I’ve never understood the appeal of bowling. People who go to bowling alleys just accept them as is. Bowling alleys stink. You have to rent shoes that hundreds of other feet have been in and the food comes from a roach infested hole in the wall. At least that’s what it used to be like at the Northeastwood. Commercials for bowling alleys make them look like so much fun. A nice family friendly, clean environment. In reality, they reek of stale cigarettes and desperation.
Never would I have imagined that one evening at the bowling alley would change the course of my whole life. On one particularly muggy and miserable summer evening, my cousin April decided she was going to force me out of the house. “It’s not like I’m doing anything else,” I thought to myself as I rolled my eyes and begrudgingly stomped off towards my still sparsely decorated room. I had moved in months ago, but refused to get too comfortable, hoping that one day I could magically go back to my old life. It was amazing the difference changing zip codes could make. My new neighborhood was depressing and sterile. I was used to lush grass and landscaped properties. I missed my friends, my old school and my room. Now they were just a memory.
As April and I walked into the bowling alley, there was a sea of adolescent males in the height of puberty, wearing far too much cologne. We sauntered through what seemed like collectively five football squads to the snack bar to grab a Coke. My only intention was to look cute and flirt; I had no plans of actually bowling. While waiting on my cousin to get her disease infested rental shoes, someone caught my eye in the arcade. He was short and handsome with smooth milk chocolate skin and well dressed. He was enthralled in a round of Mortal Kombat with a fat greasy boy. I tried to get his attention with all of my nonchalant might. I walked back and forth, found a few games to play. I pouted loudly when I lost, and while every other troll in the arcade turned their head, he didn’t budge. I was becoming somewhat irritated. I couldn’t take being ignored any longer. I finally walked up to him and said “hi.” Without as much as glancing my way he mumbled “hey.” I stumbled through a one-sided conversation for a moment before he finally interrupted me and asked, “What’s your name?” I smiled and replied, “Nichole, but you can call me Nicki.” He was silent again for a moment and without ever looking away from his game he said, “Well Cole how about you give me a few minutes and then we can talk.”
It was only a few days after our first meeting at the bowling alley that he came to pick me up. We spent our first “date” at the park. We stayed long after the “closed at dusk” sign posted. The rest of the summer seemed to fly by but somehow lingered indefinitely. I had never met anyone like him. I had found out later that night he was quite a bit older than me, which made him even more attractive and mysterious.
When school started that following fall, he drove me back and forth, so I wouldn’t have to ride the bus. All of my freshman girlfriends were so jealous! The seasons were changing, the air was crisp at night, and it smelled clean. The leaves were brilliant reds, yellows and oranges. We spent our nights driving around, listening to Jodeci and Boyz II Men and just about any other 90’s R&B crooner group you can think of. I will always fault Jodeci for what happened that brisk fall night. In the back of his car we decided to consummate our love. That decision changed every moment of the rest of my life.
A few weeks after I had lost my innocence in the cool of the evening breeze, I had started feeling like I had been run over by a Mack truck. He was the first to mention the “P” word. I laughed it off. There was no way I was pregnant after just one time. Another week passed and I started to get nervous, my good friend that makes a monthly visit had seemed to forget about me this time around.
There was no way in hell I could ask any of my family members to take me to the doctor. We had no choice but to handle things ourselves. We went to the drug store and spent what seemed like an eternity staring at pregnancy tests. I had to pee really bad and I thought no better time than the present to clear up this nonsense so I grabbed the most expensive one, surely it must be the most accurate, I thought to myself and headed towards the register. As I marched up to the cashier I became self-conscious of what was in my hand. It wasn’t like I was buying candy or the latest issue of Teen Beat, which is expected of a 15-year-old girl, I had a pregnancy test in my hand for God’s sake! I hurriedly paid and scurried from the store. Once we were in the truck we had the overwhelming decision of what public bathroom was suitable for a five-minute wait as I took the test, since we certainly couldn’t go to either one of our houses to do this. We finally decided on the McDonald’s. Not only could we take a pregnancy test, we could also grab a bite to eat. Win/Win. I rushed to the bathroom as my bladder was about to explode while he ordered our food and got us a table. My mind raced as I sat on the toilet, silently praying that the negative line would allow me to return to a normal life. No such luck. There was no five-minute wait. As soon as I had handled my business and did as the instructions said, I was pregnant instantly. Two lines, that were as clear as day. My head began to spin, I felt like the walls of the bathroom stall were closing in. All I wanted in that moment was to curl up into a ball and simply blink out of existence. “I’m only freaking 15!!” my brain screamed while my mouth remained silent.
