The Day I Helped Kill A Baby, Conclusion

Continued From Part 2

Cathy and I entered the doctor's office to find a surprisingly large waiting room. There were several clusters of sofas and chairs, coffee tables, and a couple of televisions tuned to The Price Is Right, but with the sound off. The effect was not-unlike an apartment complex clubhouse. The room was heavily carpeted and almost completely quiet, despite the presence of more than a dozen women.

The women all looked at me when we walked in. I felt acutely aware of being the only man in the room. Cathy walked up to the frosted window and tentatively knocked on the glass. The window opened slightly, and the woman seated on the other side indicated for Cathy to come around into her office. It seemed appropriate that the reason for her visit not be discussed through a window.

I took a seat where I could see the window and watched Cathy's silhouette behind the glass. The silence in the room was oppressive, all I could hear was the turning of magazine pages and the air conditioner fan.

It began to dawn on me that all the women in the room were mother and daughter, save one sister act. The younger women uniformly seemed defeated and frightened, the mothers seemed worried, yet angry. The two sisters sat with their hands clasped, pushed down between the sofa cushions, the younger one nervously jiggling one leg.

A nurse appeared in the hallway, "Harrison?"

The mother and daughter closest to the nurse answered in unison, "Yes?"

"Miss Harrison," the nurse clarified.

They both stood up, and the daughter turned to give her mother a pleading look.

"I'm coming with you," the mother answered firmly.

"I'm sorry Mrs.Harrison," said the nurse, "but only the patient is allowed in the treatment room."

The mother's shoulders slumped and she hugged her daughter then leaned back and put her hands on both her daughter's shoulders, "I'll be right here sweetheart. It'll be over before you know it."

The daughter and the nurse disappeared down the hallway. I could still see Cathy behind the glass. The coffee table in front of me had a stack of brochures on it, titles like "So You've Decided Against Children" or something like that.

I started to notice that the women, the mothers that is, were casting me occasional glances. Glances heavy with accusation, thick with anger. I tried not to look around, but every time I did, at least one of them would hold her gaze on me for several seconds.

"You bastard!" the glances said. "You monster, you defiler of innocents!"

I began to feel defensive. "Hey, at least I'm here...where are their men?" I thought

Then, "Oh, wait. It's not my baby. Well, where are their gay friends?"

Cathy had told me once, drunkenly, that every girl needs a gay boyfriend for emergencies. She certainly wasn't thinking of this emergency, but I was glad to be there for her.

Finally, after about thirty minutes, Cathy reappeared. She down next to me, her mascara a tiny bit runny.

"Sorry this is taking so long, that woman asked me a lot of questions."

"It's OK, I told you I'm blowing off school today," I said. "What did she ask you?"

Cathy picked up a brochure and began fanning herself with it. "Lots of stuff. Did I understand the procedure, did I have any children, did I want..."

She stopped and let out a huge sob. It was the first time I'd seen Cathy cry, about anything. She dug into her purse, but the woman across from her handed her a tissue, which she accept with a nod of thanks.

Before I could say anything, the nurse called her back.

"I'll be right here!" I promised, sounding a bit too cheerful.

After Cathy went back down the hallway, I sank back on the sofa. This time every woman in the room was looking at me, daggers in their eyes.

I recrossed my legs, at the knees instead of the ankles. Maybe that looks gayer, I thought, and they'll get the picture. I picked at some nonexistent lint on my shirt. Maybe I even played with my hair a little. I thought, "Dammit! Why isn't there a radio on so I can lip sync to Donna Summer or something!"

After only about ten minutes, Cathy came back out.

"OK, let's go."

"That was fast!"

"Yeah, let's go."

"Don't you have to pay or something?"

Cathy slung her purse on her shoulder and walked out the door. I followed her out and opened the car for her. We stood there with the doors hanging open for a minute, letting the hot air out of the car. I couldn't read Cathy's expression behind her sunglasses.

We were about a mile down the road when she finally spoke.

"The doctor wouldn't do it."

"Why not? Did he -"

"He said I didn't seem like I was sure I wanted to do it. The nurse told him that my interview was unsatisfactory."

