We had them because the rubber broke while hot and heavy in the backseat of the drive-in, because ginger-ale was an old wives tale. Because there was no morning-after pill, not yet, no abortion that wasn’t back-alley Detroit or two weeks in Sweden. Because nice girls refused to tuck rubbers in the coin purse of their billfolds. Because we were okay with the whispers — in the aisles of the A&P or later at graduation when we crossed the stage with a belly out to here. Because we were mostly okay with all of it until the afternoon of the baby shower when we passed joints and a warm bottle of Andre and cried a little about all the life we’d never get to live because, face it, we were girls who had to have them.
First published in Spelk on 23 March 2020.