Where It All Began

by Lorana Hoopes

  “How would you feel about a weekend at the lake?”

  The sound of Peter’s voice shattered my daydream. I blinked and raised an eyebrow at him. “I think we need to discuss this baby first.”

  He put his fork down and ran his hands along the table beside his plate. “Yeah I’ve been thinking about that. I just don’t think we have time for a baby right now. I think you should just have an abortion and move on.”

  Silence descended on the room. My heart dropped. Could he be serious? “I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve been thinking too, and I think I might really want to be a mother.”

  Peter scowled from across the table. “But I just said I’m not ready for kids.”

  Anger fueled inside me. “You also haven’t been talking about the baby for a week. I have been thinking about it non-stop.”

  “It’s not a baby right now,” his face reddened, and he slapped his palms on the table top, causing my bowl to jump. “Stop calling it that. It’s just a clump of cells.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Peter, we both learned about human development. We both know that isn’t true.”

  He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s mostly true. It’s not like it could live by itself right now, and seriously with our schedules the kid would always have to be in daycare, Sandra. What kind of life would that be? We should wait till we have more time and can be good parents.”

  I closed my eyes and took a calming breath, “I don’t want to kill this baby, Peter.”

  When I opened my eyes, he was staring at me, rage fueling his eyes and distorting his features. “You have two choices,” – his voice, cold as ice, cut to my soul – “You can get rid of the pregnancy or raise it alone. I’m not giving up my career.” He pushed back from the table, sending his plate and my bowl clattering to the ground. Then he stormed out of the apartment. The slam of the door reverberated down my spine.

  His empty chair mocked me as the silence set in, and tears filled my eyes. If those were the choices, then so be it. I grabbed the fallen dishes and threw them in the sink. Returning with a towel, I mopped up the milk that had spilled on the floor and begun spreading out. Then I yanked my purse from the bar and pulled out my checkbook and a notepad. I began writing down the bills, rubbing my temples as the list grew. How would I ever be able to afford a baby on top of all the bills? The numbers swam together as the tears threatened to spill over. Would my parents help? Probably not, they had been disappointed when I had let Peter move in; they would probably be angry about a baby out of wedlock. There was no brother or sister to turn to as I was an only child. All that left was Raquel.

  A light went off in my head. Maybe Raquel would let me move in with her. If I split the rent, surely I could afford a baby. I scooped up the checkbook and notepad, throwing them back in my purse, and hurried to the bedroom to get ready for work. Lunch could not come fast enough today.

  “So, let me get this straight,” – Raquel said over the noise in the cafeteria that afternoon – “You want to try and have this baby even though Peter wants you to have an abortion?”

  “I can’t bring myself to have an abortion, but I can’t pay the bills and cover the baby alone, unless I had a roommate maybe.” I stared into Raquel’s eyes, hoping she would get the hint.

  Her eyes widened, “You don’t mean come live with me and bring a baby?”

  “Well, it would only be for a little while until I got a better paying job. I could help with rent, and I’m sure the baby would be no trouble.” The words tumbled out of my mouth in a rush.

  Raquel shook her head. “Look, I like you, Sandra, but I like men too. Having a baby would totally ruin my image. How many men do you think want to stay the night and be woken up by a crying baby? It’s why I had my own abortion a few years ago. I don’t do kids.”

  Her words pierced my bubble of hope, and my jaw dropped, “You had an abortion?”

  Raquel shrugged. “Yeah, a few years ago; it wasn’t a big deal. I had a little too much to drink one night and hooked up with this really cute bartender. I guess we forgot to be careful. Anyway, as soon as I found out, I went and had it taken care of.”

  Her callous words coursed over me, and my forehead wrinkled. I’d always thought I was pro-choice, and if Raquel had had an abortion, then maybe they couldn’t be that bad. A seed of doubt erupted in my chest and began strangling out my desire for the baby. “Did it hurt?” The words came out small and quiet.

  “A little, for a day or two, but then I had my life back, so it was worth it. Look, you have to make up your own mind, but maybe Peter is right. Wait until you guys are settled in your careers, and then you can have some kids if you still want them.”

