Meg wanted to get away from school, but she didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of going home either. There she would have to face her mother, explain why she had returned so early and get a full on, no holds bar lecture on the importance of her education. She was quickly realizing that she was a lacking a safe space from her troubles. School was a cesspool of people she didn’t want to interact with. Alicia was the only exception, but it was hard to talk to her without telling her of the marriage. Afraid of what Alicia would have thought, she had kept it to herself. And if Alicia didn’t know, she wasn’t about to tell any of her other friends.

Home was no better. Inhabited by only Meg and her parents, she had no place to run. The pear tree was the closest thing she could think of as a haven of comfort, but it was deadly cold, and she couldn’t just sit in the tree for hours. Her anxiety fashioned itself like Saran wrap around her body. Twisting and turning as it wrapped itself around her, suffocating under the enveloping film. Ironically, it was as if being embraced by it. Her only friend that never let go; it protected her from the outside while choking her from the inside.

Unable to make a decision, she let inertia take her through the most familiar roads she knew until she had parked in the garage of her parents’ house. Meg sighed, resigning herself to shutting up in her room for the afternoon. She usually parked on the driveway, but the garage was available, so she made her way into the house through the garage-side doorway.

The plan was to keep her head down, walk right past her mom who was probably sitting at the kitchen table, ignore any sort of inquiry about her early return, march up to her room and hibernate or something. But noticing that Mrs. Chukar was not in the kitchen, the lack of cars in the garage came back to her.

She must be on some errands, Meg thought, the anxiety loosening its grip a little. She just hoped her mother would not come home until after the final school bell had rung. But this was good. Meg had the house to herself. Her eyes faintly sparkled as they locked on to the basement door. She already knew what she wanted to do.

Meg was an excellent pool player. It was Uncle Diedrich, Mrs. Chukar’s brother, who offered them an antique pool table that had belonged to their father before his passing. Uncle Diedrich had inherited it but didn’t have the room to store it. He came over when Meg was twelve to set it up in their basement.

Meg, switched on the basement stairs to reveal the gorgeous oak table standing in front of her, waiting for some action. She snatched the triangle and set up the balls inside it, then placed the cue ball in position, just as she had watched her uncle do it every time he came over. He had taught little Meg the rules of the game and how to properly hold the cue stick to correctly punch the white cue ball. They would play games upon games when he came to visit. When Meg would learn that he was going to be coming over, she would already have the table set up for his arrival.

Unsurprisingly at first, Uncle Diedrich would wipe the floor with Meg. He was unrelenting. In the same match, he would instruct her on her positioning and angle while also cleaning the table before she could pocket a second ball. It was all about learning on the job for him. Meg struggled at first, but she would often practice after school and soon found her footing in the game. Still, he would beat her.

Sometimes Mr. and Mrs. Chukar would attend Meg’s matches with her uncle and cheer her on. Mrs. Chukar was particularly vicious in taunting her brother. She would heckle him and consistently tell him that he was an awful player. His sister’s pestering would light a fire in him, and he would perform tricky angle-off-the wall maneuvers to prove her wrong. Meg had often found it strange how her mother’s quieter and somewhat awkward personality would burn away in that basement to reveal the fierce glint in her eyes and energy in her gut.

If Meg had looked in a mirror, she might have seen the same glint as she steadied the cue stick for the break. She jerked the stick back and forward and back again, almost in a simultaneous movement and connected with the cue ball. It sped across the green carpeting and shattered through the numbered balls letting off a high pitch and resonant clattering sound that Meg had learned to adore over the years. It was a clean sound, pure and smooth, and never the same, as the balls broke in different ways with each new game. A percussive sound that brought her familiarity and love. But a sound that had recently come with a melancholic ring also.

Uncle Diedrich had come over for thanksgiving when Meg was on the cusp of turning seventeen. And she had beaten him. For the first time in her life and the last time in his, Meg had defeated him twelve times in a row! It was a miracle. Her family was baffled, but as the streak kept going, her uncle smile grew larger. All the games were tight. Meg could have lost at any point, but the thrill of the game was palpable. And both Meg and her Uncle Diedrich were having the time of their lives. When Meg tucked the twelfth game’s eight ball into its pocket, he gave off a deep hardy laugh and said in between chuckles: “Meg, you just ran all of my luck out of me! I’m bled dry!”

Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Chukar had a field day during that dinner. She gave her brother miniscule portions of turkey and stuffing, heckling him and telling him he had “lost the right to a good thanksgiving meal after that pathetic humiliation of a defeat.” Meg’s huge grin never left her face. Nor did Uncle Diedrich’s for that matter.

Apparently, his luck never returned to him because a month later, he slipped on his icy porch stairs, snapping his neck as he hit the ground.

Meg struck the eight ball against two walls, and it curved gracefully into a corner pocket. As it joined the other balls, the game clattered one last time and Meg closed her eyes enjoying the sound. She had played very little when her uncle had died. It had felt disrespectful every time she picked up a stick. And when she had learned of her pregnancy she stopped playing altogether. She turned off the basement lights and made her way upstairs. It felt good to play again. She was light on her feet as she shuffled in the pantry to make herself a snack. That was when the nausea happened.

It was heavy. Heavier than her dizzy spell at school. The kitchen was spinning, and her stomach was rebelling against her. All balance was off, and she had to lean against the walls to safely reach the bathroom. The area behind her eyes was sore and uncomfortable. She collided against the bathroom door frame which only worsened the vertigo. Scrambling to her hands and knees against the toilet bowl in a cold sweat, it seemed like her intestines were fleeing up her throat. The floor of the bathroom was diagonal now, lurching back and forth like the deck of a boat. Instinctively her head was hanging over the bowl and she was vomiting before her brain registered what was happening. Her body had taken full control and she yielded helplessly to the gagging. The episode felt like an eternity and her body kept trying to throw up despite having released everything it had. As she struggled to get a hold of herself, the vertigo faded into a light dizziness and left her slumped on the bathroom floor. Tears had been forced out of her eyes from the strain and she sat there desperately trying to catch her breath.

Slowly her functions returned to her, and she carefully wobbled to her feet. She wiped her mouth and went into the kitchen to drink a glass of water and to compose herself. It had been a buzzing thought in the back of her mind at school, but the pregnancy had just become very real. Meg felt scared and miserable. All she wanted to do was to lay down in her bed and never leave it again.

“Meg? What are you doing home so early?” a nervous voice appeared from the kitchen entrance.

Mrs. Chukar gazed uncomfortably at her daughter and Meg could tell that she was the last thing her mother wanted to see. Despite her lingering wooziness, Meg thought she noticed that her mother seemed more scared than annoyed or disappointed. There was something about her eyes shifting around, but Meg was more worried about getting a lecture than anything.

“I didn’t want to be there,” Meg mumbled truthfully.

“Okay, well don’t get into the habit of it,” said Mrs. Chukar, making her way upstairs, “dinner will be in a few hours when your father gets back. I’m going to take a shower.”

Surprised she was so easily off the hook; Meg nodded and went to pour herself more water. Once she heard the sound of the shower, she moved upstairs and to her room, closing the door behind her. The anxiety had come back. Her brief respite from playing pool was gone but she thought about her Uncle Diedrich. She thought about what he would do if he had heard of her pregnancy and her parents’ plan for the marriage. She imagined he would probably fight on her behalf. As her eyes fluttered closed from exhaustion, she missed him a little more.