My Name is Kate and I Just Killed My Baby

by Duane L. Ostler

me about it," I said gruffly. She put her hand on my shoulder, and suddenly to my surprise tears started to come. And before I knew it I broke down and balled like a stupid little two-year-old. Clarice hadn't seen me cry like that since kindergarten.

  I guess it sort of got to her too, since she suddenly started balling as well. The two of us were a sight, both blubbering like walruses with head colds. We went on like that for quite awhile, too. Most normal parents would have been up yelling at their daughter that she was going to be late for school. But we both knew Clarice's Mom had gone to work already, leaving her to get to school on her own. And we both knew today was a day that we'd be late to class.

  "Oh, Kate," said Clarice in a blubbery voice when we finally started getting hold of ourselves. "This is awful! Just awful!"

  "You said that already," I replied, trying weakly to grin at her.

  "No, you don't understand," she said, looking at me through tear-streaked eyes. "You see, a few weeks ago Tom and I kind of ... well we shouldn't have, and I feel real bad about it and would never do it again, but--"

  "No!" I blurted. "Don't tell me--"

  "I don't know yet," answered Clarice. "I've been testing every day since, and so far it hasn't come back positive. But it still could. And Tom's been saying the same as Bob, that if it does happen, I should have an abortion."

  Now it was my turn. "Oh, Clarice!" I said, staring at her with wide eyes. "This is awful!"

  She suddenly grinned, her chin trembling. "Isn't it, though? Now I understand why my Dad never liked Tom and was always so strict about when he brought me home after dates. He was trying to prevent something like this. Oh, I wish I hadn't done it! I feel so terrible! If only I'd known it would make me feel like this! And trying to hide it makes it worse, since I have to hide if from Mom and Dad and even you ..."

  "Hey," I said, giving her a friendly pat on the arm. "You don't have to hide it from me anymore. I'm in the same boat, remember? And I feel just as bad about having done it as you do. But now I'm pregnant and I have to make a decision. And I need your advice."

  Clarice just looked at me, her eyes welling up with water as if the dam was about to burst again. "An abortion," she said in a soft voice, but in a way that made it sound ugly. "I know exactly how you feel, Kate. I've been wondering the same thing. And Tom's been telling me every day that I HAVE to do it if I test positive, that I don't have any choice--"

  "Why do he and Bob keep saying that?" I practically yelled. "If I don't have a choice, how come I I have an awful choice to make? And if I don't have a choice, how come they're always saying in the news that abortion is a woman's choice? It IS a choice! And this choice involves more than just me! It involves--"

  "Don't say it!" screeched Clarice. Now her chin was wobbling and trembling for all it was worth. "I've been looking into it, and it's not what you think it is. It's just a little lump of cells. Just like cancer, or a wart. It's not a baby yet. Abortion isn't like killing it. It's just removing un unwanted growth, that's all."

  I stared at Clarice, dumfounded. Never had I thought I would hear such words coming out of her mouth. She was always the outspoken one on issues, that couldn't keep her mouth shut. I on the other hand usually kept quiet and let others have their opinions. We'd never talked about abortion before, but I had never imagined that she would be in favor of it.

  "After all," she continued in a stilted voice, as if she was trying to convince herself more than me, "the Supreme Court has said a woman has the choice of what to do with her body. And if she wants a growth removed, she can do it, no questions asked. It's her right. And there's nothing wrong with it!"

  "But the baby--" I started to say.

  "It's not a baby!" she cried, waving her hands around wildly. "It's just a thing! A cell growth gone mad!" Trying to compose herself, she ran a shaking hand through her hair, messing it up even more. "Look at it this way," she said in what was an attempt at a calmer voice. "There are lots of contraceptives on the market today. That's all abortion is--a prevention of pregnancy. If there's no sin in using contraceptives, surely there's no sin in an abortion. It's exactly the same thing!"

  "But a contraceptive prevents life from even getting started," I countered. "That's way different. If it doesn't get started, it doesn't get started. Abortion on the other hand deals with it after it's started, when it could keep going and--"

  "It's not a life!" cried Clarice shrilly, trying to drown me out. "It's just a blob of flesh that has to be removed! That's what you have to keep constantly in mind. It's not a life! It's not! It's just a blob of cells, like cancer!"

