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Description
The Gypsy’s Niece
CHAPTER 12

Dear Nadya,                                                         October 16, 1991

Okay so I wrote this like a while ago, pulled it out and was like, “Oh, this is about HER, she would probably like to read it. So um here it is…do you think I should submit it? Be honest if it sucks. Please.
“Across Time And Place”

You were on the tire swing
At the park
Just a little dark-haired girl like me
Spinning, spinning, spinning
You had a ribbon in your hair
And bubble gum in your mouth
Smack, smack, smack

I was sitting on the bench
At the park
Bored, bored, bored
I had drawn on the sidewalk
With the rest of my chalk
The sun was blazing down
Mommy was drinking her iced coffee
Sitting next to me

You leaped off the swing
And fell on the bark
Got up
And trotted over to me
Put your hands on your hips
Smack, smack, smack

“Wanna look for an adventure”
You asked
Like it was the most ordinary question in the world
When to me it was the most extraordinary
I’ll always remember that
Was the first thing you asked
Not
“What is your name”
But
“Wanna look for an adventure?”

I tugged Mommy’s sleeve
“Mommy, can we?”
She looked up and smiled at you
“Are you a Rom girl, baby?”
You solemnly answered
“Yes, ma’am”
I had found
My soul sister in Albany

10 years later
There we were
You were packing stuff in a suitcase
Everything was in a blur
I thought
“Hell, I sure am going to miss her”

When you finished
You sat down on the bed and cried
I felt bad
That I couldn’t find the tears
To cry with you
Just stood there
Numb

You wiped your eyes
Said
“I can’t believe I have to leave”
I couldn’t think of you
Possibly being gone

Later
You stood on the front lawn
In your black well-worn tank top
That you could never stop
Wearing
Just like
Sometimes
You could never stop swearing

You chewed your gum
Smack, smack, smack
Hands on your hip
All grown up now
When did this dip
Into maturity
Happen?

All I could ask was
“When will you be back?”
“God, I don’t know.”
You answered
Then squeezed me so hard in a hug
I thought I’d have a heart attack

Then you went in the cab
Waving goodbye
Then
Only then
Did I dab
At my eyes
But only then
I cannot tell a lie
It’s against the Rom code
Remember?

Now it’s September
Those memories
Still glow on
Faintly but brightly
Just like an ember

So what do you think of it?
Oh, and two more questions:
One, are you ARE limiting the sex, right? Right?!
Two, has Harper broken up with Heath like she promised to yet?

Your Best Friend,
Cee-Consta-Constanta

Dear Consta,                                                  October 20, 1991

“What do I think of your poem?!” Are you SERIOUS?! I think it’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever read, that’s what I THINK. I totally got how it was for you when you met me and when I left…I KNEW there was something familiar about it! It was that watermelon gum, my favorite, in all its exquisite sweetness and tanginess: utter bliss.
C’mon, you MUST submit it to some magazine somewhere. I think it’s my favorite of yours, which is saying a lot. I’m not just blowing words here, you know.
PLEASE submit it. I’ll cry tears onto my dinner if you don’t, and then it’ll taste too salty, and it will be on  YOUR conscience. What’s the worst that cold happen? The reject you? Okay, then submit it to another magazine. And if you’ve sent it seventeen times and the all reject you and you feel like giving up, remember that I LOVE it.
Okay?
And as for you OTHER question…
I would love to say “none of your business” but I can’t, because you are my best friend, so it IS your business.
Yes, we’re limiting the sex. Once a month, so it’s special
I can see your expression all the way over here as you read this, even though it’s in the future. Oh ye of little faith! Yes, we do. To help abstain ourselves from the Deed, we just do first and second base until finally comes the day when we…you know.
Satisfied?
Okay, and the next question:
Yes, she finally, FINALLY broke up with Clueless. Her “friends” are giving her shit for it, though. “How could you dump him?! He’s so cute and smart and nice! You broke his heart! I would DIE for a boyfriend like him!”
It is truly revolting.
I don’t know about you, Cee…but you know “Those Girls”?
I’d like to ship them all to Siberia or something.

Your Best Friend Always,
Nadya the Sex-Addict
(KIDDING! I’m kidding. God.)

