Belabored Chapter 39: Tom

“I had been pregnant in the sixties, and at nineteen years old had an illegal abortion that probably influenced the messy state of my reproductive organs… Now I couldn’t take my fate: 

You’ll never have a baby. That was the sentence handed to me. 

I began to beat my fists against a door that maybe I had locked on the other side.” 

– Gilda Radner in It’s Always Something

Once Kathy leaves, there doesn’t seem to be anything left for Helen and Sarah to talk about. Each returns to her respective post. I head over to see how the priest is making out with the irate couple. They’re still going at it.

Between expletives, the male partner shouts, “My wife and I have been trying to get pregnant for a year and a half, and you have the audacity to stand out here and protest a woman’s choice?” 

More profanity, followed by, “Go home!”

The wife joins in with vulgar epithets and accusations, to which the priest, clearly thrown by the breadth of their anger, quietly responds, “But we’re praying for babies, not against people. Any and all babies. Yours included.”

A pro-lifer in ragged jeans steps in to help the rattled clergyman.

“Man, we’re tryin’ to help. Besides, what does your trying to have a baby have to do with us trying to save babies? We’re on the same side!”

“That’s bull!” the husband erupts. “You’re only trying to get rid of people’s freedom! You’re not here to help anybody! You only want to judge other people’s choices! Go home!”

 More pro-life voices – some conciliatory, others harsh and judgmental (as if to prove the veracity of the charge which was just leveled against them) – enter into the debate. My feet propel me towards the couple.

OK, Coughlin, I urge myself, are you ever gonna say something, or do you plan to just keep standing here like a statue while other people take all the flak? Why didn’t you just leave with Emma and the boys if all you’re gonna do is stand around and watch? Come on, man! It’s now or never.

“We are home!” one pro-lifer hisses. “This is the land of the free and the home of the brave. And last time I checked, we had freedom of speech and assembly in this country!”

Keep out of their personal space, I warn myself. They’re angry enough to be dangerous.

Like Atticus Finch eyeing rabid Tim Johnson, I keep my distance. I want to be heard, not disemboweled.

“Folks, can I have a word alone with these people?” I begin cautiously.

The man looks suspicious and takes his wife’s arm.

“Hey, man,” I say, “all I wanna do is talk to you without everyone else hearing. Really, folks, do you mind?”

The priest looks wary, as do the rest of the pro-lifers within earshot. Everyone seems to think I’m out of my mind. They’re probably right. 

Still, something in my voice seems to command compliance when these types of situations arise in the classroom, just like that day in the locker room all those years ago. Slowly, the crowd around us disperses, and I find myself alone with the two enraged dissenters.

          “Listen, man,” the husband snarls, “I don’t know what you want, but –”

“Nothing,” I say emphatically. “I don’t want anything, except to find out what’s got you so upset.”

I pause to gauge their reaction. So far, so good. I wade in a little further.

“Do you mind if I ask why a peaceful prayer vigil is affecting you both so personally? I mean, what’s it got to do with you folks trying to have a baby?”

The wife starts to tear up and her husband flares again.

“Stop tryin’ to psychoanalyze us! You’re upsetting my wife!”

“I’m sorry. That’s not my intent. I’m just asking questions. I’m really sorry you guys are having a hard time getting pregnant, but these people are just trying to defend the unborn. They’re not out to get you.”

“You don’t have a clue!” the wife screeches. “You think this is some sort of a punishment, don’t you! Well, it’s not!”

“Punishment? For what?” I ask quietly.

“You think you’re so smart! I was just a kid myself! I had no way to take care of a kid! What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know it could cause problems later.”

The light dawns. My mind flashes back to the day Macie Shaw asked if she could go to the nurse, and I tried to stall her because she’s always looking for a reason to get out of class. It was only when her eyes started to well up that I noticed she had tied her jacket around her waist and was clutching a tiny, pink, cylindrical object in her hand. I couldn’t write the pass fast enough.

I felt like as much of a jackass then as I do now.

  Still, the waters have parted in front of me, and I see no choice but to forge ahead.

“So, you’re wondering if God’s punishing you for the ‘choice’ you made way back when by not giving you a child now?” I press softly.

The wife bursts into tears, and her husband tenderly puts his arm around her. In a strange juxtaposition, he glares death at me. If he had a knife, it would probably be wedged in my jugular by now.

“Nice goin’, man,” he spits out acidly. “Now she’ll be a wreck for the rest of the day. Thanks a lot.”

He steers his crumpled wife away from the crowd.

I can’t let them leave that way.

“Hey, wait! Please! There’s gotta be help for what you’re feeling. You don’t have to carry this pain alone.”

I take a deep breath, praying furiously for some hopeful words to come to me. The only thing that leaps to mind is Matthew. I decide to go for it.

“Look, my wife and I, we’re having our third son, and he’s gonna have some problems. Serious problems. We weren’t sure what to do, how to handle it, but we found this place that helps people like us. It’s a pregnancy center downtown. Maybe –”

 The man turns abruptly from his wife’s shaking shoulders.

“Leave us alone!” he fumes. “You’re on your third kid and we can’t even have one!”

 “Please, hear me out!” I beg. “It’s not about the number of kids. It’s about the services this place offers.”

I fumble with my phone to look up the contact information for the pregnancy center where that nice woman, Bonny, works.

“They have a sign there saying they help people who’ve gone through what you guys have. I think they have some sort of support group. You don’t have to live in bondage to this – this one choice. You can move past it.”

It’s no use. I’m talking to their backs and praying the guy doesn’t turn around and deck me. In a last-ditch effort, I shout to them, “It’s free!”

They get into their car and speed off.

With slumped shoulders, I call Em to ask for a ride home.