A Different Blue(68)

“We've written our histories throughout the year. But now I want you to think about your

future. If you predict your future based on your past, what does your future look like? And if

you don't like the direction you're headed, which label do you need to shed? Which one of those

words that you've written to describe yourself should be abandoned? All of them? What label do

you want for yourself? How would you label yourself if the labels weren't based on what you

thought of yourself but what you wanted for yourself?” Wilson picked up a stack of folders. One

by one, he began passing them out.

“I've combined every page of your history into this folder. Everything you've written from the

very first day. This is the last page of your personal history. Now. Write your future. Write

what you want. Shed the labels.”



Once upon a time there was a little blackbird who was pushed from the nest, unwanted. Discarded.

Then a Hawk found her and swooped her up and carried her away, giving her a home in his nest,

teaching her to fly. But one day the Hawk didn't come home, and the bird was alone again,

unwanted. She wanted to fly away. But as she rose to the edge of the nest and looked out across

the sky, she noticed how small her wings were, how weak. The sky was so big. Somewhere else was

so far away. She felt trapped. She could fly away, but where would she go?

She was afraid . . . because she knew she wasn't a hawk. And she wasn't a swan, a beautiful

bird. She wasn't an eagle, worthy of awe. She was just a little blackbird.

She cowered in the nest hiding her head beneath her wings, wishing for rescue. But none came.

The little blackbird knew she might be weak, and she might be small, but she had no choice. She

had to try. She would fly away and never look back. With a deep breath, she spread her wings and

pushed herself off into the wide blue sky. For a minute she flew, steady and soaring, but then

she looked down. The ground below rose rapidly to meet her as she panicked and cartwheeled

toward the earth.



[page]I pictured the bird teetering at the edge of the nest, trying to fly, and then falling and

hitting the concrete below. Once I had seen an egg that had fallen from a nest in a huge pine

tree near our apartment complex. A baby bird, partially formed, had lain in the cracked shell.

I threw my pencil down and stood up from my desk, breathing hard, feeling like I was going to

crack too and severed pieces of Blue were going to rain down upon the room in a gruesome

display. I grabbed my bag and ran for the door, needing to get out. I heard Wilson calling after

me, telling me to wait. But I ran for the exits and didn't look back. I couldn't fly away. That

was the kicker. The little bird in the story was no longer me. My story was now about someone

else entirely.





I had been to Planned Parenthood before. I had gotten birth control there, though the latest

round had obviously failed me. I googled all the possible reasons birth control could fail.

Maybe it was the antibiotics I had been on after Christmas, or the fact that I had inexplicably

had an extra pill and no extra days, meaning I'd missed one somewhere. Whatever the reason, the

test was still positive, and I still hadn't had a period.

I'd called days before and made an appointment for after school – though running out of class

had given me ample time to get there with time left over. The lady at the reception desk was