Friends have talked of their own experiences and sister's experiences of abortion in the 50's. I never had an abortion but did become pregnant at seventeen. If I had lived in the 50's I am sure I would have had worse pressure from society. The fifties were a shaming society that let one know of their faults. One woman I spoke to sat in the abortion clinic in the 60's with her mom and got up and walked out the door. Her mother was ashamed of her and had taken her to the clinic. I was advised by a co-worker to get an abortion and how easy it was. I never would have. To see what he is and has become is evidence that abortion kills. Children have a right to be here. Women hold that right for children. It is their job to protect that right for children.
This is the story of a girl, Carol, that needs an abortion. Little does she know that she is just following in her mother's footsteps.
Short Story: Getting Rid
"Look what I found!
A Pete Alexander rookie card!" The boy could hardly contain himself.
"Where’d you get
it!"
"It was at a pawn
shop my brother works at. He got it for me! Who'd want to get rid of
this?"
"Yes, sir-ee, he
could pitch in to a tin can. You know he started with the Phillies back in
1911," the other boy kicked the dirt and reached for the card.
"No way, you can't
hold it....Good Ol' Pete is
mine and I'm not getting rid of him."
TWO WEEKS EARLIER
It had been another day
of answering phones and listening to people request medical records for the
returned veterans for Margaret. The repetition of the day carried on as she
took the bus home and walked two blocks to her two bedroom house and two
daughters. She hadn't gotten her hair done in over two years. She dreamed of
the short hair cut with a saucer hat. That was about all she could dream about.
Her thoughts were most often about how God had taken her husband and left her
with two daughters.
Lucy and Carol worked
down the street on a farm. They didn't grasp the idea that they were poor
because it was all they knew their sixteen and fifteen years. Margaret
knew Lucy would help buy some groceries when she got paid. Carol, the
first-born, not a chance.
Sweeping the floor for
Margaret was like watching a somber dance. The same thoughts always came to
her.
Lou was gone. I haven't
had a man's touch since 1941. Why couldn't Carol or Lucy have been a boy? Her high button shoes and her dull grey dress danced around
her selfish sad thoughts. Her shoes were just as ragged as her miserable life.
"I'm pregnant,"
a voice entered from behind.
Margaret stopped sweeping
for a moment. The words were like a cold wind had just crept in and ruined her
daily pattern. Margaret started sweeping again, continuing her drab thoughts of
how this added to her nadir of life. Carol. Pregnant?
Carol waited for her mom
to do something, or show some sort of emotion, None. Margaret stopped sweeping
long enough for the words to enter her ears and then slowly started gathering
the pile of dirt on the unfinished, worn hard wood floor. She wasn't finished
sweeping, but her nightly routine of sweeping was suddenly disturbed by her
daughter's cacophony of words. There wasn't much dirt. But it only takes
a little dirt to make the floor dusty. It only takes a word to change the
feeling in the house. And it only takes one mistake to change a life.
Margaret continued
sweeping and turned her thoughts from herself to her daughter for a fleeting
moment. Hadn't she inculcated the idea that education was important? She was
barely seventeen. How would she go to school and support a child.
The war was over and prices were rising. Milk was now a quarter a
jug. Why hadn't Carol learned from watching her mom struggle making $1.40 a
hour.
A tear slipped down
Margaret's cheek. Her thoughts completed the circle and returned to
herself. The tear landed in the little pile of dirt as she stooped down to
sweep it into the dust pan. Carol saw the tear hit the floor. She had
never seen her mom cry before. Carol thought her mom was incapable of crying
since she never saw a tear when father died. It was as though her mom had
wanted him to die. She had seen her mother be turned down at the grocery mart
to charge milk, lay in her bed for two days without eating, but she never
cried. It was almost a relief to see her mom cry, but she wanted more than a
tear. She wanted help. She wanted comfort. Guidance.
.
Margaret had cried plenty when she was in high school and determined that it didn't
do any good. That man she called her husband was nothing more than a paycheck. He was going
to be shipped out and took Margaret out on one last date. He had forced himself on her virgin body and she became pregnant. She took hot bathes
and hot douches that burned her insides. It was done. She was pregnant and
nothing could rid that baby inside her. She waited three months for him to come
back and told him. It was all she could do. There were married two weeks later
and Margaret hid this secret of 1916 from everyone, especially her
daughters.
Carol tried to be
palliative. "Here, let me do that." She bent down to take the dust
pan.
