TWO

8 DAYS LATER

My reflection in the car’s window seemed ghosted with the ever-moving background of almond and olive orchards. Dane drove with a steady hand, his calm presence helping me to find my center of peace, where memories and sensation fail to thrive. Steel-blue eyes rimmed in red shone in the auto glass as I tried staring past the hollow shell I had become.

Dane’s voice, calm and hesitant asked, “Checking in. How are you doing?” Out on the country roads, things felt removed, until my bestie’s inquiry made me remember that which I wished to forget.

Panic bubbled in my throat since the Valium wore off a while back. “I… I guess I’m glad that my insurance covers the procedure. Also think that was easily the most horrific thing ever done to me. You know it’s shitty when the doctor says not once, but twice, that ‘we ought to put her out’ because I’m putting too much strain on the goddamn stirrups, trying to get away from the doctor and his torture devices. They gave me medication to dilate my cervix beyond what is done for a normal procedure, and they scraped me out with forceps. They had to do the procedure twice. Just when I thought I’d get to leave, with my bag of condoms in hand and releases signed, they’re all, ‘no, doctor didn’t think he got everything, come on, back to the torture chamber…’ oh my god, Dane. It was horrible!” Tears poured down my face as I relived the abortion procedure from Hell. The nurse didn’t really call it a ‘torture chamber,’ but it felt that way, knowing I had to go back in there from recovery when I had the mindset that the worst was over and I could soon go home, only to have that dashed upon the Rock of Hope, and gone on to experience the horrific part two of this fucked up sundae.

Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome sucks. Aside from insulin resistance, it causes wonky periods. And so what I thought was a light period was actually implant bleeding or something. It all boiled down to me being further along than anticipated, which lead to the choice of having the procedure done today or wait a week and travel a hundred miles for a specialty procedure. Shit, I was here, wasn’t I? Might as well get it over and done with. And so it was, in the most painful way I could have ever imagined.

Couldn’t close my eyes. Every time I blinked, I was back in that office, clutching the nurse’s hand in a death grip as the doctor would ask another nurse for a larger dilator, time and again. And when the canister was taken from the room to be examined, the nurse came back in and said it’s not all there. And then the procedure began again, and again until all the tissue was removed. So I kept looking out the car’s window, into the blur of movement in a bid to erase my upset of having multiple abortion procedures done in a single day. Can’t think about it without feeling bile rise to taint the taste in my mouth.

“You need to eat something. I know you haven’t eaten anything all day.” I think he tried to hide the concern in his voice. It was there, tinging his comment. Our original plan was to make it to my nine o’clock appointment, be out by two PM and get something to nibble. However, because of the situation’s reality, we didn’t get out until nearly five.

But the words he spoke were true. From eight in the morning to four-fifty-three in the afternoon, I spent my time in the clinic, awaiting my turn. “Not real hungry.” Haven’t eaten all week, not after the call to my cardiologist. Highly unrecommended for me to carry to term. Maybe I should consider sterilization? Could die during birth by having a stroke, which sealed the deal on me getting a termination. How could I eat knowing what I had to do to ensure my own survival? Being Pro-Choice doesn’t mean, huzzah, let’s all get abortions because they tickle! That choice part— that shit sucks, even when it’s not much of a choice.

With one hand on the steering wheel, Dane used the other to reach into his pocket and bring forth an oblong tin. He handed it and a lighter to me. “There, that’ll make you hungry.”

Popped open the container and saw no less than eight joints. A small laugh bubbled forth from my lips. “You were expecting a bad day?” His usual would have been two joints and a nug for his pipe.

“I had to do something while I waited because the nurse wouldn’t let me go back with you. I consider it a bad day for both of us.”

“If you were there with me, you would have punched the doctor. Then nothing would have been fixed, solved or otherwise been able to move on. Plus: police intervention. Smoking a doobie is much better than punching the abortionist.” I tore my gaze from the windows and looked at Dane, who’s frown could carve stone, with the rigid set of down-turned lips.

He heaved a sigh and fiddled with the radio, putting it on an oldies station playing Led Zeppelin. “If you say so. Nothing sucks as much as knowing someone you care about is hurting and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s frustrating.”

I lifted out the biggest of the joints before snapping the tin shut. Held it in my lips while I cupped a hand around to act as a windbreak as I sparked the lighter to life. Toasted the end and drew in the pungent smoke. Held it for a few heartbeats before releasing it out the cracked window. Passed it over to Dane. “Here.”

“Is that the Mighty Joint?” His eyes never left the road.

“Yup.”

“That is all you. Well, give me a hit. But the rest is yours.” He plucked it from my fingers, took two long drags and slowly exhaled while he handed it back to me. I knew the folly of not offering a hit to the Great Dane. The fact he drove and could partake of cannabis without any noticeable change in his driving reinforced the notion that he functioned best with some THC in his system. Counter-intuitive, but true.

