Chapter 7

Zinc’s mother had a receding hairline and lines of white hair. Her wrinkles strained noticeably above her eyes and with every word from her, one new line of wrinkle seemed to take shape. She talked with a tangy feel, like a singer who was trying to hit a high pitch.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Linda.”

“Oh. Linda, Zinc told me a lot about you.”

Then why the hell did you not know my name?

“I know Zinc likes you a lot, but I also know it’s impossible for you to be with him.”

I wheeled my head so fast that my neck nearly broke. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry, Linda, it’s just that… Zinc has Down Syndrome, so he has mental retardation and his thinking is like only a ten-year old kid, so…”

She sounded like a very nervous speaker giving a talk in a crowded hall. Her voice broke with every few words. The bus finally came. My eyes were still darted to Zinc’s mother.

“All I hope is…” she stopped. I was going to stand up. “I was so annoyed that I wanted to give up on him when I had him.”

When I started to feel something hot on my forehead, I knew I was going to sweat. I grabbed the handle of my shoulder bag and gritted my teeth. “No, shit.” I said, turned, saw the stairs that would lead me to Bukit Batok Central and just ran towards it.

I just wanted to get away; from what, I don’t know.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There is a very indistinct difference between not remembering and forgetting: When we don’t remember, the memory still lingers at the back of our minds threatening to pulse on us anytime. When we forget, we just don’t remember.

Menstruation was something that we get every month and by fourteen years old, it had became such a routine that I was kind of looking forward to it. Boys in school joked about it but they could never understand how we felt: That pain, that depression, that displeasure.

But I was looking forward to it. Because when it came, it meant normalcy.

And then, it did not come for a month.

I wanted to talk to someone: Miss Yeow, the old nag who always said that we could look for her when we had problems? Or my mother, who bought the first sanitary pad for me?

In my state of confusion, I marched into Guardian, window-shopped around the hair dyes area and then when I saw the pregnancy test kit standing seductively nearby, I took it, grabbed a few sweets and went to the counter. I had expected myself to stammer to the cashier: But I realized that my fear had overtaken the nervousness and embarrassment.

That afternoon, I stared at the pregnancy test kit for minutes. I had to pee continuously for five seconds. I only had a can of Coke Light for my lunch. That would mean only three seconds of urine. Maybe if I force it out…

There were two windows on the test kit. It said that if the window on the left showed a blue line upon testing, then it meant the test kit was in working condition. If a cross of blue line appeared on the other window, then it meant a baby was growing in my womb.

I sighed. Thought for another ten seconds. What the hell. Went to the bathroom, put the kit between my legs and tried to squeeze out every drop of pee from my body. The memories jogged back into my mind: I, being envied by everyone in my class for having the most handsome boyfriend in the school; he holding my hand in front of everyone. And then the kisses we shared; the touches we made.

I dropped the test kit on the floor as I capped my mouth with both my hands. I spent the next hour sitting on the floor of the toilet, my mind spinning with just one word that I did not know if I hated or liked: Abortion, abortion, abortion…?

I am not a murderer.

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