It wasn't going to make
the pain any less. Just the sound of Carols voice was like a dagger in
Margaret's heart. She remembered when Lou had taken her to the building in New
York after they were married. He said he was goin' to fix things. It was
more acceptable then that a married couple do this sort of thing. Lou had told his
buddies he "got'er fixed. Margaret
had tried to not think about it since. The splintered wooden desk with her legs
spread for the woman. Lou told her to lie and say that she didn't feel
the baby moving inside of her. She wanted to run, run out the door and never
see Lou again. Anna Johnson ended up dead, maybe she would too? She tried to
bring void to her mind. Lou always got what he wanted. He didn't even like
spending money, but he came up with the forty dollars for the deed.
To have the same thing
happen to her daughter brought anguish. She pictured herself watching the baby
and how dreadful it would be for everyone. Just when Margaret thought life
couldn't get worse it did. Abortions were at least more acceptable for
Margaret's mother, but since Dr. Johnson came around forty plus years ago,
he convinced everyone it was murder.
How much could an
abortion be now. She tried to erase the thoughts from her hapless mind. She
didn't even have money for butter.
Swish, Swish
The broom broke the
silence. Carol was still standing watching her mom. She stood for a moment
holding the dust pan. Nothing. Couldn't Margaret at least shout at her. What have you done? Why? But, nothing. Carol walked to the
kitchen in the silence and dropped the dirt from the floor into the tin trash
can. The sound trickled as it finally hit the bottom.
Margaret when to bed
early that night. It was Carol's turn to put the dirt in the trash can. She
knew what her mother wanted her to do.
Carol had heard of a
midwife in Delaware that could, "fix'er." She talked to Steven about
driving her down south. He said he couldn't miss any school or his dad would whip
'em. Carol threatened to tell his parents. This quickly changed his childish
mind to the more prominent problem. Punishment for skipping school was more
desirable than a pregnant girl. It would take nearly four hours to drive to
Delaware over the Delaware River Bridge.
"We need fifty
dollars." She looked him in the eyes to be sure he heard.
"Where do you expect
that kind of money?" He put his hand to his sweater vest and shook his
head.
“I can't wait any longer,
I'll be quickening." She quietly said and looked down ashamed.
Steven had a quizzical
look on his face. "What's quickening?"
"When I can feel the
baby move. I have to do it before." She looked behind her to see if anyone
was near. She knew nobody was near, but it was a nervous habit. All she could
see were the trees crowding in on her and suffocating her every word.
Steven's baby face
resolved. "Okay, I'll get the money."
Then he mumbled,
"There goes my Pete Alexander rookie card." He kicked the dirt. He
thought of his grandpa giving him that card on a Sunday. Grandpa always caught the foul ball from behind home plate. He had went to
ever Phillies game and told Steven to never get rid of it.
Carol didn't wait for him
to have a moment of sympathy over a baseball card. She wanted Friday to be here
now. She hated the thought of a baby inside of her. Everybody always knew
somebody that had had an abortion and now, that someone, was Carol.
One can't wait for spring
to come after a long hard winter. Especially a Northeastern winter. Friday
seemed to be that spring that Carol was waiting for, but it wouldn't hurry. It
was only March. The day began dark and cold as most do in March. A storm had
come in during the night and brought howling winds and dark clouds. Carol's mom
went to work as she did every day. She walked to the bus stop and waited for
the bus to take her to Philly. She never strayed from her routine of
nodding to the bus driver with her melancholy smile- if you could call it a
smile.
The 1935 Ford pickup
truck finally arrived. It was Steven's dad's, but he let him drive it on some Friday's
because he had meetings. Steven had unplugged the mileage so his dad wouldn't
notice that he drove to Delaware. If Stevern could
take it back he would. He tried to tell himself that he was a man for taking
care of business. For some reason, he felt like a little boy trying to hide the
broken vase from a mom. His parents were well known in the town and he knew
that he'd better take care of business. His mother knew every disciple at Saint
Peter's Church and his father was on the township board. His parents would be
utterly embarrassed if Steven was not the perfect baby boy they had raised.
Steven was their oldest, and the younger sister looked up to Peter for his
wonderful singing voice in church.
The midwife that her
friend's cousin had went to was more difficult to find than the secret bases the
Soviet Union were setting up. The first address Carol was given was a pharmacy.
The cashier was a nice man with greased back hair. He was young.
Carol whispered, "I
need to get fixed."
The young man didn't flinch, he found for the pharmacist and handed him a pencil and paper. They gave a tacit nod and the pharmacist began writing the address.
The young man didn't flinch, he found for the pharmacist and handed him a pencil and paper. They gave a tacit nod and the pharmacist began writing the address.
401 South Derry Drive Apt
B
He wrote it fast and Steven
disrupted the exchange like a dull awl, "Are you sure this is the
address?"
