Kenya’s Genre/Pop Literature Writer
“I’M PREGNANT,” I BLURTED OUT.
I knew I now had his undivided attention, like when he sweet-talked me out of my knickers.
“I’m pregnant, J ….”
“I heard you,” he said, a slight tinge of irritation distinct in his voice.
That’s not the classic response when the boy who broke your virginity, drunk himself to a stupor on your squirt and other pheromonal substances that your body secreted when he was enjoying the shenanigans and went gaga when you showed a slight hesitation to jump the sack when you told him that you have just been rewarded, big time, with a bundle of joy in the making.
The temperature for the man who had a moment ago sucked on my titties and kissed me down there in anticipation of another round of filling the crossword puzzle just dropped to zero degrees Fahrenheit in a fraction of a nanosecond at the mention of the ‘P’ word.
Well, I got it. I expected it. All my friends, the ones I had avoided and called bitches and haters when they complained I was ignoring them ever since I met this Jimmy guy, had told me they would still be there when the guy showed himself out and hit the road. Now he had, and he was saying what nearly all men say, “What are you going to do?”
Yeah, right. It was my problem. How had I gotten myself pregnant in the first place? Seriously? Is that coming from Jimmy? I didn’t expect him to say that.
“What are you going to do?” I threw back the question to him.
“It’s me who asked you.”
“And I’m asking you. It’s yours too,” I said. “It’s our baby.”
“Are you sure …”
“Jeez, Jimmy. You ask me that like I’ve been screwing around behind your back?”
“No, I did not mean that ….”
“Then what? You just got me pregnant. I was a virgin.” Not like ‘I had never slept with anyone before you, and I never cheated on you, babe’ but ‘I was a fucking virgin, you idiot, and you messed me up’.
“Yeah, that I noticed. For God’s sake, how the hell did you get pregnant? We were using protection always ….”
“Perhaps the condom burst and leaked or something like I swallowed your semen during one of the blowjobs you so much like ….”
There was a pause, time which I just guessed what could be happening in his mind. Like how had I got myself pregnant, wasn’t I on the pill (maybe I lied about that once), didn’t I say I was safe (just that one day I wanted to feel skin against skin—and God, it was awesome), or seeing his dreams of a much more lissome, young and beautiful wife (undoubtedly not me) coming years later fading before his very eyes. “Well, that poses a problem.”
“What problem?” I asked.
“I have wanted to talk to you about us ….”
“What about us?”
“I’ll be going to college next month, and I thought we should take a break from each other. Like go out more, see more people ….”
I knew it. He was giving me the boot. He didn’t have to look for excuses.
Definitely, that’s what he was doing.
A fast forwarding movie of my dreams being ruined played in my mind—education, job, prosperity, and a family I had thought we’d have together, a happily thereafter kind of a thing— everything moving beyond reach forever but a mouth to feed, a body to cloth, and a brat to bring up.
Jeez, how did it come to this‽