Nonfiction Essay: Just in case – Lauren Yuenkel

Lauren Yuenkel resides in Oshkosh, Wisconsin and is working on a major in Communications Studies with a minor in Marketing. Her nonfiction essay was written for Professor Tanya Perkins’ W206, Introduction to Creative Writing, in Fall 2020.  Prof. Perkins comments that “Lauren’s ability to use images, create energy and manipulate tension measurably grew over the course of the semester and it all just coalesced in this essay, a highly effective mix of action, introspection and tightly reined emotion. It manages to look both inward and outward at the same time.” 

Just in Case

Standing behind the counter of Walgreens in Oshkosh Wisconsin. I stood next to my cashier to give her more money for her drawer, she was checking out the last of the rush that just came through. I double-counted the money when the last woman came up. She gently set a generic Walgreens pregnancy test box on the counter. She immediately looked to her purse to grab her money and balance rewards card.

But my cashier started gushing to her. “Oh my gosh! Have you been trying? Are you excited or nervous?”

I was stuck between shooting her a “I-can’t-believe-you-fucking-said-that” look and shooting the customer an apologetic look.

She was unfazed though. “Oh, it’s not planned. I’m taking the test just in case. But part of me does hope that I’m pregnant!”

“Can I have that rewards card?” She swiftly scans it, hands it back, “Well I hope it goes the way you want it to! I’ll be thinking positive thoughts for you!” 

“Thank you so much, that’s so sweet of you.” She smiled at both of us as she heads towards the door. “Have a great day guys!”

“You too! Be well!” We both said simultaneously. Walgreens was on a huge kick that year to switch to “Be Well” when customers left. 

This is what I thought about years later as I entered a Walgreens in Huntington Indiana. My boyfriend of a couple of months followed close behind me. The fluorescent lights beat down on our faces as the kid at the counter quickly looked up and said “Welcome to Walgreens” as he checked out the customer in front of him. 

We continued on past rows of makeup. Trademark blue stripe painted over the makeup displays. Covergirl. Maybelline. Loreal. A right down the middle, a quick left down the third aisle. Feminine care on the left, baby needs on the right. Our destination was near the back. A grey sign above it says “Family planning.” It doesn’t feel right, because this wasn’t our plan at all. We stare at the options. Five shelves filled with options. Each one promising to be more accurate than the next. 

“So which one are you getting?” He’s staring blankly at the 3-foot section of shelves in front of us.

“How am I supposed to know?” This is fine, I’m fine, it’s just in case, I’m probably not pregnant. Take a deep breath.

“I don’t know. You’re the girl.” 

I’m still scanning over them. “Yeah well, I’ve never had to do this before.” 

“It’s up to you. I’m here to support you.”

“You’re here to support me but not wear condoms. Ok.” I grab a Walgreens brand pregnancy test. “What about this?”

“Yeah that should work. Most generic brands are the same as the name brand anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m going to get the 3-pack, just in case.” 

We walk through the candy aisle to the front of the store, I quickly swipe a zero bar. Feeling the look he gives me, “Hey I’m stressed and about to pee on a stick, I need this.” 

He says nothing. 

When we get up to the register I set down the Walgreens pregnancy test with the Zero bar on top of it. I don’t make eye contact with the cashier, but he’s got to be around 16 years old. He quickly scans the items, slides them into the bag, hands them over after I’ve paid. 

He opens the passenger door of his 2005 white Camry. There are empty Red Bull cans littered on the floor in front of the passenger seat, the hub-cap on the back left tire is missing, the front right tire is a Lexus tire he borrowed from a friend, and the side is splattered with blood from last weekend when he hit a deer. All a result of his travels from Wisconsin to Indiana and back. The bag sits on my lap. I’m no longer hungry. We’re just a five-minute drive to my brother’s house. “We’re going to be okay right?”

“Of course, babe.” He sets his hand on my thigh. “This test is just in case, we’re not pregnant.” He turns right out of the parking lot.

“But what if we are?! Are you going to leave me? Can we even afford for you to move here? Or will I move back to Wisconsin? Oh god, how are we going to tell our families?!”

“Ok babe, slow down.” Street lights fly past us as we drive through town. “We don’t even know yet. We will figure things out. I promise I’m not going anywhere.” His fingers intertwine mine.

I stared dead at our hands. Clasped together tight. Praying to a God I don’t believe in, I ask him to provide me a negative pregnancy test. I don’t deserve to be pregnant. My friend Alysha has been trying for years with her husband. She wants this, she deserves this, I don’t deserve this. I don’t even know how we’re going to afford a child, where we’re going to live if he’s even going to stay with me. Fuck. Please don’t let me be pregnant.

We park across from my brother’s house, behind my red 2010 Dodge Avenger, right next to where we had our first kiss two months ago.

The downstairs bathroom is wedged between my brother’s room and the dining room where he’s doing homework. The upstairs bathroom has a broken toilet. I do the only logical thing, I squat over the edge of the bathtub and pee on the stick. Quick and fast. I cap it and go to my room, Jon is waiting for me.

“What now?” He’s sitting on my unmade bed. A black and paisley comforter is rolled up and tossed over my pillows at the top of the bed, a wooded area is shown on a tapestry as big as the wall behind my bed. 

I set it on the dresser across from the foot of my bed. “It says to wait for three minutes.” I sit next to him on the bed. I don’t deserve to be pregnant. I’ve got friends who have tried for years, it’s their time, it’s not my time, I can’t afford a kid, I work 60 hours a week to make ends meet and Jon lives 4 hours away.

The phone chimes, simultaneously we jump and look at each other. I take a deep breath, our fate is ready and on my dresser. We walk up together. It reads Pregnant.

“No, no, no. This can’t be true. We were taking this just in case, it was supposed to come up negative. Maybe it’s wrong.”

“You think so?” His face is blank, he always waits for me to react.

“Yeah, maybe. Maybe I peed on it wrong. Where are the directions?” I hastily grab the box from the bathroom counter. “I should have started with reading the directions.” Okay. Keep the pregnancy test window faced upward and test pointed downward throughout the testing process. Never turn the stick so the absorbent tip is pointing upward. “Well there you go, I don’t know if I kept it pointing downward, I should take another one.”

This time I follow method two. With a cup from my brother’s kitchen, I squat back over the bathtub and pee in the cup. Following the directions meticulously I grab the test, window facing up, hold in the pee for 5 seconds. By the time I’ve counted to five, the test reads pregnant. “So looks like this is it.” 

“How are you feeling?”

“I have no fucking clue. I’m not ready to talk yet. I need to process this.” I sit down on the bed next to him, tuck my knees under my chin, and wrap my arms around them.

He sits in silence. Legs crossed in front of him, face a blank slate, waiting.

I start to plead with ‘God’ again, whatever or whoever he is. This is everything I never knew I wanted. Please take care of this little nugget. I’ve got no reason to worry about miscarrying but suddenly I start pleading for it not to happen. I lay on my left side, set my hand on my belly. Jon slides up next to me and puts his hand on mine as if to protect us, just in case.