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We were both seventeen.

When I got my acceptance letter, you were working in the local dollar store and found out you were pregnant.

You didn't know who the father was and I didn't know which school to pick.

You turned eighteen and your belly grew outward. I've never seen a mother so young and so proud.

I began to pack and think about everything I was leaving. I've never felt so alone.

In September our ages met up again. You asked me to switch places with you half jokingly. I cringed at the idea.

I lost track of time when you gave birth. I sat in the back row at his baptism. His hair golden-blond, curling subtly around his large pale head. You said his name several times but I never cared to remember it.

Years have passed and I'm about to graduate.

Marc is going into kindergarten. "He's bright for a four year-old," you say "Just like his momma."

I'm lost in my future and we still don't know who the father is.

Story by:

Maria Jayne

submitted at 10:26pm

29 May 2011

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