I shove the letter in our mailbox and put the red flag thingy up, hoping she’ll write back soon. Getting a letter from her is always like opening a new present: I run to my room, flop on my bed, and open them eagerly.

GROCERY LIST
Tea
Chocolate chip cookies
Napkins
Milk
Salad bags
Soap
Ranch dressing
Cheese
Frozen pizza
Canned soup
Artichoke hearts
Rice

I ring Harper up.
“Hello?” says Dana in a pinched voice.
“Hi, is Harper there?”
“May I please ask who’s speaking?”
“Nadya…”
Muffled in the background, I hear Harper asking “Mom, who is it?”
“No one,” Dana snaps, slightly farther away, but I can still make out what she’s saying. She speaks directly into the phone again. I start winding my finger through the curly fry-esque cord.
“You have not been a very good influence on my daughter.”
I pick up a faded, “Mom, that is NOT ‘no one’. Let me talk to them.”
“Explain that please, Ms. Lowell.”
“It’s Mrs. Lowell. I’m not some hyped-up radical that thinks there’s something wrong with letting people know your married in your name.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you, Mrs. Lowell. Could you please explain-”
“Her behavior at the party which I(she stresses the “I”) threw for her, by the way, was inexcusable. She humiliated me in front of all my friends AND hers. She cut off her beautiful hair without even CONSULTING me.”
“She was the one that wanted to sing, Mrs. Lowell. I just helped her because that’s what friends do. Would you have let her cut her hair if she asked you?”
“Right. Well, we’ll see about that.”
I hadn’t noticed, but I’ve cut off the circulation of my first finger, I’m so pissed. I unwind the cord to reveal violet, the area of the color numb and sore.
Harper gets on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Oh, it’s you. I sort of figured. I’m in my room now. Sorry about that.”
“S’okay. Can you drive me to the grocery store?”
“Sure. I’ll just tell my Mom I’m picking up a Seventeen magazine or going to the library to study. Something like that. See you in ten.”
“Cool. Bye.”
“Bye.”
*click*

Harper and I pick out bags of salad in the cool, crisp aisle. It smells like a vegetable garden, earthy and sweet and fresh. It pretty much IS a vegetable garden, I suppose, only customized and institutionalized.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Harper says.
“All right,” I say, heading to the Health & Beauty aisle for soap.
I pass over the regular dove for some French Rose and Tangerine Tango stuff…Bibio will grumble about the floral-ness, but secretly like it. She should, why wouldn’t you want to smell nice?
For some reason, a pack of tampons catches my eye, and with a jolt I realize my period usually comes around the tenth.
Well…maybe it just skipped one and will come back double-whammy, which I hate.
But I can’t just pass it off like that anymore…virgins can afford that blasé attitude about it, but I can’t. It’s weird to think that I was a virgin only a few months ago…
But no…I can’t be…
I can ‘t even think the word, it’s so ludicrous. Myself and the word are universes apart, so how could they possibly be used in the same sentence? They can’t. It just doesn’t work that way.
I look up at the fluorescent lights, like somehow THEY’LL give me an answer?
Whatever.
I leave the cart and go to buy a test, being cruel to the cashier in my thoughts: “If you tell anyone or tell me can’t buy one without a doctor’s note, you will be dead in a dark alley somewhere very, very soon.” He lets me buy one, not seeming to try to scan my face for identifying features, so I decide not to kill him unless he tells someone.
Opening the box, I throw it in the nearest trashcan, too preoccupied to even consider recycling it. I pocket it and go to find Harper, who’s just getting out of the restroom.
“I think I feel a little sick,” I say in a small voice. “My carts in Aisle 13, the list’s in there too…” I hand her Bibio’s wallet. “Could you get the rest? Just grab anything on sale, please.”
“Sure. I hope you feel better,” she says, concerned.
I gesture to the blue-skirted stick person on the door.
“I’ll just be in here for a while.”
“Okay.”

