Not home, but to the 7-11 around the corner. She bought two pregnancy tests, handed them to me, led me to the bathroom. She gestured to an open stall. I felt lightheaded, and confused. Sarah looked at me, searching me with her wide, concerned eyes. She gave me a quick hug and a gentle push toward the open stall door.

God, Andilynn. Go in. I’ll wait.

Neither of us spoke much at the time, but I knew. Knew by the way that my breasts felt sore, knew by the nausea I felt through class. And no matter how much I tried to blame my strenuous track workout or the cafeteria lunches, I sensed that something was off. Sarah knew that Ian and I had bared more than our souls to each other, and though neither of us wanted to admit it, this stop at the 7-11 was nothing but a formality.

Later I showed her the test. I feel naked, vulnerable, showing my sister this truth. My heart was a hollow void as I looked to her for a response. She nodded slightly, her shining eyes darting from the tests to my eyes, and settling on the floor.

“Honey,” she says. I remember how that was all she can manage. A single tear slid down her cheek, leaving a ribbon of black mascara. “Oh, honey. You can’t do this.” As for me, I was silent.

3

Sarah, in her strength and independence, didn’t go to my parents. Instead, we went to the doctor. She drove me, once again, this time running every red light until we pulled into the parking lot.

I remember bleached white halls, stiff-backed chairs, scratchy carpeting. Waiting in the waiting room for what seemed like eternity. Impatient, foot tapping, fingers rapping, yet dreading the moment the nurse would call my name. Walking down the hall to the small office, leaving Sarah behind with her hands folded, head bent. I remember the words, spoken in the doctor’s sandpaper voice.

Positive. You are certainly pregnant.

He handed me tissues as I cried.

3

I knew. The doctor knew. Sarah knew. Yet Ian had no idea.

A day passed. A day turned into a week, and a week blended into two. Two weeks soon became a month. Ian remained oblivious.

I spent Halloween at Ian’s house. We spent the night curled up on his leather couch, with some horror movie muted on the television. Ian stroked my hair.

I love you, Andilynn.

This time, I did not whisper back. I inhaled, exhaled, fought back tears.

I’m pregnant.

The words came out broken, interrupted, three syllables shattered into a thousand. Ian only looked at me. His dark eyes rested on me, rarely blinking. My heart pounded.

You’re not having a baby, Andilynn. You can’t, damn it.

Now it was my turn to stare. I turned to him, my eyes searching - for what, I did not know. I bit my lip hard, so hard I drew blood. My eyes remained focused on Ian, wondering if there was any warmth left within him. After all the moments we had spent together, all the times we had spoken of our love for each other.. he had become a stranger. I didn’t recognize this side of him, this cursing voice could not be the same one that once sung my song. Had we lost everything?

I wanted to find warmth, comfort in Ian, but I never found it. I unwrapped myself from his afgan, separated myself from his gaze, and walked into the frigid air. I didn’t bother to take my shoes, my coat, my gloves. I found comfort in the harsh October air - a biting cold wind was much warmer than the eyes of my Ian.

That night, the darkness escorted me home. I let myself into the house at some ungodly hour of the night and listened to my own sobs echo from the empty stairwell until I collapsed, exhausted, into slumber.

3

In the days that followed, Ian made it clear to me that I was not going to have a child. He told me he loved me, and asked if I loved him.

Yes, Ian, I’ll always love you. You know that.

But I tired quickly of our endless debates. I began to feel I would never win.

If you loved me, if you cared about yourself, you’d let us both keep living our lives like friggin’ normal high-schoolers. We’re too young to parent. You know we could never do this. This is supposed to be the best time of our lives, Andilynn, and you shouldn’t waste it carrying around some baby we don’t even want!

I remember the finality of his words, and the everlasting silence that ensued. I can remember Ian’s voice, along with the anger and pain that contorted his face so uncharacteristically. I remember. . .

3

And now, in the present moment, the honk of a horn draws me out of my memories. I realize I’m driving halfway over the center line. Oh, God. I swerve back into my own lane, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white. I’ve forgotten, if only for a moment, that I’m driving for two.

Ian wants this abortion; I do not. What I want is Ian. I want him to love me, to hold me close like he used to, before my pregnancy pushed him away. I want him to find me beautiful, to tell me how much he cares. I can’t help but think that if I do what he wants, he’ll want me again. If I do what he wants, maybe we can reclaim the bliss of my sixteenth summer.

I realize I’m going ten miles slower than the surrounding traffic, but I don’t care. Sarah is meeting me there, she made the appointment. She agrees with Ian. I’ve met with my counselor, she has told me what will happen. I breathe deeply, reminding myself of Ian’s words. I know I do not want an abortion, but Ian does, and this is the one way that I can have the thing I want more than anything.

What I want - what I want more than anything - is to hear him sing me my song. Not in my mind, and not in my memories. I want to really hear those lyrics again, see him strumming his guitar to the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard.

I’d give you my life, I’d give you the world, And I’ll give you the best, because you are my girl...

You are my sunrise and my midnight skies. I’ll love you forever, even when we’re apart, Andilynn, you will always be in my heart.

3

Suddenly I start to cry. Tears are streaming from my eyes in a torrential downpour and I can barely see the road in front of me. I pull over to the shoulder and lean my head against the steering wheel. Curled up in my seat, I cry until my heart is wrenched with pain and my upholstered seats are soaked with saltwater. My whole body shakes as the sobs wrack my shoulders and floods of tears leave me gasping for air.

Had I never heard the words of my own song before?

I realize then, pulled over on the side of the interstate ten minutes from the abortion clinic, that I cannot do this. The message is clear to me, through the words of Ian’s song.

I’d give you my life, I’d give you the world, And I’ll give you the best, because you are my girl...

This child... this child is growing within me and I will give her the best, because she is my girl. I will give her life.

I have Ian’s words on my side. I do not need Ian’s permission.

Looking through reddened eyes and a cracked windshield, I feel somehow broken. But I know what I need to do, and that knowledge gives me strength.

I take out my cell phone, and call Sarah at the clinic.

“Honey.” It’s all I can manage to choke out, as a single tear slides down my face. “Oh, honey. I can’t do this.”

3

Once, Ian wrote a love song for me. He told me he would give me the best. In seven months, I’m going to give birth to a daughter. Though it isn’t likely that I will be able to keep her, I will hold her, and I will sing to her.

I will tell her that I will give her the best, that I will love her forever. And that, though we may be apart, she will always be in my heart.

It turns out, Ian wasn’t the only one with a love song to sing.

By Katy Brandl, Honors Lang & Lit hr 2