  Raquel’s words collided with Peter’s ultimatum, and together they began to make sense in my head. After all, if I couldn’t move in with Raquel, I really was out of options, and as Raquel said, we could always try again later. A small voice insisted that this wasn’t right, that abortion was murder, but I pushed it aside. The thought of abortion had taken hold, and the knowledge that Raquel had done it caused the thought to grow. Ending the pregnancy would be the easiest option, and no one would ever have to know besides Peter and Raquel, and they would never tell.

  As soon as I opened the door that evening, Peter rose from the couch, folding his arms across his chest. The anger still radiated off him. “Well, have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  Sighing, I set my purse down on the coffee table. Had I decided? Even though the abortion made sense, I still didn’t want to do it, but what choice did I have? “I’ll do it,” I said softly, and an icy cold sensation trickled through my veins.

  A smile broke out on his face as his posture softened. He crossed the room and embraced me. “I knew you’d see it my way and make the right decision,” he said into my hair.

  I nodded against his chest, but a seed of doubt remained. I just wish I knew it was the right decision.

  Down the Path of no Return

  A few days later, I stood in the parking lot of a small nondescript brick building. It didn’t look fancy, but surely that didn’t matter. My heart galloped in my chest like a wild stallion, and I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. As I walked up the sidewalk to the front door, I fully expected lightning to strike me when I touched the door handle, and when it didn’t, I pulled the door open. The air inside was much cooler than the summer heat outside, and a shiver shimmied down my spine as the air conditioning chilled me.

  “Can I help you?” To my right, a girl with short blond hair and an ear full of piercings, sat behind a desk.

  “Um yeah. I’m Sandra Baker. I have an appointment.” As I crossed to the desk, my throat constricted and ice coursed through my veins. I shivered again and swallowed the bout of nausea that clawed up my throat and threatened to choke me.

  “Okay, here’s your paperwork. Have a seat, and we’ll call you back in a minute.” The girl handed over a clipboard and some forms, and I took them to a nearby chair and sat down. As I picked up the pen, my hand began to shake. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. The mantra played over and over in my head, though it did nothing to stop the freight train roaring in my heart. Somehow I managed to force the pen down and write information on the form. I had no idea if it was correct or not. A door opened, and my eyes flicked up. A hardened woman with steely grey eyes and a clipboard met my glance.

  “Sandra Baker?”

  The lump in my airway grew, and I swallowed it down and nodded. My legs shook as I pushed up from the chair and stumbled in her direction. The weight of anchors pulled on them. Were they even part of my body? A screaming erupted in my head, urging me to flee, and I froze. My eyes tore about the room, but there was no one screaming. What am I doing?

  I turned to flee, but then I remembered Peter’s ultimatum, and the fact that I couldn’t raise this baby alone. It’s for the best. The mantra started again and propelled me to the waiting woman. Up close, she was even more
harsh looking. Ice for eyes, no smile, a don’t-mess-with-me aura, hair pulled back in a tight brown bun. Executing a nearly perfect three-point turn, the nurse spun as soon as I reached her and marched into the back. Shoulders down, I followed even as a small voice pounded in my head to turn around.

  The nurse turned into a tiny room with a bed, a stool, a hard plastic chair, and a tray with instruments. “Undress from the waist down and put this on,” the nurse said as she picked up a gown off the tray. She shoved it unceremoniously into my arms and left the room.

  The cold sterility of the room tightened the fear on my heart, but somehow I managed to pull off my clothes and fold them on the chair. I slid on the paper thin gown, wrapping it around my body. I shouldn’t be here. I thought about bolting, but what good would it do? Instead, I climbed up on the bed; the paper crinkling beneath me. Surely, something in the room would calm my nerves. I glanced around, but there was nothing on the stark white walls, not one picture. No beaches, no calming words. Just a harsh white. Why did the walls present nothing calming? Surely other women felt the same anxiety.

