To Laura, ten years too late.
The day you told me of the abortion, I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to tell Alyssa either, 2 years before, as the herbs she tried wracked her body before she went and paid for a doctor to help her.
What can you say?
Great! You got rid of the damn thing, let's go have a beer? Oh shit, that must have sucked? Gee, better luck next time?
My internal book of things to say was blank when it came to Abortion: Reaction to. I thought of your parents, your "artsy" but conservatively liberal parents, with a standing in the community to protect, cushy art jobs with the government. Your parents who worried about the effect I might have on you.
I always found that amusing myself.
Laura, I sat starting at you, at a girl I didn't know anymore. You had your first real boyfriend, the first person who really loved you as a lover, the first person to find you beautiful. I couldn't stand him, but I never told you. He made you so happy. He was so wrong for you.
He got you pregnant, or maybe you forgot, or didn't protect, or who knows. You were pregnant at that age, at that time, at 18 or 19 or however old you were and alone you made your way to the clinic and alone you had that potential removed and I didn't know what to say.
I never saw you again after we met that day.
I kept staring into my tea. You only told me after I made some comment about samosas and chutney, and you told me you couldn't eat chutney anymore, because that's what your parents were eating when you came home from the clinic that day, nauseaous and feeling poorly. The flu you told them, as your stomach revolted from the food.
I read a story today Laura, about a girl who had an abortion, and who thought about the father, and her parents, and how disappointed everyone would be. And I still didn't know what to say anymore than I did 10 years ago when you bared your heart to me and I couldn't find a way to tell you what I really felt, that I was there for you, that you made a choice you had to make, that I wished I could have been there when it happened.
For years the characters in my stories were named Laura. I loved that name. But after this, my heroines were no longer named Laura, not because you had the abortion, but because I felt helpless to be there for you as I should have been. You were so strong when you told me, and I know that it was a lie.
Laura, for what it's worth, I'm so very sorry. Where ever you are.
What can you say?
Great! You got rid of the damn thing, let's go have a beer? Oh shit, that must have sucked? Gee, better luck next time?
My internal book of things to say was blank when it came to Abortion: Reaction to. I thought of your parents, your "artsy" but conservatively liberal parents, with a standing in the community to protect, cushy art jobs with the government. Your parents who worried about the effect I might have on you.
I always found that amusing myself.
Laura, I sat starting at you, at a girl I didn't know anymore. You had your first real boyfriend, the first person who really loved you as a lover, the first person to find you beautiful. I couldn't stand him, but I never told you. He made you so happy. He was so wrong for you.
He got you pregnant, or maybe you forgot, or didn't protect, or who knows. You were pregnant at that age, at that time, at 18 or 19 or however old you were and alone you made your way to the clinic and alone you had that potential removed and I didn't know what to say.
I never saw you again after we met that day.
I kept staring into my tea. You only told me after I made some comment about samosas and chutney, and you told me you couldn't eat chutney anymore, because that's what your parents were eating when you came home from the clinic that day, nauseaous and feeling poorly. The flu you told them, as your stomach revolted from the food.
I read a story today Laura, about a girl who had an abortion, and who thought about the father, and her parents, and how disappointed everyone would be. And I still didn't know what to say anymore than I did 10 years ago when you bared your heart to me and I couldn't find a way to tell you what I really felt, that I was there for you, that you made a choice you had to make, that I wished I could have been there when it happened.
For years the characters in my stories were named Laura. I loved that name. But after this, my heroines were no longer named Laura, not because you had the abortion, but because I felt helpless to be there for you as I should have been. You were so strong when you told me, and I know that it was a lie.
Laura, for what it's worth, I'm so very sorry. Where ever you are.
VERY powerful post. One of the best I have read in a while. I sympathize, but likewise have no meaningful words.
Posted by
Anonymous |
4:39 p.m.
Thank you.
It's bothered me for years that I never know what to say when this comes up. And it bothers me to think that I ruined such a cool friendship this way. I should have had the balls to just say "I don't know, but I'm here for you."
I miss her.
Posted by
thordora |
10:57 a.m.