Not This Time
6
The Elephant in the Room
THINGS WERE GOING WELL. I had a place to live, a job, a college enrollment. I was still living on my savings, so I was eating instant noodles most of the time, but frankly, my mother’s cooking hadn’t been that much better. I spent forty dollars of my money on a couple decent outfits I found at Goodwill and a vintage clothing store. My youth, combined with the vintage look, gave me a professional image that I cultivated. I’d already brought in my first listing and there was interest.
But I’d intentionally ignored the reason I fled in the first place. I was nearly three months pregnant and I was beginning to feel it. I needed to make the big decision. Was I going to be a single mother, or was I going to the clinic that I’d been past twice. The abortion clinic. I didn’t want to be an eighteen-year-old single mom. I wanted to have a life.
But my sweet angelic daughter had been everything to me. She was smart and funny and happy. How could I rob her of her life before it had begun? I admit that I’d had some help the first time around. My mother and Jesse’s mother, who filed the birth certificate, had been involved from day one. They competed with each other to take the baby. It wasn’t always happy, and there were times I had to compete for my own child. If I chose to give birth now, even that weak support structure wouldn’t be available. I’d be alone.
The questions haunted me around the clock and I knew that I had to make the choice soon. I believed in the right to choose. I believed a young woman in my position should be able to control her own future and terminate an unwanted pregnancy. But I’d met this child. I’d cradled her in my arms and sang lullabies to her. I knew how she turned out. Of course, there was no guarantee that she’d turn out the same raised in a different environment, but she could.
“It’s your choice, you know.”
“Willa?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“What’s going on? How can you be here?”
“The power of dreams. You need to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I would never hurt you, honey.”
“Mom, it’s not my life that’s getting lived over again. It’s yours. You can choose to have an abortion. You were raped. You’re alone. You don’t have the means to support a child. You’ll have to put her in daycare and then work twice as hard to afford that. You believe in abortion under those conditions.”
“I believe in abortion if it weren’t for the fact that I already know you. I’ve known you for twenty-four years. I know what a wonderful and loving young woman you’ll become.”
“You’re only eighteen. The daughter you knew is sitting at home with an envelope containing your will and a list of possessions and bank accounts in front of her mourning having lost her mother. She’ll never be able to tell you about her boyfriend. You’ll never see her get married or have children.”
“That timeline continues? Are you all right?”
“Who knows? I’m just a fetus. I might not even be Jesse’s. You jumped to the conclusion that it was all just like the last time. I could be Allen’s.”
“I know that’s not true. I knew for sure I was pregnant when I was with Allen.”
“That fifteen-year-old freshman? What was his name?”
“Carl. That would be a hoot. But I’d never strap him with my mistake. He’d try to do the right thing and he’s just too young.”
“So were you. I’m just saying that you can’t assume everything is the same as it was the last time you went through this. You already changed that history. You didn’t marry Dad. You didn’t even tell Grandma and Grandpa you were pregnant. You fucked a lot of boys. Got that out of your system?”
“Enough to know they were all pretty much alike. Except Allen, but what a cad. Can you imagine being married to a guy who takes a break every few weeks to pop another eighteen-year-old? He was a great lover, but he’s never going to change. I don’t think I could put up with that.”
“All I’m saying is you get to choose. I might grow up to be the world’s worst kid. I might even be a boy. It’s only your choices you have to live with. Not mine.”
“I love you, Willa. You will always be my baby.”
“About that, Mom. Uh… If you decide to bring me into the world, could you maybe not name me Willa? That was disgusting.”
I sat in the clinic. The doctor had examined me, confirmed I was pregnant and was healthy. Then a nurse came in with a brochure.
“We’re required by law to give you this information and have you sign the consent form before we can proceed. You are over eighteen and don’t know who the father is, so we don’t have to contact your parents or husband. You should, though.”