  A knock at the door arrested my attention, and I jumped. An older man with bushy white eyebrows and a wrinkled forehead entered along with the hardened nurse. I waited for a comforting word, but none came.

  “Lay back,” the nurse pointed. I acquiesced and focused on the white tiled ceiling. No comfort there either. “Legs up.” I positioned my legs in the cold, metal stirrups and shivered again.

  “Am I going to be awake?” I asked as the fear squeezed ever harder.

  “Yes, did you think we would put you out?” A sharp stare from the icy eyes.

  That was exactly what I had expected. I didn’t want to be awake for this. If I got up to leave now, would they let me? A sharp sting caused me to suck in my breath.

  “That was a local anesthetic. It will help.”

  A weight like a stone rolled on my chest, and it grew hard to take a breath. I squeezed my eyes shut, but that only intensified the sound of the clanking metal instruments. I opened them and began counting the holes in the tiles. One, two, three, “Ouch!” Tears filled my eyes as the pain intensified. Why had no one warned me about the pain?

  “Hold still.” A cold hand held my legs apart, and the freezing sensation crawled up my leg. Then the scraping started. I bit back the screams, though moans escaped, and tears flowed freely down my cheeks now. Scrape, tug, scrape, tears, moans, scrape, tug. My hands clutched the side of the bed. The scraping stopped, and I sighed with relief. Surely this was almost over. Then the whirring started, and my heart stopped. More suction, more tears, and still no comfort. The sound stretched to eternity; the pain never ceased. And then it was silent.

  “You can get dressed now,” the nurse said, and they left the room. The doctor had never spoken; I didn’t even know his name. How different from all the doctors I worked with, who always introduced themselves. I tried to sit up, but my body fought me. The feeling of being punched repeatedly in the abdomen kept me prone.

  Then the guilt crept in. What had I done? A moan that didn’t even sound human reached my ears. Was that me? And then a baby’s cry echoed throughout the room. My eyes darted about, but I was still alone. The cold returned and hungrily licked up my body. Crossing my arms, I hugged my own shoulders, wishing I had never entered this vile place.

  After some time, I managed to force my body into a sitting position. My head pounded like a drum, and my stomach ached as though I’d lost a terrible boxing match. Nausea bubbled in my belly as I stood, and I clasped a hand to my mouth to keep the contents in. My shaky legs could barely hold my weight as I struggled to calm my quivering hands and redress myself. The nurse re-entered just as I finished.

  “Come with me.” She pivoted and marched out the door. I followed, pulling my shirt close around my neck. The feeling of being naked and exposed lay on my shoulders like a coat. Would everyone know what I had done? Would it flame on my chest like a scarlet letter? I suddenly knew exactly how Hester Prynne must have felt in the novel I was forced to read in High school.

  The nurse opened a door on the left. “Take a seat. You have to wait at least an hour before we can release you.”

  I nodded and entered the room. The door clicked closed. Nothing but hard plastic chairs and three other women filled the room. One woman nonchalantly read a book, but the other two mirrored my feelings. One girl, probably only in her teens, sat rocking with her knees at her chest. Her dark hair covered some of her face, but her vacant brown eyes stared at nothing. The other woman, a young Hispanic who appeared about my age sniffled softly into a tissue. Tears streaked her face. I sat down in the chair one away from her, but the girl did not even glance at me. Her brown eyes also focused on nothing.

  As I studied my brown hands clasped together, the questions barraged me again. Why did I let Peter talk me into this? Will this massive guilt ever go away? Will the child ever forgive me? The cry of the baby came again, and my head popped up. I glanced from one woman to the next, but they appeared to hear nothing. Was I going crazy then? The cry grew louder, and my body began to shake uncontrollably. I must be going mad. I jammed my fingers in my ears to block the sound, but the cry echoed in my head. Nothing seemed to stop the sound. My hands found the side of my head and squeezed. Black dots swam before my eyes, but finally the noise grew silent.

  The nurse came in, and the woman with her book exited. How could she be so calm? Had she not had the same procedure? Why had no one told me about this guilt? Was it not normal to feel so much guilt? Or the pain? The pain in my stomach but also in my heart. Pain I had never felt before. Emptiness.

