Planned Parenthood

So, I was at Planned Parenthood recently (great place to meet chicks) and, as I sat in the lobby, reading a magazine, the buzzer sounded and I heard a young woman shout, into the intercom: "I need a morning-after pill!"

This got my attention.

Who is this woman? Who is this woman who is so brazen about the most private of things, one of life's only remaining taboos, god bless it--the ending of an unwanted pregnancy? I mean, she just shouted it out, in the middle of a strip-mall, along a major thoroughfare, in a metropolis of dizzying size.

"I need a morning-after pill!"

"Wow. She is more confident than anybody I could ever imagine, " I thought to myself.

I wondered what she might look like, but before I could form even a fuzzy picture in my head, a young woman walked inside, followed by her thuggish would-be-impregnator (I assumed; if he is NOT, then he's one helluva guy, which means he'll never get the girl, which means he's a chump).

I laughed to myself, imagining their conversation/argument that morning, her telling him he had no choice but to come here with her today, him giving in.

He played it tough, like he didn't care, but I'm sure he felt awkward. I'm sure he realized everybody in the waiting room heard what his girlfriend (fuckbuddy?) said, once the next 'customer' got buzzed in, and he was slapped in the face by the shocking thinness of the glass.

I'm sure she realized it, too. But I couldn't accurately guage whether or not there was any change in her expression, a sudden dent in her armor, a flushed cheek, because I had stopped paying attention to her. I was distracted by the presence of a small child in her entourage.

The boy appeared to be hers, and possibly theirs, and my mind reeled.

Did she bring this boy along to remind herself and her boyfriend about the importance of this day's main activity? To highlight 'the stakes?' Was he 'a pawn in their game?' Were they going to give him 'a speech?'

"Sorry, Bobby. I know how much you want a little brother or sister, but we have to kill this one or we might not be able to feed you both. You understand, right? It's just bad timing."

Had they already given him the speech? I watched the kid for a while longer. He was either blissfully ignorant, too unintelligent to grasp the matter, or so fucking cool that he had long ago decided he didn't give a flying fuck about ANYTHING.

Could these two adults, of working age, not have found a babysitter for this special day? Had all their favors been called in already? Parents/neighbors dead and buried? Could the man not have stayed home with the child while she 'did her thing?' Was she maybe not allowed to drive home from the treatment, and they were too poor to hire a babysitter for a few hours? Should I be sad about this moment? Is it tragedy brought home, or am I just overreacting to it all, like a typical American, and I should just chill out, take a long sip of a long island iced tea, slip on a black turleneck, light up a fag, shrug my shoulders, and softly reveal to the heavens "c'est la vie?"

I wondered what the kid was thinking, assuming he wasn't explicitly told what was happening, and everything was left to the unpredictable magic of his imagination. Ahh, the imagination of children...such under-exploited talent...

I suddenly veered off on a mental tangent when I realized everybody in the room was staring at this child--this living, breathing reminder of why some of them were there that day. Stopping a potential pregnancy, renewing birth control prescriptions, picking up free condoms or spermicidal bubble baths...all to avoid what HE represents. For we all know what He represents--the end of Me.

The end of My selfish existence, My freedom, My solitude, My irresponsibility.

Me becomes We, for at least eighteen years. And that's just too much to handle for some people.

In this most greedy of greedy towns, this kid delivered a knockout blow to the crowd--he put everything into context, brought it home, retrieving it from the cold, but comfortable, world of the abstract.

Quite simply, he embodied the result of sex, the sometimes feared, sometimes frustratingly-elusive, result of sex: human life.

Vulnerable, dependent, human life--something we all fear and avoid (til we're 35 and spend 5 days a month 'trying' for what we spent 20 years 'avoiding')--yet, paradoxically, celebrate gaily when it happens to others, regardless of whether the 'miracle' was expected or desired.

I could no longer make eye contact with the boy. I couldn't face him. I couldn't stomach the uncontrollable guilt I felt about thinking he might be a burden to his parents, even though I had no real reason to feel guilty, because it's probably true. But the truth hurts.

Others must have felt the same. The previously 'light' mood that had permeated the waiting room disappeared. Granted, nobody had ever actually SPOKEN to each other in the waiting room before the boy walked in, but that just seemed inadvertent, a product of our individual, too-cool-for-school cloaks of nonchalance. This was different. This was fear. I could smell it.

In self-defense, my mind wandered...

"Now Xavier, you just sit still like a good little boy. Mommy's talking to the doctor right now. You see, honey, Mommy wasn't smart enough to do this when she was pregnant with YOU, so here you are. And I love you, don't get me wrong, but, hey, I'd do this to you, too, if I could do it all over again--think of all the youth I could have back! But I can't. So I'm doing it now, to your litle brother or sister. Because I thought of it in time. No regrets. Well, not until I'm old and lonely and barren and tormented by the ghost of my unborn child...then it'll be hell."

She breaks into tears, smacks herself in the face, regains a loose hold on her sanity.

"Give it to me, doc! Before I change my mind..."

[gulp]