“My parents don’t even want me, let alone a grandchild,” I said. They’d shown that clearly in my last life. Most of all, they didn’t want the embarrassment. “I don’t really need the brochure. I know what it says. It’s a propaganda pamphlet designed to discourage me. I know it will show pictures of what my baby daughter looks like at this stage. I know when I walk out of here that there will be a line of people waiting outside the clinic chanting ‘murderer.’ I know I will be ashamed of myself for the rest of my life.”
“You really want to go through with it?”
“No. What can I do? I know what this world is like for unwed mothers. It’s going to get worse. Do you think any one of those religious nuts chanting ‘murderer’ would agree to helping me get financial aid? Do you think they are in favor of putting unwed mothers on welfare? They want to save a life. They don’t care what happens to it then.”
“I have to agree about that. Who is here with you to take you home?”
“I took the bus.”
“Um… Do you have someone you can call?”
“No.”
“You’re really alone.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
“In more ways than you can imagine,” she sighed. “We can’t do it.”
“Please don’t make me go through this. I signed the consent form. Just do it.”
“We can’t perform the procedure unless we have verified that you have a responsible adult who will get you home and stay with you for twenty-four hours. It’s a medical requirement. We can’t just do it and assume that you will be okay.”
I looked at her hard. She wasn’t bullshitting me. She wasn’t making one last play to prevent me from going through with it. But the result was the same. Unless I found a friend who would sit with me during the procedure and take me home and stay with me for twenty-four hours, I couldn’t have the procedure. And if I left here now, I knew I wouldn’t be back.
I stood up and dropped the gown. The nurse just sat there. I pulled on my panties and jeans. I fastened my bra and pulled it around to settle my boobs into it. I grabbed my t-shirt.
“Are you all right? You need to tell me if you are thinking of hurting yourself. We have counselors here. We can get you help,” the nurse said. “Please don’t leave in despair.”
“Help? Do you have a friend for me? Someone who can drive me home and sit with me for twenty-four hours? Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill myself. I’ve survived the worst day of my life so far. I’m not going to stop now,” I said.
“I wish you were my daughter,” she said.
“Thank you. But you know… If wishes were fishes…” I pulled the shirt over my head, grabbed my purse, and walked out the door. I knew I wouldn’t come back.
“Murderer!”
“Immoral harlot!”
“You should be stoned.”
“You’re going to hell!”
I had determined that I would simply walk past them and go to the bus stop, but that last one got to me. Hell. What was that? I’d heard the preacher’s take on the subject often enough. Like every Sunday for eighteen years. Was I going to hell? I stopped and turned to face the hecklers. They did no one any good that I could think of. They didn’t convince anyone going in and it was too late for anyone going out. How would they know I didn’t have the abortion?
“Are you condemning me to hell?” I asked softly. A woman stepped to the front, apparently today’s spokesperson.
“God condemns you to hell!”
“On what grounds?”
“Immorality, fornication, and murder of one of his precious little ones.”
“Is that like three different hells or do I do all the time in one? Consecutive sentences or concurrent?”
“There is only one hell and one heaven. You will burn in the fires of damnation for eternity.”
“So, it doesn’t really matter then if I continue to sin. I’m going to the same hell for all of them.” I bent to pick up a rock. “Like if I stone you to death, I’m still only going to the same hell, right? I think I’d get a lot of satisfaction out of stoning you.”
“You should beg God’s forgiveness,” the woman said, stepping back.
“Why? So I can be like you? How disgusting. No, I think the world would be much better off without both of us. Do you need to say a prayer or anything?” They were back about fifteen steps now. I dropped the rock and turned away. “Hypocrites. Stephen was willing to be stoned for what he believed.” I walked to the bus stop. Fortunately, I only had to wait a couple minutes for the bus to arrive back. The little mob hadn’t managed to whip themselves up into a frenzy again yet.
Comments
Please feel free to send comments to the author at devon@devonlayne.com.
