Twice we drove by the clinic, knowing where it was but not wanting to stop. We pulled into the parking lot and we both took deep breaths. “I'm gonna smoke,” Kristin said as she got out of the car. A protester approached us but only came as close as the lot-they weren't allowed on the clinic's property.
“I'll stay with you,” I said as Kristin came around to my side of the car.
We stood in silence for a few seconds, protesters directing their voices toward us. “Abortion is murder.” “It has a heartbeat.” Kristin's cell phone rang and she answered it.
“Hello?”
“She'll have your eyes, mommy,” the protester closest to us said. I turned and glanced at her. She was short, glasses, a weak chin and reddish hair pulled back into the ponytail.
“Yeah we're at the clinic. Found it pretty easy,” Kristin spoke into the phone.
“Stand up for your baby, daddy,” the protester said.
“Protesters. Yeah, it is kind of weird,” Kristin chuckled. I smiled.
“It's not a laughing matter.”
“We're not laughing at that,” I muttered under my breath.
“We're leaving right after we're done here. I'll call you when we get home. Bye,” Kristin hung up and finished her cigarette. “That was Jen making sure we got here all right.”
“If he's making you do this, mommy, we can protect you.”
“Let's go in,” we walked up to the security guard who signed us in and buzzed us through. We walked up the stairs and approached the receptionist. “Four o'clock appointment under Summers.”
“Okay, please take a seat. Here's some information and a form to fill out. We'll call you in a few minutes for your evaluation,” the receptionist said.
“Thank you,” Kristin took the form but I took the pamphlets.
There were quite a few people in the waiting room. All ages, races, lifestyles. There was an enclosed glass room where patients could go in to smoke without having to go outside with the protesters. We sat down in a corner and Kristin started filling out the form. I sat back and watched one of the TVs mounted from the ceiling.
After awhile the silence between us began to unnerve me. “You doing all right?” I asked Krisitin.
“I'm fine,” she answered, not looking up from the form.
“Are you sure…?” I wanted to finish with “you want to do this?” but the words stuck in my throat. We couldn't afford a baby and we were only five months into our relationship and had plans that didn't include children. We talked it over. We agreed to do it. We agreed to make the four hour trip. I looked over at Kristin and then down at the form. “I hate filling out forms,” I chuckled.
It's not a laughing matter.
Kristin said and did nothing. I looked back up at the TV and sighed.
Almost half an hour had passed when they called Kristin's name. She stood up and walked toward the woman who called her name and disappeared behind a wall. In that half hour, several people had left but about six guys and two women remained. Even though those eight people sat in the waiting room with me, I was completely alone. I could only imagine how alone and scared Kristin was right now.
I began reading through the pamphlets and leaflets the receptionist had given us. I read through everything. Only fifty percent of relationships last after an abortion, was the one that stuck out to me. I loved Kristin and didn't want to lose her but that seemed like an inevitability.
There was a cost sheet also. The word vacuum stuck out on the powder blue sheet of paper. I quickly moved on to a pamphlet about counseling afterwards. “Maybe I should look into that,” I muttered.
I was done with the pamphlets-only three people remained now-and started reading a local independent magazine. I actually read every single page as I wanted for Kristin. It was over an hour and a half before I saw her again. I got up from my chair and hugged her. She hugged back but with a stiffness. She also stared off into space as I embraced her.
Fifty percent.
“Why were you in there so long?” I asked.
“Evaluation. It's a quick physical then I talked to a doctor about the procedure then a therapist,” Kristin explained. “The doctor told me that the procedure is the same as what they do after a miscarriage so we can just tell people I had a miscarriage, not an abortion.”
