Oldest

When I think of childhood, I remember Margaret Kenny. And when I remember Margaret Kenny, I see her smile. It was a gentle, radiant smile, which transformed her face from being plain and ordinary to being beautiful. That smile was what first drew me to her, and I was always looking forward to seeing it again. She had long, curly hair, freckles, and the kindest eyes. Her father owned a small electronics store, and her mother worked part-time as a waitress. They were both kind and loving people, and raised a wonderful daughter in their image.

Our families knew each other well. She lived near my house, so we would get a ride to school together in her father’s car. Before she was even awake, I would knock on her front door and enter. Mrs. Kenny would greet me from the kitchen, and would offer me something to eat. By the time Margaret came down the stairs, Mr. Kenny and I would already have done the crossword in the morning paper and laughed at all the comics together. And as the three of us left the house, Mrs. Kenny would tell us what was on the menu for that night.

The Kennys knew my parents were busy and seldom at home, so they did everything they could to make me feel welcome in their home. I was not just a guest, nor was I quite part of the family. But I snugly fit in the warm and fuzzy space in between.

In the summers of my teenage years, Margaret and I spent every day together. When her mother was at home, we would have lunch together, then watch TV or read books. And when we were alone — Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays from eleven to five — we would go upstairs and spend the entire afternoon in bed. We were both each other’s first, and we explored our budding relationship slowly and carefully. I told her I was afraid of getting her pregnant, and she promised it would not happen. She said that her parents had conceived her unexpectedly, and so they were strict about her using birth control. I felt more at ease, but also found it harder to look Mr. and Mrs. Kenny in the eye when they spoke to me at the dinner table.

One day, I told her I loved her, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I asked her if she would like to be my girlfriend. She laughed and said that she didn’t want to be my girlfriend, she wanted to be my wife.

That was all the encouragement I needed. I kissed her, and we made love. It was wonderful.

After that, I would take her out on fancy dates to impress her. At first, she wore short skirts and high heels, but soon she switched to jeans and sneakers. I liked her better this way. Even as lovers, I wanted her to still be good old Margaret. She was honest, and her laugh was infectious. She was smart and funny, and she made me happy. We talked a lot, and she was willing to listen to anything I had to say. I was sure that we would end up marrying, I told her.

“You’ll keep your word, won’t you?” she said one day. “You’ll take me to college, and we’ll live together. Then after we both find jobs, you’ll propose and take me as your bride.”

“I will. And then we’ll have kids, and we’ll raise our own little family together.”

“Promise?”

I took her hand and looked her straight in the eye. “I promise, Margaret. I swear I will.”

And then I swore it again, because I really meant it. I had been in love with her for longer than I could remember. My feelings for her were as strong now as they had ever been. I had no doubt that I would spend the rest of my life with her.

But things did not turn out as I expected. A month before high school graduation, while we were having lunch together at a café on a busy Saturday, I told her I applied to a university in another city, and that I had already been accepted.

Margaret looked at me with downcast eyes. “So you’re going to leave me, after all.”

I tried to explain that I wasn’t leaving her. I told her I would always be there for her, that we would stay together forever. But she shook her head.

“No,” she said. “You’re not staying here. You’re going to a different place, and you’ll never come back.”

I had only seen Margaret cry while watching movies. Now she was crying over me.

“Why are you doing this to me? Why do you have to go away?”

She kept repeating these questions. I couldn’t answer them. I didn’t know how to comfort her. All I could do was stand there and hold her.

After a while, she stopped crying. She wiped her tears with her sleeve and looked at me.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to tell you something. I’m pregnant.”

I couldn’t believe it. “But what about the pill?” I asked.

“I stopped taking it two months ago,” she said. “I wanted to feel closer to you. I wanted to have your child.”

I thought back to all the times we had sex in the past few weeks. She did seem a bit different than usual.

“I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I replied.

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re not. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

So I said, but I was more worried than I had ever been. What are we supposed to do, now? We both agreed that abortion was not an option for us.

“I want to have the baby,” she said.

“Okay. We’ll find someone else to adopt it.”

“No, I want to keep it,” she said. “I want to raise it myself.”

“But what about university?”

“What about it?” Her gentle, radiant smile was tinted with sadness. “Every child deserves to have their mother. I can always go to school later, but the baby needs me now.”

“Then I’ll take care of you two. I’ll get a job.”

She shook her head. “I’m the one who got pregnant. This is my burden to bear.”

I stared at her. I had never heard her talk like that before.

“I don’t mind,” she continued. “I want to have your baby.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. Instead, I hugged her tight. “I love you, Margaret.”

“I love you too,” she said. “Now let’s eat.”

We finished lunch, and I took her home. When I got back to my own empty house, I went to my room and cried for a long time. I couldn’t understand why she had decided to keep the baby. I had never seen her like this. Was it the hormones? Or was it just because she loved me?

I did not visit her on Sunday. On Monday, I went to her house in the morning with my thoughts still in a jumble. I knocked as usual, but Margaret’s father answered the door before I could step in.

“Hello, Mr. Kenny. Is Margaret here?”

“No,” he said. “She ran away on Saturday night.”

I was stunned. “Where did she go?”

“I’m sorry. I really don’t know. She told us to not go looking for her.”

I looked past him and saw Mrs. Kenny standing there with red eyes. She shook with anger.

“How could you do this to my daughter? How could you do this to our family?”

“Linda. That’s enough.”

“We welcomed you into our home for all these years. And this is how you repay us?”

“Linda!” Mr. Kenny barked. “Control yourself. You’re not the only one who’s suffering.”

The pitiable woman wailed and walked off, disappearing into the powder room and slamming the door shut.

“Sorry about that,” he said to me with a sigh. “It’s been a difficult time.”

I nodded. “I can imagine.” 

“For now, let’s take you to school.” He put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Ready to go?”

“No, it’s fine.” I shrugged his hand away. “It’s still early. I can walk today.”

He looked at me silently for a moment, then grunted. “If you’re sure.”

I turned on a dime and made my retreat as fast as I could.

“Hey, kid.”

I stopped and looked back at the man I thought of as my real father.

“I hope things work out for the both of you.”

I didn’t go to school that day. I returned home and lay down on my unmade bed. I closed my eyes, but sleep did not come. All I could do was think about Margaret’s smile, about our unborn baby, about the childhood that we had somehow lost along the way.

That was perhaps the clearest I ever remembered the girl that symbolized my childhood, for never did I ever see Margaret Kenny again.