It’ll be fine, I tell myself. It’ll show negative and you’ll be pissed that you spent all that money for NOTHING…
I wait for a second, then flip it over.
No.
NO.
SHIT.
This cannot be happening.
I stare at it, willing it to change color, hoping, praying, wishing desperately that it will.
It doesn’t.
It DOESN’T.
What a horrifying, impure hue. Not blue or green or yellow or purple or orange or red…
Pink.
A pink that will change my life forever.
A pink that’s bigger than I am.
A pink that I feel will consume me whole.
I never knew a mere color could be so powerful…

I unload all the groceries when I get home, this veil of numbness over me that I can’t shake off. I resolve to tell Bibio first, she deserves to know. We tell each other everything, anyway. I don’t know how I can avoid telling her this.
When she gets home I’m drinking chamomile tea, attempting to be calm.  Despite its alleged peace-inducing ways, it doesn’t prevent my building dread.
Unbraiding her hair with skilled fingers, she flops onto the couch across from me, sighing.
“Rough day?” I ask, voice even and flat., like Coke left out to sit.
“I’ve had better. I swear if one more drunk tries to pinch my butt I’m going to hurt someone. Did you get groceries, Penyaki*?”
“Yes, I put them away, too.”
“Good girl.”
She gestures for me to sit next to her. I do. In an exceedingly rare show of emotion, she envelopes me in a hug. I smell her always jasmine-scented neck, and the scent is so comforting I think I’ll cry, but I don’t.
I’ve though “I’m going to cry” a lot in light of the rather recent event.
“You ARE, though. I mean it. You are such a good girl, it blows my mind. Things aren’t always easy for you, but you never give up. I’m proud of you every day.”
I bury my head into her shoulder, feeling the heavy thing between us and feeling like a little chavi*.
“Bibio?”
“Yes?”
“Do you love me?”
“Of course, chavi*! What kind of question is that? Of course I do! Unconditionally.”
But does she actually mean the unconditional part?
How will I know if I don’t ask?
Do I WANT to know?
“I never questioned my decision at all when he asked. Did you know that? I just replied, “I’ll take care of my niece, of course, she’s kin and she’s dear to me, such a sweet little girl.’ I’ve never regretted it, not once.”
Oh Bibio! But you might. You just might.
Now I know how I can avoid it.
Now I don’t even know how I can tell her.
But I will. Just not tonight, it’s too hard. I will soon.
Soon.
I’ve never had a secret this agonizing…

Dear Constanta,                                            October 21, 1991

To avoid what I’m about to tell you as long as humanly possible, I’ll describe where I’m writing this, what I’m wearing, and other random stuff, so you can picture it.
Well, for starters, I’m wearing some black jeans that Bibio gave to me because they don’t fit her anymore(“bell-bottoms”, actually), no shoes, the headband you made me, and a sweatshirt with its brand name splayed on the front, stretched out unfortunately because…well, you probably know why.
My hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and I’m wearing eyeliner to offset the redness of my eyes, since I didn’t get any sleep last night.
I am writing this cross-legged on my bed, head leaning into a train of pillows. It would be 5 AM right now, with the bruised-eye blue of morning. Every star has been wiped clean. Pink Flloyd’s “Dark Side of The Moon” is playing.
Okay. Here goes:
I’m pregnant.
“Ha ha, Nadya, yeah right, you thought you could pull one over on me. Ha ha ha ha…”
No.
Do you know how much I wish I WERE kidding?!
God, I don’t know what went wrong. Everything seemed to be going fine, I don’t think there was a tear in the condom or something. I mean, I guess I don’t exactly know the logistics of it, but…
How did this HAPPEN? I was so, so careful, I used protection, this WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.
I haven’t told Bibio yet, though I wanted to. But I will. I promise.
Is my family(or the extended family, anyway) going to shun me now? It’s the 20th century, nearly the 21st, but our society rule is that virginity is something we can only give to our husband, no exceptions.
I never exactly though t I’d follow that rule since I didn’t want to wait till I was like thirty, or I might just not marry, but I didn’t think that would be a problem because I didn’t think I’d get truly fucking PREGNANT.
Pregnant. Pregnant. How can I be pregnant?
I’m so scared and lost, Cee. I don’t know what to do…
Please don’t give up on me. I couldn’t stand no being your friend…

