A Spark of Light(89)
As if she needed any more proof, here was Bex beside her, even though Wren knew how much it cost her. She knew Aunt Bex had never had children and that fact maybe even had something to do with her aversion to the Center. But in a way, Wren was secretly glad Bex belonged only to her.
By the time they were buzzed inside, sweat had broken out between Wren’s shoulder blades. “You sit down,” Wren told her aunt. “I can check myself in.”
There were a few people in the waiting room, and a television was on, with the sound muted. At the reception desk sat a woman with the most stunning tower of braids Wren had ever seen—thick red and black snakes twined around each other. She wore a name tag that read VONITA, and she was on the telephone. She smiled at Wren and held up a finger, suggesting she’d only be another moment. “In the state of Mississippi it’s a two-day process. That’s right. So Thursday would be your counseling session, your lab work, and a sonogram. The next day, when you have your procedure, you’ll be here from an hour and a half to three hours. If you want to schedule an appointment I can help you with that now.” She paused, then picked up a pen. “Name? Age? Date of last period? Good contact phone number? So you’re scheduled for Thursday at nine A.M. Now, write down your appointment date and time because we can’t verify if you call back and ask when it is, for confidentiality reasons. You have to bring a hundred and fifty dollars and your photo ID. Cash or card. No large bags, no purses, no kids. All right then. You’re welcome.” She hung up the phone and smiled at Wren. “Sorry about that. How can I help you?”
“I’m here for an appointment,” Wren said, and then hastily, “But not … not like the kind you just scheduled. My name’s Wren McElroy.”
“Ren … Ren …” The woman scanned a list.
“With a W.”
“Ah. Here you are.” Vonita checked her in and handed her a clipboard. “Just fill out this form for me, and we’ll get you in as soon as possible.”
Wren sat across from the television. She scribbled down her information—the usual stuff—name, address, age, allergies.
Beside her, Aunt Bex was going through the little goodie bag Wren had been handed by the protester. Smarties. ChapStick. A pair of tiny blue knit booties. “Well, those are sweet,” Bex said.
She dug out hand sanitizer, breath mints, and two small soaps.
“Maybe they think we’re all dirty,” Wren said. She plucked the flyer from the little bag and began to read: Please don’t rush into this decision. Abortion is FOREVER.
If you are in an abortion center right now, you can just leave. You don’t have to tell anyone. If you’ve already paid, we can help you get your money back.
Wren opened the pamphlet. There were pictures of gummy, bright-eyed babies.
Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you.–God
“You think that’s a direct quote?” Bex asked, reading over her shoulder.
Wren stifled a laugh. “My history teacher would not accept that citation.”
On the back panel was a list of the alleged consequences of chemical and surgical abortion:
perforated uterus, chronic and acute infections, intense pain, excessive bleeding requiring transfusion, risk of future miscarriages, infertility, cancer, death.
Feelings of guilt, anger, helplessness. Mental breakdown. Depression, nightmares, and flashbacks. Inability to feel joy about life. Feeling of separation from God. Fear of not being forgiven. Alienation from family and friends. Loss of relationship with boyfriend or spouse. Promiscuity. Drug abuse. Suicide.
It reminded Wren of those ads on television for antidepressants. Yeah, we’ll stop those mood troughs, but you might wind up incontinent, with high blood pressure, with increased suicidal tendencies, or, hey, dead.
Wren looked at the bold type at the bottom. YOU ARE NOT ALONE. WE CARE ABOUT YOU!
Suddenly she remembered where she had seen that redheaded woman. She was the parent of a ninth grader, and she had raised holy hell over a unit in health class where they studied contraceptive options. The day Wren had to roll a condom onto a banana, the woman had barged into the room, spewing craziness about impressionable minds and God and the rhythm method. Wren had felt bad for her son, who was moved to the library during health from then on.
Wren shook her head, now that she realized that this woman who was anti-contraception was also anti-abortion. Wasn’t that counterintuitive? If you didn’t want abortions, shouldn’t you at least be throwing free condoms and birth control pills out to anyone who would take them? Shouldn’t that woman have been cheering for Wren to come to the Center and get the Pill, instead of berating her?
Wren looked down at the pamphlet again. WE CARE ABOUT YOU!
Or not.
She walked across the room and tossed it into the trash.
—
“DADDY,” BETH CRIED. “DADDY?”
Frustration foamed in her father’s wake, but he didn’t look back as he left. He nearly mowed down the nurse, hurrying to get away from her.
Away from what she had done.
Jayla peered at her. “You okay?” she asked gently.
Beth shook her head, unable to speak.
The nurse sat down on the edge of Beth’s bed. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she said, “but it’s pretty hard when the door’s wide open.” She hesitated. “This isn’t my usual floor, you know. I work on the ortho floor, but I’m covering for a colleague who needed a personal day. So I’m not sure what the protocol is here.”