  There was silence in her room for a moment. A very awkward silence. We just looked at each other, knowing that this was a defining moment not only in our friendship, but in our lives. The minutes ticked by. But I knew I had to voice the question that, to me, made all the difference. After all, Clarice was the most tender hearted of all the people I knew. If she believed abortion was a harmless procedure, then maybe it was acceptable after all.

  "Do you really believe that?" I asked softly at last. "That it's not a real life yet, that it's just a blob of cells, that abortion is no different than using a contraceptive? Because if you're wrong, if it really IS a life, if there really is a little person named Jonathon--"

  "Kate!" said Clarice firmly, gripping my arm so tightly it was sure to leave a mark. "Don't give it a name! Trust me! It's not a life yet! It's just a blob of cells. You're not doing anything wrong by having it removed. And after you've had it taken out, you can go back to exactly the way life was before ..."

  I just stared at her without saying a word. I had my answer. I finally knew what I had to do. And Clarice seemed so certain, surely she was right. How could it be wrong after all to merely remove a few cells?

  Yet in spite of it all, my eyes were starting to feel like they would play 'water fountain' again in a minute. I was engulfed by a profound sense of sadness, as if I were a distant observer who had just witnessed a horrible accident. It was a sadness that gripped my heart with tender firmness, not letting go no matter how hard I tried to shake it.

  "Right," I said at last. "It's just a blob of cells to be removed. And after the abortion's over, my life will go back to just the way it was before. Just the same. No different ..."

  But what my heart knew and didn't say was that it would be a life without Jonathon.

  April 20

  I hate this stinking journal. I hate it so bad I want to rip it to shreds or flush it down the toilet, or put tomato sauce on it and put it in the microwave until it explodes. Every time I come back to it my eyes fixate and I read the whole stupid thing over again, and then I relive all the horror I felt before. This journal is like a dozen massive paper cuts that never go away.

  So why haven't I destroyed it yet? What insanity has not only made me keep it, but start writing in it again? My lousy therapist, that's what. My appointment with him is tomorrow, and he's going to ask if I've finished writing my full story yet, from the beginning. Well, obviously I haven't. It's been a year since my abortion, and I've only written about the first few days before the abortion even happened. Stupid therapist. I'm going to grit my teeth and take it in to show him that I've been writing in it, even though I haven't finished. And right after the appointment I'm going to take it out and throw it down the nearest sewer outlet on the street I see.

  So, here I go again. I'm writing in this wretched thing when I should be doing anything else. I know that what comes next in my story is the most horrid part of all, and once I write it, if I ever read it later it will destroy me. That's why I have to destroy it tomorrow by throwing it down the sewer. Then I'll never have to read it again. I'll just tell my therapist I lost it or something. Or maybe that it was put in the wash by mistake.

  And so, to continue my story, the next day I made an appointment over the phone at the abortion clinic in Pittsburgh. They said I could come
down that very day, to have my pregnancy confirmed, fill out some forms and make the necessary appointments. Feeling like a zombie, I drove down to the clinic. When I got there I was surprised to see it looked like any typical medical building, just like many I've seen dozens of times while driving down the road. Funny, I guess I'd expected to see a big neon sign over it screaming out 'Abortions Happen Here!' Or maybe I thought I'd see some anti-abortion people yelling and chanting slogans in front of the door, and throwing tomatoes at the people who went inside. But there weren't any.

  I sat in my car for a full ten minutes before I could build up the courage to go in. It took almost another five minutes before I made it to the door, the way I shuffled along. My heart just wasn't in it. I'd done all the convincing I was capable of and kept telling myself there was no choice, that I had to do this, that it was just a blob of flesh like a wart being removed, and that there was nothing to get so upset about. But my heart kept pounding like crazy in my chest even though I was barely walking along at a snail's pace.

  The hardest thing I ever did was to push that door open. I wish now it had been too hard for me, that I hadn't been able to get it open. Then my story would be different, and Jonathon would still be part of it.

  But