Everything Has Changed

People always said, “Tessa Underwood, couldn’t stand kids. They all would admit she was much to hard on your six siblings.

“You’re mean,” some would say.

To which she replied, “Mind your own business.”

And Tessa, when she was young, still tried her best to obey the commands that came from her mother and father.

They lived in a small apartment on Tanner Boulevard, near the 7-Eleven and the Burger King. It sat across the river and past the railroad tracks, tucked away down a narrow one-way street. It was a two-bedroom, third-floor apartment with a tiny bathroom and kitchen.

Tessa was the oldest of seven kids, which was a difficult thing back in 1970. She had sworn she wouldn’t have any children—not a single one. She agreed with United Planet: the population was too large. There were too many people, and we were destroying the world. Tessa believed her life was living proof. Too many kids in one family took up too much space and drained the earth of what was good and healthy.

She looked at her siblings as unfortunate necessities. They had to be cared for simply because they had managed to live. But the idea of her bringing another soul into the world just to absorb more space and resources didn’t make sense to her. It was unthinkable.

That apartment was always full. It was full of her siblings, her parents, and the noise of constant activity. There wasn’t even a corner to sit in alone. The living room buzzed with conversation. And the kitchen was where you went if you wanted to speak with their mother, Glaydis Underwood.

Glaydis was a dark-skinned woman who wore a short afro and always dressed well. Even beneath her apron, she wore her office blouse and tweed skirt. She was strict. Very strict.

One might have assumed that Leonard Underwood, Tessa’s father, would be the disciplinarian. He was a big man with broad, square shoulders and a nose that fit perfectly with his strong face. His eyes were always watchful and narrowed whenever he was suspicious. But Leonard had a gentle nature. He was more like a humble bear than an enforcer. The role of discipline belonged to Glaydis.

Out of all seven children, life was hardest on Tessa. She was the one called to check on Andrew, or Abigail, or Manuel, or Thomas, or Angie, or Theodore. She was the one responsible for gathering everyone for church and making sure they were dressed and ready to walk out the door for the 11:00 service.

At the grocery store, Tessa was the enforcer. If anyone tried to sneak something into the cart, she would see it and take it right back out. She kept a sharp eye on everything and kept her siblings in line with a pinch or a foot pound. One way or another, she got them in check.

She tutored them, read extra books to them, and made sure they were learning. She believed education was their only real hope. In her view, too many people were having children without thinking about the future.

At seventeen, Tessa was in the 12th grade and a senior headed for graduation. Her plan was simple. She would go to community college, then transfer to a four-year university. She had big hopes and big dreams for herself. She imagined a quiet life. She longed to be far from the noise and chaos that came with a house full of children.

Then came Alan Dancy. Everything changed.

It happened fast.

He had been kind. He had smelled good. He had smiled in a way that disarmed her. And just like that, in the darkness under the football stadium seats, Tessa went from being a girl to becoming a woman.

There was no one to watch over her. No big sister to warn her. No older brother to scare him off. And she knew her parents wouldn’t understand. Not this time.

Still, there are moments, she thought, when you have to come clean.

She blinked and realized she had been standing in the kitchen, lost in thought. Life continued around her. Her parents were now talking to her. Two of her younger siblings were tugging at her arm, asking for a ride to the ice cream parlor.

But Tessa didn’t move.

Her throat tightened, and her stomach fluttered.

She didn’t know how to begin.

She didn’t know how to say, I’m not who I was a few weeks ago.

She didn’t know how to say, everything has changed.