I finally found the strength to break free of the bathroom cell and wander out into the restaurant. He must have been able to tell the results from the look on my face. We sat there silently. It wasn’t like on TV when couples find out they are pregnant. There were no smiles and hugs or kisses. Those programs had lied. The TV couples were always overcome with joy. It seemed like it was the happiest moment of their whole lives. That is what I had always wanted to happen, yet at my age I didn’t have that envisioned magical moment. When my cheerleading coach said I was getting fat I pretty much knew I was going to have to tell somebody. I didn’t really want anyone in school to know; this was before teen pregnancy had a whole television series about it. I realized I had to bite the bullet and just tell my family. While I thought they would be angry, I didn’t imagine their reaction would be as harsh as it was. I wasn’t in trouble: I was disowned. My mother and step-father were enraged, they kicked me out. I called the soon to be father of my child from a payphone. He had met a similar fate. He picked me up from a bus stop bench where I had waited for him, while eating a honey bun resting my feet on my duffle bag full of my worldly possessions. He had called his sister, who agreed to let us stay with her for a while.
I barely noticed winter and spring that year. It was my first set of holidays without the family I had once known. My new family was still under construction. I was thinking about how much my life had changed as I walked out of the bathroom one morning, freshly showered and dressed, belly big as ever. I went to take the first step down the stairs and tumbled to the bottom. My boyfriend heard the commotion and ran down the stairs after me yelling for someone to call 911. Apparently my little tumble down the stairs had jump started my labor.
As I lay in my hospital bed, I looked over to see my boyfriend calmly eating a cafeteria sandwich and watching music videos. I thought to myself, who is this guy? When in the hell did he have time to go and get food? Shouldn’t he be watching the birth of his child instead of Dr. Dre? Isn’t he supposed to be holding my hand and telling me how wonderful I am? That’s what the men do for their wives on TV, right? My thoughts were murky again; it was too hard to focus. I heard screaming. My eyes fought to stay open but fluttered constantly; as they fluttered I saw that the medical staff had tripled in the room. I heard murmurings of “she isn’t going to make it.” Apparently my already deadbeat soon to be ex-boyfriend had left the room again. My face felt so hot, and I felt like I was falling down a hole away from the bright lights of the room, I could hear a Doctor saying they would have to act fast.
(Image: Nichole Thomas)
I died. Well, almost. I was as near death as possible without actually flatlining. I had a blood infection that had gone undetected for quite some time. When I awoke, I assumed they had finally let me take the cat nap I had been begging for. I had no idea I had been in an induced coma for days. I didn’t see the birth of my daughter. Hell, I hadn’t even seen my daughter when the doctor came in to tell me she was in the neo natal intensive care unit. Again, like the show and movies would lead you to believe, seeing your newborn child for the first time is something amazing and happy and full of wonder. In my world it was terrifying. She had an IV in her head. She was incubated and in an incubator that had a tag, “Baby Girl _____”. This was nothing like I imagined. They kept us a few extra days for additional testing then we finally got to go home.
I would’ve never imagined that night at the bowling alley a year earlier would drastically alter my life. I went from a carefree teen to an adult in less than one year. Life has not always been easy, and it is far from what you see in movies, but one thing I have never regretted was my decision to have my daughter. Almost dying was a small price to pay for all of the joy she has brought to my life, though I still use that as a major guilt trip when needed. She's now nearly 21, she has a 6 month old daughter, Aria, who is the light of my life and she is in her final year of college yet to this day she is still my “Baby Girl”.
We both hate bowling.
(Image: Nichole Thomas)