  The blond girl went next, but she had to be carried from the room by two nurses. She never once looked at anything. Her wild eyes remained vacant. I wanted to talk to the Hispanic girl, but how do you strike up a conversation after you’ve done the unthinkable? Then the Hispanic girl left, shuffling as a zombie after the nurse, and I was alone.

  Why had Peter not come with me? He said he’d been too busy, but he should have been here. This was his idea. He’d given me the money like a prostitute and sent me to do the dirty deed myself, and I hated him for it. The silence in the room pressed in on me, and I swallowed. The room began to spin and my breath . . . I couldn’t get a full breath. Nothing but shallow gasps. I tried again, clawing at my throat. What was happening to me? My eyes grew wide as I struggled, but the darkness won.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer in the small room. I blinked a few times, taking in the cream colored walls before realizing I was home in my own bed in a pair of pajamas. How had I gotten home? I pushed back the covers and sat up, but immediately the room spun.

  Slamming my hands to the side of my head, I waited for the room to stop turning. When it finally stilled, I pushed myself off the bed. As soon as my feet touched the floor, I nearly crumpled from the pain. A burning sensation blazed through my abdomen, and I wrapped one arm around my stomach. The other grasped the wall, and slowly I limped down the hallway and into the living room. Peter sat on the couch watching TV. He glanced up as I entered.

  “Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked, before returning his eyes to the black box.

  My eyes narrowed, and I glared at him as hatred fueled in my heart. I bit back the hateful words I wanted to spew and took a breath, “How did I get here?”

  “Evidently you passed out, and they called me. We still need to go back and get your car.”

  “No,” – I shook my head as the nausea reared up again – “I never want to see that place again, so find someone else to drive it home, or they can have it towed, and I’ll pick it from the tow place.”

  Peter wrinkled his forehead, “Don’t be silly. It’s just a few minutes down the road. We’ll get it when you feel better.”

  “If I ever feel better,” I whispered as the grief pulled at my heart and the tears tumbled down my cheeks again.

  Peter rose from the couch to comfort me, but his touch only ignited the nausea and repul
sed me. I shook him off and limped back to the bedroom, shut the door, and crawled back into bed. Pulling the covers up over my head, I closed my eyes, wishing I could redo today and make a different decision.

  At some point Peter came in to offer me dinner, but I couldn’t eat. I wasn’t hungry; I wasn’t sure I’d ever be hungry again. He didn’t come back that night, and I was glad. The mere sight of him stirred the seed of hatred, and the thought of his body next to mine made me cringe.

  The cry of a baby woke me some time later, and I glanced around. A tiny baby in a blue sleep suit lay at the foot of my bed crying softly and flailing little arms. Was it a boy then? I reached for the baby, but my arms continually fell short. The cries grew softer and softer, and my heart squeezed tighter and tighter. And then they stopped, and the baby regarded me with empty dark eyes. A guttural scream reached my ears, and I snapped my eyes shut and clapped my hand over my mouth.

  Drenched in sweat and tears, I slowly opened my eyes, but there was no longer any baby. There was no baby. I had killed him. I curled into a ball as racking sobs wrenched my body. When there were no tears left, I touched my stomach and the pure emptiness consumed me again. I had killed my own flesh and blood, for what? Convenience? I couldn’t go on like this, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. How could I deaden the pain?

  The image of the small stash of liquor Peter kept for parties jumped in my mind, and I limped my way into the kitchen. He was snoring softly on the couch as I passed, and the hateful thoughts that jumped in my mind surprised me. I shook my head and continued limping along. A few more steps landed me at the little chest. Opening the door, I took stock of the offerings. I had never been a big drinker, so I had no idea what I was looking at or what each tasted like. Rum, Tequila, Gin, Whiskey, Scotch, I played a quick mental game of “Eenie-Meenie-Miney-Moe” and grabbed a bottle, closing the door softly and shuffling back to the room.