A beautiful girl of about nineteen drives with the windows down.
Her long blonde hair flows in the breeze, rising and falling with the wind.
She eyes herself in the rearview mirror, and gorgeous green glares back at her.
She pulls to a stop at a light, and the boys in the car next to her whistle and crow;
The beautiful girl turns her attention to the road and drives on.
She signals right and enters a grocery store parking lot;
The girl exits her car, standing pale and perfect, a vision of beauty in jeans and a tank top.

The girl smiles to the greeter, offers a nervous hello, but she doesn't make eye contact;
She grabs a shopping basket and dawdles through the aisles;
She grabs a few items here and there, avoiding the one product she came out for:
The pharmacy, a pregnancy test, her future determined by a small plastic stick;
So many boxes, so many to choose, she grabs one at random, hoping it's a good one.
Next to the tests are rows upon rows of condoms and other means of birth control,
But the young beauty has no time to dwell upon what could have been.

She makes her way back to the registers and sets her basket down;
She pulls out her checkbook and fumbles it nervously between her hands.
The cashier pulls each item out and scans quickly, but pauses on the pregnancy test.
A cashier a few lanes back whispers to another and looks at the sad beauty;
The latter looks at the girl and shakes her head, lowers her eyes, walks away.
As the girl leaves, the cashier wishes her good luck and offers a half-hearted smile;
The young girl returns with a thanks but can't find the strength to muster a smile.

The girl rushes to her car and speeds back to her mother's home;
She is pulled over for twenty over, but she shows the test and the cop understands.
She sneaks in the front door, calls for her mom, but no one answers;
The beautiful girl runs up the stairs and holes herself up in a bathroom.
She rips open the box and quickly reads the instructions once, twice, three times;
She sits on the edge of the sink, glancing at her watch every five seconds;
The positive results are more terrifying than her darkest fears.

The lock turns on the bathroom door, and a beautiful woman stumbles out.
She stands and looks around her room, at all the objects of youth, now meaningless.
She thinks about what to tell her mother, and whether she will cry or get angry;
She thinks about what to tell the father, and whether he will run or stay.
She looks at a calendar with the days crossed off: today is the second Sunday in May --
Her first Mother's Day, and her child not yet alive; she wishes herself a happy one,
Sobs into her pillow, and falls to her knees, dreading what the future holds for her.