I'm THAT Jorge...

This story is true. I can not explain it. I can not rationalize it. But it really happened.

“Stop this! Stop sitting there, laughing at me and ignoring the baby!”

It was mid-December, 2001. I was 17 years old. I was pushing these words out through clenched teeth, tears flowing down my face. I was screaming at B, my ex-girlfriend. Only seven months prior, B and I had been kicked out of our Christian high school for drinking and having sex on a school-sanctioned trip to Greece. I was allowed to re-enroll for my senior year. She never tried to re-enroll, but she wouldn’t have been allowed anyway. We had not seen or spoken to each other since the day of our expulsion in May. But now she was here, standing in front of me. And she was torturing me.

I was dreaming. It was taking place over and over again, every night.

I had seen B (for real) only a week earlier, during my high school’s Friday night football game. I was part of a popular spirit group, The Flagsicans. We spent our time on the sideline to get the crowd riled up. She was in the stands, visiting some of her former schoolmates. We never spoke to each other, but the couple of times that we made eye contact was enough to let each other know that we were both aware that the other was there. It was on that same night that I had the first dream.

The dream was awkward, but it was vivid. We were in a white room. I was sitting on the ground, unable to move. B was standing 15-20 feet in front of me, holding a baby. There was no sound. I remember trying to talk to her, but I couldn’t speak. She was smiling, so I was smiled back at her. When I woke up, I automatically shrugged it off, assuming I dreamed about her because I had just seen her for the first time in 7 months.

Only two or three nights later, B returned to my dreams. It was the same room, and I was again mute and immobile. She was still standing 15-20 feet in front of me, smiling just like she had been smiling in the same dream a few nights earlier. But this time the baby that had previously been in her arms was now on the floor, several feet away from her. I could see the baby, and he was asleep. I had this dream three times on this night. I woke up immediately after each occurrence, startled but not disturbed. By this point I was certainly curious, but not interested in dwelling on it any further.

The very next night, the dream occurred again, with a slight twist. The baby was no longer asleep. This time, he was crying. B was still smiling at me, completely oblivious to the baby crying only feet away from her. I was still unable to move or speak. I kept gesturing to the baby, but B paid no attention. I have no idea how many times I had this dream, but I do know that it happened every single time I went back to sleep. I got up the following morning, genuinely disturbed. I didn’t know what to do, but the nature of the dreams and the fact that they were reoccurring so rapidly had captured my attention.

I didn’t want to fall asleep the next night. I couldn’t fall asleep. I lied in bed at least four hours before finally dozing off. And just like clockwork, my nightmares returned. It was similar to the one from the night before. I was mute and immobile, sitting on the ground, with B standing 15-20 feet in front of me. The baby was screaming tortured cries, several feet away from B. The main difference this time was that B was not smiling. In fact, she was crying. When I woke up, I was also crying. What the hell did these dreams mean? Why were they progressing to become more and more disturbing every night? And why were they happening literally every time I fell asleep?

I didn’t go to school that day. It was the last day before the Christmas break. I had already taken my semester finals and I was exhausted out of my mind from the lack of sleep over the last week. I did everything I could to get B out of my mind during the day, but to no avail. I got in bed that night, terrified of what would inevitably be coming when I fell asleep.

This time, I was still immobile, but I could speak. B was still standing 15-20 feet in front of me. But there was no baby anywhere. I could still hear it screaming, as if the cries were coming from within my own mind. B was not crying this time. She was laughing hysterically. She didn’t care at all about the crying baby. She also wasn’t speaking a word. She just kept on laughing. Empowered for the first time ever with the ability to speak, I started yelling at her.

“What is happening? Why are you doing this? Stop laughing! Talk to me! Can you not hear the baby? Stop this! Stop sitting there, laughing at me and ignoring the baby!”

I realized I was no longer asleep. I was in my room, screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors. My sheets were covered with my sweat and I was crying uncontrollably. Within 30 seconds, my father was knocking at my door, asking what was going on. Not wanting him to see me in this condition, I told him through the door that I had a nightmare and I was fine now.

Of course, I wasn’t fine. I was jarred. I knew it had been almost nine months since that dreaded school trip that got me expelled. The day of our expulsion, B (who had been afraid she was pregnant) went and took a pregnancy test. She called me that afternoon to let me know it was negative. But could the timing of these nightmares be a coincidence? Surely not.

The following morning was December 18th, exactly one week before Christmas. I called one of B’s best friends (also a good friend of mine) and asked if she could get some dinner that night. While at dinner, I began to describe the dreams I had been having for the last week. I was always going to ask her the question, but her face was already giving me the answers. She was pasty white, terrified at what she was hearing. So I stopped the stories and cut to the chase.

“Look, I don’t even believe this kind of crap is possible. But this has really happened, and for the first time since we got expelled, I can’t help but wonder whether or not B lied to me. I’m thinking maybe she was pregnant, told me she wasn’t, and then went and had an abortion. Does what I’m seeing on your face mean that I’m right? Please tell me the truth.”

She stared at me for a long time, clearly unsure how to respond. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh.

“I promised her I would never tell you…..”

I didn’t hear anything else after that. I could only think of one thing. I had just learned that I lost my child. I never knew he existed, so I had never prepared myself emotionally for the idea of being a father. But in that moment, the full reality of the situation hit me. My heart was ripped to shreds. I thought about the child that I would never get to see, never get to hold, never get to kiss, never get to love. My own flesh and blood was taken from my life and I never got to have a say.

The details of everything that happened after that day are not as important. It was the only time I ever truly contemplated suicide. The pain was that enormous. But I eventually made it through. I confronted B the next day, and over the next several nights, we made a sort of awkward peace. She became pregnant again a year later and kept the child. Another year later, I ran into her and her baby daughter at a grocery store. We were courteous and I complimented her on her beautiful child. We never spoke to each other again.

When I confronted her, I asked her what the due date would have been if she had not opted for the abortion.

It was December 18, 2001. The same day I found out about my aborted child.