Seattle, Washington

Debbie was sick of thinking Serves me right but every other thought she had just made her angry. Not ashamed; she was surprised not to be feel ashamed, and even more surprised at her anger. Thinking Serves me right over and over and over knocked the feet out from under her anger, let her feel just wry enough to stop the anger from exploding into a rage she could not afford now. Not now. Later she could be as angry as she wanted, but right now she needed to stay calm, even if it was an irritated, tedious calm.

She'd come here alone; it seemed appropriate to her to come alone. There was no one to share this with, no one who would understand or give her the support she needed. Better to be alone than with the wrong person. Should have thought about that with him, she told herself, knowing the irony was worth a laugh and that laughter was something she was not able to do. Not now, not here. It might help, but so would a hundred thousand dollars and a time machine. She didn't have those either.

What she did have, she didn't want. Not like this. She had wanted it her entire life, from the time she was a little girl it was all she wanted. But not like this, absolutely not like this. It was supposed to have been so much different, something to celebrate. Instead she was subjecting it to a procedure, and if she let her think about that, her anger was no match for her pain and sadness.

God this is so fucked up. Pausing, feeling sorry for herself, and then thinking, just like me, and this time she at least grins at the joke. Not much, but she feels her mouth moving into the form of a grin. Close enough.

But the bit of a smile has done some good, and she is able to relax a little bit. She stops running Serves me right through her mind and instead tries to think calmly about what has happened and why. So far she has not been able to do this. She has tried, but almost every thought either angers her into a shaking fit or breaks her down into self-piteous sobs. She made the necessary phone calls, has filled out the required paperwork, and now she just sits and tries to keep herself calm until it's time.

Time. God, time. Twenty years and three days, and this is how I celebrate turning twenty-one? My first meaningful act as a legal adult? Not exactly what I'd planned. Nothing, though, is exactly as she'd planned; most things are not even close. This, of course, is furthest from what she'd planned, apart from the physical aspect and that, it appears, is the least important part of it all. Irony on irony, she thinks. I am so fucking sick of fucking irony! She really has no choice but to smile now; despite herself, she keeps finding the humor in the situation. Gallows humor? Probably. Good enough. God knows I need to laugh. Like Jimmy Buffett sings: If we weren't crazy we'd all go insane. Too true, she knows; might as well laugh as cry.

She'll cry later, she knows, and she'll scream and have temper tantrums and curse everyone she's ever known and hate them all and she'll probably call God the foulest names she'll be able to think of, sacrileges that would send her to hell with no "Get out of jail" card possible, if there were a hell and she doesn't believe in that hell anymore, why bother when I get to live through this?

Later. She'll do a lot later, and a lot of that will be stuff she should have done sooner. Stuff she did without thinking, other things she did as if it actually mattered. She knows a lot better now, too late for some things and for the rest? Well, in a few days she'll be back on her feet and then it'll be her own damn choices after that. Smarter choices. She'll make decisions that she wants to make, and she'll think them through. Not too much, I've wasted way too much time on being way too careful, and I got way too little out of that. But more than she'd given to some decisions.

Like getting laid, she thinks, didn't really think that one through very well. Again with the humor, and she's glad because she almost feels as if she can go through with this and not feel like simply going to sleep and never waking up again. She'd spent most of yesterday on that decision and she still isn't sure she'd come to the right conclusion. Too late now; they've already got your credit card number. You'd still have to pay for this, beyond the grave. Deciding to live: not a choice she'd ever thought she'd seriously consider but then, again, she never thought she'd be dumb enough to wind up in a place like this.

At least,she thinks, at least I'm no longer groveling to God to be nice to be for being such a bad person. That would have just made this completely unbearable, but she then realizes she'd probably not be here, not need to be here, that she'd still be "pure" and maybe even married to someone like Greg Watkins, getting ready to start popping out his babies and raising them in the Lord. Is this better than that? she wonders, and she finds she cannot convince herself that it is not. Strange.

She is, if nothing else, free and making her own choices. If she's angry at anyone, it's herself, and it's on her own terms. She's not taking orders from Pastor Frank or the Women's Purity Group; I can't believe I ever had anything to do with those bitches! She'd been foolish enough to tell Lyn and Lyn had told the Group — "So we could lift you up to the Lord, Debbie!" — and someone had decided a few other people needed to know, and now all she can do is hope that word never gets back to her parents. They may not have any real convictions, but they'd find a way to be horrified and saddened by this. She knows she couldn't face them if they knew, and more than anything, she just wants to go home and relax and be part of that boring house for a couple of months while she figures out what to do next. She knows she'll work something out by fall, but she needs the time and space staying with her folks will give. She is glad that over the course of four years at college she's lost connection with almost anyone she'd known in high school. Her parents are unlikely to find anything out.

So she sits and waits, and tries to feel the little thing somewhere inside her. Below her belly, just off to one side, too small to be seen yet but she knows it's there. Waking up to puke every day was a big clue; the loss of her period a bigger one. It's there inside her, the one thing she's wanted so desperately her whole life until she actually got it. Now she's getting rid of it, and she wants to spend these last few minutes trying to feel it. Trying to make it real somehow. All she has are symptoms; there is no real sign that she is pregnant. You think they are lying to me just to make money? Ok, that's one of her less intelligent thoughts on the subject, but the more she tries to feel what her body is doing, the less real the whole thing seems. As if this really is a joke, or a mean trick by God who is really pissed at her for refusing to bow down to him anymore.

Yea, well fuck him if he can't take a joke. Her thoughts are getting less intelligent. Shit, let's get this over with! It's time to do it, to get it done and let her get on with her life. She can't feel the thing inside her; she refuses to use the word Lyn used because this is not her baby. It's a bunch of cells that could have become a baby if she'd not let that prick Richmond talk her into "celebrating" their graduation by giving up — throwing away is more like it — her virginity. Asshole wasn't even very good, either. She never told him, never will. She'll never see him again, not if she can help it. Terrible choice for my first time. Bad sex, bad guy, bad result, bad in every way.

Well, at least I got it out of the way.

And this time, before she can grin at her idiot joke, a soft voice calls her name. The nurse is an older woman, somewhere between thirty and forty; her face is kind. Debbie is glad. She needs kindness. I guess everyone who comes here needs kindness. It's probably their specialty. She stands and finds herself unwilling to move.

My last chance. I can change my mind, can simply say, "No, I've changed my mind". I can say "No" and walk out and go have a baby instead. Too bad if it's the wrong time. Too bad if I'd be a single mom and my folks would freak out and people back home would think I'm a whore. I can change my mind and leave and go have my baby, just like I've always wanted.

But this isn't what she's always wanted, and she knows it. This is a sad thing to do, but she knows it's not a bad thing. Not that kind of bad. It's what she has to do: not because she has no other choice but because she's thought about it and made her own decision. On her own terms. This isn't what she's wanted her whole life, but it is what she wants now.

"Coming."

And she walks through the door the nurse holds open, sad and a bit frightened but at least she's certain she's made the right decision. Here, today, now; the right decision for now. I just damn sure better make smarter decisions from now on. And as she walks down the corridor to the room where she'll have her procedure — abortion, Debbie, it's an abortion — she is calm and ready to live with her decision. And herself. Good enough.