Chapter 1

Six months later I covered myself with the dirty blanket as I lay uncomfortably on the park bench. I couldn't sleep, and it was almost dawn, so I had to get up before people started doing morning jogs. I hated the looks that people gave me. They didn't even care if I heard what they were saying and nothing they said was nice. It was all mean and cruel. Unable to sleep because of the thoughts running through my head, I stood up from the bench and rubbed my eyes. My back and muscles were killing me, but it wasn't anything new. It came with being pregnant, and it came with living on the concrete or park benches. I tried living in shelters, but they were awful. The men tried to force themselves on me even though I told them I was pregnant. I couldn't take the harassment, so I never stayed for more than a week. I looked down at my stomach, and I rest my hands on it. "Good morning, baby girl." I felt a small kick in response, so I smiled. She was the reason for my smile. She was the only thing in my life that was worth living for. Nothing else mattered but her. I've been going to a free clinic and the nurses there were sweet, and they took care of me. They probably knew I was homeless, but they didn't mention it. I took up the old torn duffle bag and walked to the back of the park and entered the restroom. I looked in the mirror at myself. My dark hair was a mess, my eyes were baggy, and the clothes I am wearing were old and big. I sighed. Old and big clothes were better than none. I wet my rag and filled my water bottle with water then entered one of the stalls. I took off my clothes then used the rag, water and a tiny piece of soap that I had to clean myself up. When I was finished, I took out a dress that I got from a thrift store yesterday and placed it over my body. The clothes that I received at the shelters no longer fit because my belly was getting bigger and bigger every day. I exited the restroom and started to walk to the entrance of the park. If I didn't have a big dirty duffle bag on my shoulder, I'd look like any normal pregnant teen. But it wasn't the case because the duffle bag was proof of the hard life I've lived. I left Illinois the day after my mother kicked me out and never went back. Ever since I've been moving from one place to the next. I never stayed anywhere for too long because it was too dangerous. People would notice the pattern, and that could put my baby and me at risk. So I stayed only three days per town or city and then I'd revisit it next month. I was in New York. People were willing to give money here. Sometimes I'd get as much as fifty dollars a day, which was enough to buy food and beverage and to save I had to save, I have a baby coming in less than three months, and I have no idea where I was going to live when she arrived. It was still too early for me to go to Times Square, so I just started to walk around the street, admiring my surroundings. How did I get here? Seven months ago, I had a life. I got a full scholarship, and I was planning on going to college, for free. All that was ruined because I thought I was in love with someone, so I gave them my body. Looking back, I realize that even though Will said he loved me numerous times, he never meant it. He only wanted sex, and I was too dumb to realize it at the time. Seven months ago, I had a not-so-big bed that I shared with my mother. It wasn't silk, but it was better than sleeping on concrete or benches. Seven months ago, I had a mother who would have gone hell over earth for me, and now all I have is myself and my baby. All alone in this cruel world. I didn't know I would get pregnant. I didn't know that Will would accuse me of cheating. I didn't know that my mother would have kicked me out of the house. I guess this is what people mean when they say expect the unexpected. It was summer, and so I would have been preparing to move to Northwestern University to start my degree in Civil and Environmental Engineering where I'd stay for four years. Afterwards, I would have gotten a job as a Civil Construction Project Manager. I'd build places, homes and offices. It was ironic because I don't even have a place to live. Being on the road has taught me things, and I've seen things. Some pretty awful things. One day I found a little corner to sleep, and around midnight some men attacked a woman with guns and raped her. Each one got his try on her body, and there was nothing I could have done but sit in terror and watch the scene play out. I couldn't get myself or my baby killed, not when I was fighting so hard to stay alive. There was something deep in my bone that told me that this wasn't it for me. Something tells me that this isn't the way life is supposed to be for me. So I fight both physically and mentally. I found a pocket knife on the ground a few months back, and I wasn't afraid to use it on anyone who thinks they could put their hands on me. I was homeless, but it wasn't easy. I wanted a life for myself and my baby. I wanted a life better than the one my mother lived. I didn't want to work in a diner with customers yelling at me because their coffee didn't have enough sugar or their food was too hot.