"Well, it's not his decision to make!" I said.

"Well, I can't make him do it."

"Was the nurse...right? Are you changing your mind?"

Cathy started to light a cigarette, looked at it for a moment, then dropped the pack back into her purse.

"I don't know. Maybe. They told me to come back in a week if I decide I'm sure."

Cathy never went back. A month later, her parents drove down from their mid-western small town, packed her up and took her away. We hardly got to say good-bye. She never even gave notice at work.

For a long time, I'll admit...I was pissed at her. Pissed that she took off with hardly a word about it to me, but also selfishly pissed that my favorite partner in crime was gone. I stopped going to the pool at the front of the complex, where we had met most afternoons, and started going to the smaller, crummier pool at the back, where I wouldn't reflexively look for her every time I heard the gate open.

Over a year later, I got a xmas card from her. Enclosed was a picture of a cute baby boy sitting on Santa's lap. Up until that card came, I never knew for sure whether she'd gone through with the pregnancy.

During the next ten years or so, Cathy and I corresponded sporadically, occasionally surprising each other with a phone call. She got married a couple of times, but the marriages didn't work out. I kept her up to date with my jobs, my moving around, my love life.

By the time I moved to San Francisco, we'd been out of touch for several years. When my father died, I flew home to Orlando. By coincidence, Cathy was in town, had seen my father's obituary in the paper, and called me at my mother's house. She wanted to come to my dad's wake and bring her son. I'd taken her to my dad's saloon a few times, she had become casual friends with my dad and my step-mom, once even winning their bar's pool contest.

With all the tenseness of my dad's service, I forgot that Cathy was coming. When I saw her in the front yard, I was amazed at how good she looked. Still tan, still smoking, still big ole hair. Her son Danny was a boyish, lanky, good-looking kid.

Cathy and I caught up for a few minutes, then I got pulled away to be re-introduced to some distant relatives. Later, as happens at these things, I found myself in the backyard with all the men. Danny joined us and I introduced him around to my dad's friends, all former Marines.

Dad's friends asked me some perfunctory questions about my job in San Francisco, the weather out there, etc. I noticed that they politely avoided asking me about relationships or kids. I guess Dad had gotten the word out about me.

As most of these guys were retired, the conversation turned to young Danny. He was just out of high school and working for a small hardware store. He asked the old Marines a lot of questions about how old they were when they joined, what they trained to do, whether it helped them get a job when they got out. Danny was interested in being a mechanic.

The Marines, of course, were completly gung-ho about how joining the service would "turn a boy into a man" and "show him the world" and "give him the skills to fix any engine known to God and man."

And despite my dim view of the military, and especially the Marine Corps and the havoc it had wreaked upon my family, I pretty much agreed with everything they said. It was my dad's wake, after all. It would be been terribly disrespectful to those men (not to mention my dad, although that wouldn't have bothered me nearly as much) to suggest that a young man could ruin his life by joining up.

Heck, I even brought up the G.I.Bill, and enthusiastically described how Danny could do a few years with Uncle Sam, then get a free college education. Somehow, Danny had never heard of the G.I. Bill, and he got very excited about that information.

I had breakfast with Cathy and Danny the next morning, before we all headed home. Cathy and I had to stiffle our conversation quite a bit, as we couldn't exactly reminisce about our wild days, with her son sitting there. Instead, we listened while Danny recounted our talk about his joining the service. He seemed to particularly bring up the the things that I had said, to win points with his mom.

When Danny got up to use the restroom, Cathy asked me "Do you really think it's a good idea? You always told me the Marine Corps wrecked your family."

I said, "It's not right for everybody, you're right. But who knows, my dad might have been a freak no matter what job he had."

"I suppose. The college thing is pretty sweet," she mused.

"And if he hated it, he could always get out by saying he's gay!" I exclaimed.

That xmas, the card I got from Cathy included a picture of Danny in an Army uniform. Even with a crew cut and wearing the camouflage, he looked like a baby.

Danny received training in aircraft and truck maintenance, in which he excelled. When his initial enlistment expired, Cathy said he re-upped without hesitation.

Shortly after arriving in Iraq, he was killed.