Looking for Jane (39)
Tom knows what she does, but he’s the only one. Since training with Dr. Morgentaler five years ago, Evelyn has been secretly performing abortions for university girls who find themselves in trouble. She has appointments one night a week in addition to her shifts at a family practice.
“I know, Tom. But don’t you think it would be a bit hypocritical of me to not support the women who are publicly fighting to make it legal? They’re risking just as much as I am.”
“Are they? A fine for protesting and a prison sentence are two very different outcomes.”
They both fell silent as the tension settled between them on the couch.
First thing this morning, Evelyn still headed to the train station, leaving an envelope of cash and a note for Tom saying he should use it to bail her out of jail, if necessary. But she really hopes it won’t be necessary.
Evelyn reaches into her purse and pulls out the piece of paper she scribbled the information down on last night. The organizers put the word out to their networks that they would all meet on the lawn outside the House of Commons on Saturday afternoon to protest and try to speak to their elected officials, then plan their next move.
A few minutes later, the taxi pulls up along the south side of the park. Evelyn pays the fare and hops out onto the sidewalk. She heads up Elgin Street, past the brand-new National Arts Centre and the War Memorial. The spectacular castle-like silhouette of the Ch?teau Laurier looms large beside her, casting its shadow over the street as she makes her way to the sprawling lawn outside Parliament Hill.
She hears the hum of noise emanating from the assembly before the crowd comes fully into view. There are hundreds of women, and some men. The slogan FREE ABORTION ON DEMAND! is scribbled in permanent marker on most of the placards she sees, along with some other, more militant demands like SMASH CAPITALISM!
Evelyn weaves her way through the crowd, the heat of all the excited bodies pressing in on her. But it’s not oppressive; it’s a good heat, like warm rain. She catches snippets of conversation, politically charged, angry voices raised, women laughing and smiling at one another. A chant rises up, starting from the centre and working its way outward like ripples on a lake: “Every child a wanted child! Every mother a willing mother!” Evelyn is jostled as a woman knocks into her, apologizes, then shoves one of the placards into Evelyn’s hands with a grin before returning to the chant.
Evelyn stops at a random spot, staking out her place in the scrum. The woman standing next to her smiles broadly and extends her right hand. Every single finger, including her thumb, is adorned with a chunky silver ring. “Welcome!” she shouts over the din. “I’m Paula.”
“Evelyn.”
They shake.
“Nice to meet you, Evelyn. Where you from?”
“Toronto originally. I’m in Montreal now, just finished medical school.”
“Holy shit, wow! A doctor, eh?”
Evelyn smiles. “Yeah.”
“What do you do? What kind of medicine?”
“Family medicine, and some gynecology.”
“So is it like PAP tests and stuff, or, you know, gyno.” Her eyebrows pop up and down suggestively.
Evelyn hesitates.
“It’s safe here, you know,” Paula says.
But Evelyn isn’t sure she’ll ever feel safe about this. She casts around for a change of subject. “So, what’s the plan here?”
“We’re waiting to see whether any of the fucking politicians are going to come out and talk to us, hear our demands,” Paula says. “But it’s seeming less and less likely. We’ve been here for hours now. I think they’re afraid of us.”
Evelyn continues to chat with Paula as the assembled protesters shout and chatter under the afternoon sun. When the breeze starts to cool and it’s clear that no politicians are coming to speak with them, the crowd starts to thin out. Evelyn, thrilled but slightly disappointed, decides she better go find herself a hotel room for the night. She turns to say goodbye to Paula, but the woman grabs her arm.
“Hey, Evelyn, are you sticking around for a bit?”
“I hadn’t planned on it. It kind of seems like things are over now. I think I got here too late. Everyone’s leav—”
“Oh, things are far from over,” Paula says. “They’ve only just begun.”
Evelyn chuckles. “Now, why am I not surprised to hear you say that?”
Paula leans in toward Evelyn like a gossipy teenager. “My friend Cathy there is one of the organizers.” She indicates a tall woman with a long brown ponytail that falls nearly to her waist. She’s built like a marsh reed, but her face is fierce. “They brought a coffin in on the caravan, strapped to the roof of the car, you know, like a symbol for all our sisters who have died from back-alley abortions!” She tilts her head back and throws the words up into the sky.
They’re a shocking bunch, these women. But then, that’s really the whole point, isn’t it? To shock the patriarchy into change.
“Yeah, I, uh, saw it on the news,” Evelyn says.
“They used it to hold all their backpacks. Kind of clever, right? But now they want to deliver it right to Trudeau’s front door. His abortion law is so restrictive, it might as well not even exist. A whole panel of men have to decide whether a woman deserves to be allowed to abort? I mean, fuck that, right? Fuck that!” She bellows into the heavens again.