Your Best Friend,
Nadya the Afraid

Description
The Gypsy’s Niece
CHAPTER 12

Dear Nadya,                                                         October 16, 1991

Okay so I wrote this like a while ago, pulled it out and was like, “Oh, this is about HER, she would probably like to read it. So um here it is…do you think I should submit it? Be honest if it sucks. Please.
“Across Time And Place”

You were on the tire swing
At the park
Just a little dark-haired girl like me
Spinning, spinning, spinning
You had a ribbon in your hair
And bubble gum in your mouth
Smack, smack, smack

I was sitting on the bench
At the park
Bored, bored, bored
I had drawn on the sidewalk
With the rest of my chalk
The sun was blazing down
Mommy was drinking her iced coffee
Sitting next to me

You leaped off the swing
And fell on the bark
Got up
And trotted over to me
Put your hands on your hips
Smack, smack, smack

“Wanna look for an adventure”
You asked
Like it was the most ordinary question in the world
When to me it was the most extraordinary
I’ll always remember that
Was the first thing you asked
Not
“What is your name”
But
“Wanna look for an adventure?”

I tugged Mommy’s sleeve
“Mommy, can we?”
She looked up and smiled at you
“Are you a Rom girl, baby?”
You solemnly answered
“Yes, ma’am”
I had found
My soul sister in Albany

10 years later
There we were
You were packing stuff in a suitcase
Everything was in a blur
I thought
“Hell, I sure am going to miss her”

When you finished
You sat down on the bed and cried
I felt bad
That I couldn’t find the tears
To cry with you
Just stood there
Numb

You wiped your eyes
Said
“I can’t believe I have to leave”
I couldn’t think of you
Possibly being gone

Later
You stood on the front lawn
In your black well-worn tank top
That you could never stop
Wearing
Just like
Sometimes
You could never stop swearing

You chewed your gum
Smack, smack, smack
Hands on your hip
All grown up now
When did this dip
Into maturity
Happen?

All I could ask was
“When will you be back?”
“God, I don’t know.”
You answered
Then squeezed me so hard in a hug
I thought I’d have a heart attack

Then you went in the cab
Waving goodbye
Then
Only then
Did I dab
At my eyes
But only then
I cannot tell a lie
It’s against the Rom code
Remember?

Now it’s September
Those memories
Still glow on
Faintly but brightly
Just like an ember

So what do you think of it?
Oh, and two more questions:
One, are you ARE limiting the sex, right? Right?!
Two, has Harper broken up with Heath like she promised to yet?

Your Best Friend,
Cee-Consta-Constanta

Dear Consta,                                                  October 20, 1991

“What do I think of your poem?!” Are you SERIOUS?! I think it’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever read, that’s what I THINK. I totally got how it was for you when you met me and when I left…I KNEW there was something familiar about it! It was that watermelon gum, my favorite, in all its exquisite sweetness and tanginess: utter bliss.
C’mon, you MUST submit it to some magazine somewhere. I think it’s my favorite of yours, which is saying a lot. I’m not just blowing words here, you know.
PLEASE submit it. I’ll cry tears onto my dinner if you don’t, and then it’ll taste too salty, and it will be on  YOUR conscience. What’s the worst that cold happen? The reject you? Okay, then submit it to another magazine. And if you’ve sent it seventeen times and the all reject you and you feel like giving up, remember that I LOVE it.
Okay?
And as for you OTHER question…
I would love to say “none of your business” but I can’t, because you are my best friend, so it IS your business.
Yes, we’re limiting the sex. Once a month, so it’s special
I can see your expression all the way over here as you read this, even though it’s in the future. Oh ye of little faith! Yes, we do. To help abstain ourselves from the Deed, we just do first and second base until finally comes the day when we…you know.
Satisfied?
Okay, and the next question:
Yes, she finally, FINALLY broke up with Clueless. Her “friends” are giving her shit for it, though. “How could you dump him?! He’s so cute and smart and nice! You broke his heart! I would DIE for a boyfriend like him!”
It is truly revolting.
I don’t know about you, Cee…but you know “Those Girls”?
I’d like to ship them all to Siberia or something.

Your Best Friend Always,
Nadya the Sex-Addict
(KIDDING! I’m kidding. God.)

