Nightshade

It was in the middle of April. I already knew which college I would be attending, and it felt as if my future had already been laid out before me. And then, out of nowhere, I discovered I was pregnant. I looked at the calendar on my wall and estimated that whatever was inside me was a month old. Fear strangled my throat so tightly that I could not even breathe. I had already gotten into my dream school -- was I supposed to give up everything I had worked for my entire life? Immediately, I started contemplating all the options. Offhandedly, I wondered if the disgusting Chinese medicine my mother was making me drink every day would be able to abort the child.

In retrospect, I should have been dubious of the fact that: 1) I had no recollection of who fucked me in March -- which has very frightening implications, perhaps suggesting I am one of those boozed-up sluts who get hammered in the basement at college frat parties -- which I am NOT, thank you very much, and 2) the only reasons that led me to believe I had conceived were that the bloody curse had not come on schedule and the skeptical "I felt different" excuse. But nevertheless, the fear I felt was so excruciatingly real. The relief I felt when I woke up from such a ridiculous yet realistic dream was shockingly revealing.

Recently, "A Concerned Mother" wrote a childishly angry letter to our school newspaper, ranting about how tasteless the editors were for publishing two Top Tens that joked about pregnancy. My reaction to the whole debacle was rather complicated. I agreed that the offending line of "Top Ten Ways to Woo Your Valentine" -- which stated, "Impregnate them" -- was hardly funny. But I thought the other one listed under "Top Ten Valentine's Gifts" -- which stated "Honey, I'm pregnant!" -- was actually funny in a twisted, ironic sort of way. If these had been the only two complaints from "A Concerned Mom", I probably would have acknowledged our wrongs and apologized genuinely.

But what really made me livid was the condescending, hypocritical tone in which the woman wrote to us. She held us to the double standard of being immature (accusing us of being irresponsible students) while asking us what kind of message we were sending to our "young, impressionable children" -- completely neglecting the fact that we are the same "young" and "impressionable" demographic she targets. In addition, she was outraged by what one of the columnists wrote (an article about not liking boring people) -- but instead of articulating what she did not like about the column, she instead inserted a shameless plug about Project Cornerstone.

To be fair, our staff needed some criticism. A true class on journalism is not complete without learning how to deal with those who disagree about the content of a writer's article.

While we ended up writing a very professional and respectable apology letter, in truth I still felt bitter about the woman's letter and did not feel apologetic at all. In reality, I wanted to meet this woman in person and argue with her myself. I wrote an angry letter as a way to vent my irritation, which I obviously did not publish. Our adviser, who was understandably very shaken up by the whole business, became very paranoid about offending others. In fact, in the most recent issue, she was upset by how Francis Drake's column about freedom of expression was printed on the same page as the letter to the editor. Frankly, I saw that as a non-issue because Francis Drake's level of writing is leagues above the offended mother's -- what the hell would she say in response without sounding immature?

Essentially, I was just annoyed. Annoyed by all the disgusting crack-licking we had to do just because one mother was offended enough by a joke to e-mail her complaint not only to us -- but to the principal, the district superintendent, and the president of the county education board. Annoyed that we were being treated by a double standard. Annoyed that we were basically forbidden to stand up for ourselves and fight back.

Though now that this dream has come to me completely out of the blue, I am beginning to wonder if the whole conflict between the journalism staff and the concerned mother has completely gone off target.