This is an older story that I'm posting.

I'm sitting in one of the hard, uncomfortable chairs arranged in the cramped room, waiting for my girlfriend's appointment to end. As I idly flip through the pages of an outdated copy of Sports Illustrated, I peer over the edge of the magazine and observe my surroundings. The room itself looks similar to the expectant mother section of a maternity ward, yet feels rather like a psychiatric exam room, the air stifling, filled with a mixture of emotions. Outside these walls, I can vaguely hear the shouts of the pro-life protesters, not realizing, or maybe not caring, the turmoil they were causing. As I continue flipping through the pages of the magazine, I think back on the events that led Jessica and I here, more specifically the events of the past two weeks.
One evening as I was in class, I felt my phone begin to vibrate. I looked at the small LED screen to see Jessica's number flash across it. Figuring it was a typical, everyday phone call and that she'd simply forgotten I was in class, as was often the case, I switched off the vibrating phone and promptly forgot about it.
Two hours later, I turned on my cell phone in order to check my messages. It was only then that I realized I had missed seventeen calls, all from Jessica. Seven of the eight messages in my voicemail were of her voice, her hysteria becoming more and more apparent as I progressed through her messages. Something was really wrong. I hurriedly dialed her familiar number, my heartbeat quickening as I listened to the ringing in the earpiece, waiting for her to answer the line.
"Hello?" She answers, her voice sounded unnaturally tired and nothing like her usual self.
"Baby? Baby? What's wrong?" I asked worriedly, hoping things were not as bad as they might have appeared.
Jessica began to cry, sobbing hysterically. "It's awful, John. Awful. Awful. Awful."
"Baby, it can't be that bad." I soothed. "Tell me what's wrong so we can fix it."
            "John," Jessica said, crying even harder than before, "I... we... I... I'm pregnant."
            My heart seemed to stop beating. "What... What do you mean? You're pregnant?"
            "What I mean is I've got a baby in me. I'm pregnant, John."
            "I got that much, but I just don't believe it." I say, feeling as though my entire body had gone numb. "We... we used protection."
            "I know we did. This can't be happening. I'm only sixteen. My parents are going to kill me!" Jessica practically yelled, going into hysterics. "You! There going to kill you. We are so screwed." I could hear her sobbing on the other end of the line.
            "Shh... no we're not. We'll find a way." I tried to assure her, even though I wasn't entirely convinced myself.
            "But... but... how?" She still sounded frightened, though also a bit hopeful.
            "Baby, how far along are you? Approximately."
            "Three months, of course." She answered. I could have kicked myself. I should have been able to figure it out on my own. We hadn't even seen each other in three months.
            "So, that's what? Twenty-one weeks?"
            "About. Why?"
            "Baby, you've heard of Planned Parenthood, right?"
            "No. Absolutely not." Jessica refused, her fear was quickly being replaced with fierce determination. This was one area that Jessica and I had always differed on, a woman's right to choose. "You know how I feel about that."
            "Yes. Yes, I do. But think about it, Baby." I soothed, attempting to calm her. "You're still in high school, Sweetheart, and I'm a freshman in college. We can't have a baby now. Someday, maybe, but not now. You know that."
            "I know. I know we can't have one, but... but... I just... I don't know."
            "Think about it. Please. Weigh your options. All of them. I'm here no matter what, but think about what's best for you and your future. Is a baby really a good idea right now?"
            "No." I could almost hear Jessica shaking her head on the other end of the line. "But."
            "But what?"
            "I'm scared."
          "I'll be there right beside you, the whole way through. I'll drive down to Charlotte next weekend. We'll get a hotel room for the night. That way you can recover without worrying about your parents. You can tell them that you're spending the night with Ashley or somebody."
            "Promise?"
            "Promise." The rest of our phone conversation had been continued planning of the events that were to occur the next weekend, followed by our usual good-bye and promises to call later that night.
            Two weeks later, we were walking into the clinic hand in hand, attempting to ignore the jeers and insults of the pro-life protesters.
            Hearing the exam room door creak open, I look up and see Jessica, leaning on a nurse. She smiles weakly at me as I cross the room to her side, taking her in my own arms. She seems tired and lethargic, a side effect of the sedative. I fold and place the aftercare instructions in my back pocket before escorting Jessica to my car, helping her to get settled in the passenger seat. As we pull out of the parking lot and onto the freeway towards our hotel, I can’t help but wonder: did we do the right thing?

- Hannah Jo 2007

Labels: abortion, baby, coercion, hurt, loss