VIII

The simple act of the matter is that neither Adam nor I was ready to have a child. I knew that without even talking with Adam about our unborn child. I made the mistake, however, of thinking that meant that I shouldn’t talk to him about it all before going through with the abortion.
As soon as I sat down in the sterile white waiting room at the Planned Parenthood I wanted to bolt. My feet felt like they were glued to the floor though, or were weighted with lead, and I wished that I’d said something to Adam. Even then though, it wasn’t as though I thought it was important for him to know. It didn’t even occur to me at the time that he would have an opinion one way or another. The important thing to me at that moment was that I desperately needed a hand to hold, and in those days, even now, when I need a warm body, his is the first that comes to mind.
I should have gotten up and left right then, when the shadow of a doubt crosses my mind. In the back of my mind somewhere I did just that. I got up, calmly, and walked out the front door. I called Adam at work and met him for lunch where I told him everything and we worked through it together.
“Jane Nielson?”
It was like that space between awake and asleep when you have to go to the bathroom, but don’t want to get out of bed or even wake up. And in your dreams you’ve gotten up, gone to pee and gotten back to your bed before waking up again to realize that the intense necessity to urinate is still there. I snapped back to reality just then to find that I was still sitting in the ugly maroon chair in the Planned Parenthood waiting room, and that a nurse was waiting for me to follow her down a long white hallway.
The actual procedure was over quickly, and after about an hour in the recover room I was allowed to go home. The cramps were unbearable, and after taking more ibuprofen than I should have, I fell asleep until Adam returned home from play rehearsal.
He’d been at rehearsal every night this week for an upcoming student director’s showcase. He’d been so scarce that I’d barely had the time to ask him how his first week of classes was going. It had made it easier to avoid telling him about my little secret. That night, however, he arrived home earlier than usual with takeout tofu burritos.
“Hey babe,” he whispered in my ear, nudging me awake. “What’s wrong?”
“Hey,” I smiled, “nothing.” I tried to sit up in bed casually, but my body would not cooperate. “Just tired, you know?” But the pain was evident in my strained voice. He placed his arm behind me, gently supporting my back as I propped myself up.
“Hey, I’m not as stupid as I look, what’s up?” I didn’t say anything. “I brought you dinner,” he offered sheepishly, holding up the bag from my favorite Mexican restaurant. I should have been grateful and thrilled at his attention and concern, and fallen into his arms and told him everything. Instead I shrugged him off and padded into the kitchen. He followed me, but was stopped short when I closed the bathroom door behind me, right in his face.
“Janie.” He was right outside the door. I didn’t know what I was doing. He was trying to be there for me and I was shutting him out. “Come on Janie, tell me what’s wrong, you’re starting to scare me.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.” I had to put in a new tampon. There was more blood than I could have imagined, and I was considering going back to the clinic before my two-week checkup. That was probably irrational, I decided, considering that the procedure I’d just endured was akin to forcing three or four periods on my body all at once. I was lucky a tampon was enough to keep the blood flow at bay. The full impact of what I had done had yet to hit me, but the tears were beginning to well up. I left the bathroom crying.
“I’m a horrible person,” was all I could manage through stifled tears.
“Babe,” he reached out for my hand. I batted him away.
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered fiercely, “I killed our baby.” I had thought extensively about how I was going to tell Adam about the abortion, but none of the scenarios turned out quite like this. He shrunk back a bit and I slumped against the wall, just out of his grasp.
“This morning…” By now I was hyperventilating. I took several deep breaths and sunk to the floor. Adam sat down across from me at the kitchen table. He was at a three quarter angle away from me, which was easier because at that moment I couldn’t even look him in the eye. He was beginning to piece things together. I had betrayed him, and his vulnerability frightened me. He looked like a wounded animal. At that moment I realized just how bad I had messed up. We sat in silence for what seemed like forever. I wouldn’t have wanted to say anything even if I thought that I had words to offer him that were of any consolation.
“How long did you know?”
“About a week,” I responded quietly, without looking up. I had begun scratching at my wrists nervously, and was trying to focus on the particular patterns of freckles on my forearm. Anything would have done at that moment. Anything to keep my mind away from this horrible place that I’d dragged us both into. I heard him take a deep breath across the room.
“How far along?” I didn’t want to talk about this right now. I never wanted to talk about this. I wanted to forget.
“About six weeks.” He was staring hard at the ground, wanting to be understanding, but having a difficult time with the concept. When he turned to face me his eyes were iced cold, and the vibrant blue that I’d fallen in love with had been replaced with a slate gray.
“You didn’t talk to me about it,” he said coldly. It wasn’t a question it was a challenge, and one I wasn’t prepared for. I didn’t know why I hadn’t told him. My silence angered him even more. He wanted answers and I didn’t have any. He wanted to hold my hand and I wouldn’t let him. So he did the only other thing that he knew how to do. He got angry. “Fuck it,” he said, more nonchalantly than I was equipped to handle, “why should I care?” Now I was confused. “How do I even know it’s mine?” I was stunned silent. He had every right to be upset, but that was just callous. He had a point though, and I knew it.
He stood up and went into our room. I couldn’t move. He left our room a few minutes later with his gym bag, and didn’t even look back at me as he slammed the apartment door behind him.
He’d left the burritos in their Styrofoam container on the kitchen table. When he still hadn’t come back the next morning, I tossed the box into the garbage, wondering what else I’d thrown away.
I was exhausted, but didn’t sleep at all that night. The next morning when I took a little green pill with my breakfast I wondered what that would have done to the baby. Could I give it up if I had to? I was sure I could. I was only taking it because I hadn’t slept. What about the rest of it? Beyond the pills, could I handle having a child? Adam and I were both so self-involved we could barely understand what the other wanted, how could we cater to a child?
I daydreamed a bit about what could have been. We did have an extra room in the apartment, and we could work our class schedules so that they were opposite. I had all kinds of romantic notions of walks on the Common with a little stroller, and afternoons at the library story time. I could pack little Apple & Eve juice boxes for day care. I started to cry. I had broken down into sobs when I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder.