Take My Hand(80)

“I found it. It’s been used a lot, but my friend say I can just wipe it off with a tissue and it be like new again.”

“Oh.” The lipstick was dirty and flattened all the way down to the tip. It was just on the edge of my tongue to offer to buy her a new tube from the drugstore, but I stayed quiet. I knew Mrs. Williams was watching me.

That woman could say all she wanted to about me trying to fix things. These girls were my girls, too, and I was going to do for them what I wanted. Tomorrow I would pick up some new lipstick for Erica.





FORTY-ONE





Lou dangled a pen from his fingers.

“Lou, I was thinking about something, how the government is saying that these sterilization policies didn’t intentionally target poor women. About how you got to prove it.”

“Yes?”

We were sitting in an office the courthouse designated for lawyers during trials. Two desks and two chairs faced each other. A small window overlooked the street. The room was cold and drafty and the walls were bare.

“This ain’t that different than what happened at Tuskegee.”

“What we are talking about here is a little different. Eighty-two people have been sterilized in the state of Alabama in the past year, forty of them white. The defense will claim that percentage proves their point. Far as I know weren’t any white men infected in the Tuskegee study.” Lou didn’t talk down to me when we discussed the trial. In fact, I’d say he took me seriously. He used me as a sounding board to think things through.

“But half the people in Alabama aren’t Black. That’s not a proportionate number,” I said.

“True, but their point still sticks.”

“What about the locations of family planning clinics? Ours is right in the middle of a Black neighborhood. Isn’t that typical? That seems like something easy to find out. We can look up the addresses, and make the case that the clinics target our communities just by the location.”

He nodded. “Good idea.”

“So if Tuskegee doesn’t work, what if we linked it to abortion rights?”

“What do you mean?”

“Abortion and forced sterilization seem to me two sides of the same coin. On the one hand, they restrict our access to abortion. On the other hand, they tie our tubes. They got women caught between two rocks, Lou. Even with the Supreme Court decision, an abortion is still hard for poor women to get.”

“This is Alabama, Civil. I’m not sure we want to wade into the abortion waters.”

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. “But it’s relevant. If we somehow draw a connection between the killing of unborn babies and unconceived babies, we might get the judge’s attention.”

“Too risky.”

“Look, a woman ought to have the right to end a pregnancy if she wants to. The issue in our case has to do with whether the women wanted to.”

“Civil.”

I carried on, ignoring him. “Seriously, what do you think?”

“Get me the addresses of those clinics. That’s a good place to start.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms.

“You know, Civil, I had a law professor at Auburn. His name was Maddox. I clerked for his daddy for two years after law school. The old man taught me a very valuable lesson about trial law that I’ve never forgotten.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Take things one step at a time, and eventually your argument in court will reflect that precision. Passion is good. But only when it’s focused.”

“Sounds like he needed to loosen up,” I said, but I remembered it was similar to the advice Ty’s mom had given.

He unwrapped a Tums and put it between his teeth. “You don’t quit, do you.”

He had a point. My own spunk in recent months had surprised me. I’d always believed I was a cross product of my parents. Daddy, the cautious and conservative one. Mama, the impulsive artist. Maybe I was more than the sum of my parents.

The medical school admission book Alicia had given me was still up under my bed. I’d stuffed it under there as far as it could go. Alicia had said she became a nurse to prove that God was real. Well, I had gone to nursing school to make a difference.

I could not be cautious like Daddy, nor could I live in the clouds like Mama. I had to act.



* * *



? ? ?

THE NEXT DAY, Lou called three doctors to the witness stand. The first was a petite white man wearing a tweed jacket and small, round glasses, dressed more like a professor than a medical doctor. I scooted forward in my seat so I could hear him better, because he spoke softly.

“I am Dr. Walter Rosenstein, licensed to practice in the District of Columbia, and a specialist in internal medicine. I am director of the Health Research Group, a nonprofit public interest organization that conducts research and publishes articles related to health care.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’m holding here a report—Exhibit F, Your Honor—authored and published by your organization, titled ‘Health Research Group Study on Surgical Sterilization—Present Abuses and Proposed Regulation.’ My goodness, that’s a mouthful. Did I get those words correct, Doctor?”

“Yes, sir.”