The man didn't listen he
just turned around and went back to work. She knew it was in Delaware. The only
bridge was the Delaware River Bridge. They could take the New Castle Pennsville
ferry, but it would take forty-five minutes just to cross the river. The ride
was full of nonplussed air.
Mme Bryan- the sign read
in the front grass square. They parked across the street and walked to
apartment B to find another sign: Please use back door. The words were painted
with white paint and the B was washed away.
"Do you want me to
wait in the car?" Steven said hoping that Carol would say yes.
"I didn't make this
thing by myself, and I won't get rid of it by myself." Carol didn't give him
a chance to reply with his talk through his hat.
The door squeaked as they
opened it. it was a kitchen without a table and four wooden chairs for a
make-shift waiting room. A woman was knitting. Carol peered around the corner
and a bedroom door shut in a hurry. A big woman with an apron came out and
said, "Have a seat. I'll be out in a minute."
The knitting woman never
looked up. She simply said in a monotone voice, "It's quicker than a hog
eatin' brock."
Carol sat on the chair
thinking of the other women that had been her. Should she feel guilty? Was this
the girl’s mom knitting? Would she feel better if her mom had come?
It was past the 1800's when everyone knew what an abortion was, a form of birth control. It wasn't until
the 1900's it was called infanticide. Carol kept her ear keen to the door
opening. She was nervous when it did open. The heavy woman
washed her hands in the kitchen and said to the knitting woman in a warm Irish
accent, "She needs a wee bit
of rest. It's well if ya' want to stay the night."
"We will leave.
Thank you Ms. Bryan. How much do I owe you? "The knitter said.
"No payment till
she's ready to leave."
The Irish woman turned to
Carol. "Come on back me lad." She smiled as to offer comfort.
Steven stayed glued to his
seat. Carol walked to the room and the door closed. Steven sat thinking of
where his Ol' Pete card was by now. The pawn shop probably had sold it by
now.
Carol took a seat in the
lone chair in the small bedroom.
"Ya don't need to
tell me too much- 'bout how far along are'ya?"
"Probably eight
weeks." Carol looked at the wooden brown desk and then out the
window to the pelting rainstorm. The storm in Jersey had caught up to them in Delaware.
"Britches down and
on me desk. Put the wee blanket over your bottom half."
She turned and got a
curette. It looked like a giant silver bobby pin. Carol kept her eyes on the
ceiling and feeling every touch, every sensation, every pain. While starring at the ceiling she noticed a water leak. It simply was a dark spot that was obviously from the pounding rain. The water spot slowly grew from a pin tip size to a
penny in a matter of seconds.
Ms. Bryan brought herself
back to a standing position. "Rest for a moment dear." Carol laid
there waiting for the uncomfortable pain inside of her to go away. The midwife
took the wooden bucket out of the room. The flushing toilet sound told Carol it
was done.
After fifteen minutes
Carol tried to tell herself the pain was better. She held a cloth between her
legs.
"The bleeding will
stop soon dear." She smiled comfortlessly.
He held his jacket over
her shoulders as she walked carefully to the truck. He took the ferry back.
Carol was asleep for the drive home so it didn't matter anyway. When they
pulled up to the little ranch house it was only almost four. It was a long
drive. The towel between her legs was now heavy and warm.
"Sorry." Steven
said as he opened the truck door for her.
She dragged her baby-less
body to the humble home. Steven watched her until the door closed. The sun had
just shown it's face for the first time that day. Carol plopped on the couch
and didn't move. She fell fast asleep. Steven quickly drove for the pawn shop. He hoped he could still get the card. He wondered why the abortion didn't cost
a thing, but all he wanted was his Pete Alexander rookie card.
"Do you still have
the my card?" Steven asked as if he was a 10 year old boy again.
The man chuckled,
"That card was gone the day we got it. I bought it for my little brother.
Sorry about your bad luck." The pawn shop worker turned, "but we have
a DeMaggio guy from the Boston Bees. It's the only rookie card I
have."
"No thanks, it was
my grandpa's card.
"Why'd you get rid
of that?" The man said to deaf ears. Steven walked out without saying a
word.
Carol lay on the couch as
the bleeding became heavier. She woke up once to a thought of relief. It was done. Her mom came home at 5:15 every evening, but she was late that day
due to flooding from the rain. Carol was lying on the couch when she walked
in.
"Hi dear. Where is
your sister?" She walked to the kitchen to get the broom.
Margaret began sweeping
but there wasn't much dirt on the floor today, the rain had settled the dirt.
She started thinking about her Lou, and how he had done the family wrong. She was so wrapped in her thoughts that she didn't notice that Carol never answered her.