I shove the letter in our mailbox and put the red flag thingy up, hoping she’ll write back soon. Getting a letter from her is always like opening a new present: I run to my room, flop on my bed, and open them eagerly.

GROCERY LIST
Tea
Chocolate chip cookies
Napkins
Milk
Salad bags
Soap
Ranch dressing
Cheese
Frozen pizza
Canned soup
Artichoke hearts
Rice

I ring Harper up.
“Hello?” says Dana in a pinched voice.
“Hi, is Harper there?”
“May I please ask who’s speaking?”
“Nadya…”
Muffled in the background, I hear Harper asking “Mom, who is it?”
“No one,” Dana snaps, slightly farther away, but I can still make out what she’s saying. She speaks directly into the phone again. I start winding my finger through the curly fry-esque cord.
“You have not been a very good influence on my daughter.”
I pick up a faded, “Mom, that is NOT ‘no one’. Let me talk to them.”
“Explain that please, Ms. Lowell.”
“It’s Mrs. Lowell. I’m not some hyped-up radical that thinks there’s something wrong with letting people know your married in your name.”
“I’m sorry if I offended you, Mrs. Lowell. Could you please explain-”
“Her behavior at the party which I(she stresses the “I”) threw for her, by the way, was inexcusable. She humiliated me in front of all my friends AND hers. She cut off her beautiful hair without even CONSULTING me.”
“She was the one that wanted to sing, Mrs. Lowell. I just helped her because that’s what friends do. Would you have let her cut her hair if she asked you?”
“Right. Well, we’ll see about that.”
I hadn’t noticed, but I’ve cut off the circulation of my first finger, I’m so pissed. I unwind the cord to reveal violet, the area of the color numb and sore.
Harper gets on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Oh, it’s you. I sort of figured. I’m in my room now. Sorry about that.”
“S’okay. Can you drive me to the grocery store?”
“Sure. I’ll just tell my Mom I’m picking up a Seventeen magazine or going to the library to study. Something like that. See you in ten.”
“Cool. Bye.”
“Bye.”
*click*

Harper and I pick out bags of salad in the cool, crisp aisle. It smells like a vegetable garden, earthy and sweet and fresh. It pretty much IS a vegetable garden, I suppose, only customized and institutionalized.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Harper says.
“All right,” I say, heading to the Health & Beauty aisle for soap.
I pass over the regular dove for some French Rose and Tangerine Tango stuff…Bibio will grumble about the floral-ness, but secretly like it. She should, why wouldn’t you want to smell nice?
For some reason, a pack of tampons catches my eye, and with a jolt I realize my period usually comes around the tenth.
Well…maybe it just skipped one and will come back double-whammy, which I hate.
But I can’t just pass it off like that anymore…virgins can afford that blasé attitude about it, but I can’t. It’s weird to think that I was a virgin only a few months ago…
But no…I can’t be…
I can ‘t even think the word, it’s so ludicrous. Myself and the word are universes apart, so how could they possibly be used in the same sentence? They can’t. It just doesn’t work that way.
I look up at the fluorescent lights, like somehow THEY’LL give me an answer?
Whatever.
I leave the cart and go to buy a test, being cruel to the cashier in my thoughts: “If you tell anyone or tell me can’t buy one without a doctor’s note, you will be dead in a dark alley somewhere very, very soon.” He lets me buy one, not seeming to try to scan my face for identifying features, so I decide not to kill him unless he tells someone.
Opening the box, I throw it in the nearest trashcan, too preoccupied to even consider recycling it. I pocket it and go to find Harper, who’s just getting out of the restroom.
“I think I feel a little sick,” I say in a small voice. “My carts in Aisle 13, the list’s in there too…” I hand her Bibio’s wallet. “Could you get the rest? Just grab anything on sale, please.”
“Sure. I hope you feel better,” she says, concerned.
I gesture to the blue-skirted stick person on the door.
“I’ll just be in here for a while.”
“Okay.”

It’ll be fine, I tell myself. It’ll show negative and you’ll be pissed that you spent all that money for NOTHING…
I wait for a second, then flip it over.
No.
NO.
SHIT.
This cannot be happening.
I stare at it, willing it to change color, hoping, praying, wishing desperately that it will.
It doesn’t.
It DOESN’T.
What a horrifying, impure hue. Not blue or green or yellow or purple or orange or red…
Pink.
A pink that will change my life forever.
A pink that’s bigger than I am.
A pink that I feel will consume me whole.
I never knew a mere color could be so powerful…

I unload all the groceries when I get home, this veil of numbness over me that I can’t shake off. I resolve to tell Bibio first, she deserves to know. We tell each other everything, anyway. I don’t know how I can avoid telling her this.
When she gets home I’m drinking chamomile tea, attempting to be calm.  Despite its alleged peace-inducing ways, it doesn’t prevent my building dread.
Unbraiding her hair with skilled fingers, she flops onto the couch across from me, sighing.
“Rough day?” I ask, voice even and flat., like Coke left out to sit.
“I’ve had better. I swear if one more drunk tries to pinch my butt I’m going to hurt someone. Did you get groceries, Penyaki*?”
“Yes, I put them away, too.”
“Good girl.”
She gestures for me to sit next to her. I do. In an exceedingly rare show of emotion, she envelopes me in a hug. I smell her always jasmine-scented neck, and the scent is so comforting I think I’ll cry, but I don’t.
I’ve though “I’m going to cry” a lot in light of the rather recent event.
“You ARE, though. I mean it. You are such a good girl, it blows my mind. Things aren’t always easy for you, but you never give up. I’m proud of you every day.”
I bury my head into her shoulder, feeling the heavy thing between us and feeling like a little chavi*.
“Bibio?”
“Yes?”
“Do you love me?”
“Of course, chavi*! What kind of question is that? Of course I do! Unconditionally.”
But does she actually mean the unconditional part?
How will I know if I don’t ask?
Do I WANT to know?
“I never questioned my decision at all when he asked. Did you know that? I just replied, “I’ll take care of my niece, of course, she’s kin and she’s dear to me, such a sweet little girl.’ I’ve never regretted it, not once.”
Oh Bibio! But you might. You just might.
Now I know how I can avoid it.
Now I don’t even know how I can tell her.
But I will. Just not tonight, it’s too hard. I will soon.
Soon.
I’ve never had a secret this agonizing…

Dear Constanta,                                            October 21, 1991

To avoid what I’m about to tell you as long as humanly possible, I’ll describe where I’m writing this, what I’m wearing, and other random stuff, so you can picture it.
Well, for starters, I’m wearing some black jeans that Bibio gave to me because they don’t fit her anymore(“bell-bottoms”, actually), no shoes, the headband you made me, and a sweatshirt with its brand name splayed on the front, stretched out unfortunately because…well, you probably know why.
My hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and I’m wearing eyeliner to offset the redness of my eyes, since I didn’t get any sleep last night.
I am writing this cross-legged on my bed, head leaning into a train of pillows. It would be 5 AM right now, with the bruised-eye blue of morning. Every star has been wiped clean. Pink Flloyd’s “Dark Side of The Moon” is playing.
Okay. Here goes:
I’m pregnant.
“Ha ha, Nadya, yeah right, you thought you could pull one over on me. Ha ha ha ha…”
No.
Do you know how much I wish I WERE kidding?!
God, I don’t know what went wrong. Everything seemed to be going fine, I don’t think there was a tear in the condom or something. I mean, I guess I don’t exactly know the logistics of it, but…
How did this HAPPEN? I was so, so careful, I used protection, this WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.
I haven’t told Bibio yet, though I wanted to. But I will. I promise.
Is my family(or the extended family, anyway) going to shun me now? It’s the 20th century, nearly the 21st, but our society rule is that virginity is something we can only give to our husband, no exceptions.
I never exactly though t I’d follow that rule since I didn’t want to wait till I was like thirty, or I might just not marry, but I didn’t think that would be a problem because I didn’t think I’d get truly fucking PREGNANT.
Pregnant. Pregnant. How can I be pregnant?
I’m so scared and lost, Cee. I don’t know what to do…
Please don’t give up on me. I couldn’t stand no being your friend…

Your Best Friend,
Nadya the Afraid