Before I took another puff, I said, “I can never have children. That is firmly out of my future because the vascular stress would do me in before the umbilical cord would get cut. My cardiologist suggested I get sterilized. Because pregnancy will kill me. The rite of bringing life into the world will kill me. And I don’t know how I feel about that. I just feel… numb.” Then I sucked as much pot into my lungs as I could because I didn’t want to feel the hurt in my heart, brain, and nethers. Maybe Dr. Patel was right, maybe I should just get my uterus ripped out so I’d never have to experience the fear of getting pregnant again. Or perhaps settle for an IUD until I hit menopause.

“That sucks. Maybe when you’re ready you can look into being a foster parent or something. I think you are a good nurturer. You’d make a good mother. On the other hand, you now have the superpower to go exploring without rug rats in tow. You don’t have to put your life on the back burner to focus on raising mini-yous.” I didn’t say anything, just puffed on the joint until it was a tiny, finger-burning nubbin. Upon me extinguishing the roach in the ashtray, Dane asked, “Hungry yet?”

Not really. I could reflect upon the situation I found myself with a bit of emotional distance. Never want to find myself in that position again, of having a painful procedure done without anesthesia. My nethers still ached and cramped, and the pad they gave me seemed as thick as a San Fransisco phone book. “Nope.”

“Then spark another one. Smoke until we reach town or you get hungry— which ever happens first.”

“I’ll fall asleep if I do that.”

“Sleep will help, too.”

“Yeah, it would. Haven’t slept much since Nic left.” The day after he dumped me, he sent a single text asking how long I knew I was pregnant. I told him. Then silence. He hasn’t spoken a word to me for a week, and I suppose having expectations dashed upon the rocks of reality really puts the whole breakup thing in perspective. It hurt, can’t lie. There’s a part of me that wishes Nic was the one driving, that I could trust him to be a friend, trust him at all. But that’s impossible and I’m so glad Dane is top shelf in the Amigo Department.

“Can tell you haven’t been getting rested. You look like you’ve been dragged through a knot-hole backwards. Which is why you need a full belly so you can get your food coma on.”

So I sparked up another joint.

The cracked window helped keep the car clear of swirling blue smoke. As I neared the end of the second doob, I said most distinctly after feeling my tummy rumble, “Okay. The joint won. I need to eat.”

“About fucking time! What do you want?” The Great Dane sounded too enthusiastic. I wanted to blame it on the second-hand smoke.

“How does Chinese sound?” In town, The Emperor’s Garden is as close to Asia as our little berg in Northern California gets.

“That sounds perfect.” As we turned onto Old Highway 99, we got excited. The kind of excited initiated by lots of inhaled marijuana smoke.

“They’ll have the fried wontons out early, right? Got the munchies, I need to eat. Now.” The little grumble in my belly evolved into an unstoppable sound of protest. The slumbering appetite has officially reared its head after an eight day nap. And a food coma sounds perfect right now.

“Yeah, with the hot mustard and sweet and sour sauce. Egg rolls!”

I countered with, “Pot stickers.” The kind where everyone needs their own order lest a hand gets sporked or impaled by a chopstick for having the audacity to snatch the last one from a communal plate.

Dane stated, “Mongolian Beef!” and I wasn’t sure if he meant for me or him, but either way, said dish would get decimated if ordered.

But I know the Great Dane’s secret weakness. “Kung Pao Chicken— with cashews.”

He smiled and said, “Okay, you win, Tali. Cashews has the deciding vote. Let’s do the family meal thing. Soup and all the good stuff.”

“What about the foil-wrapped brandy chicken? That is delicious.” Can’t remember if it’s offered ala carte. Must find out.

“Just makes me crave food from San Fran’s Chinatown. It’s as authentic as it gets.” Dane did several years of martial arts training, and all the ceremonies involving belt color exhibition matches were held in the City by the Bay.

“Hell, I miss San Fransisco for more than its food. There’s the Exploratorium, Ghiradelli’s chocolate Mecca, and the Opera, the Symphony, art museums, hell… I haven’t been there in years.” One of my favorite places on Earth, not that I got out of state much. But still, compared to the rural berg of Willows California, San Francisco was a halogen light in the dark.

“You should go. Vacation of sorts. The past week has been really hard on you with a double-dose of shit on your plate. Take some you time. Got any vacation days you can exploit?”

I thought about it. Getting out of town and having Me Time did hold appeal. I saved vacation days each year like my grandmother did stamps, coins, and savings bonds. Can always rest later, there’s too much to be done when it comes to work and life, had been my mantra until this crap with Nic hit the fan.

Had enough saved vacation and sick days saved to take almost three months off and still get paid. Could go to the Symphony, watch an Opera, hit any number of museums, go on a total chocolate binge with no regrets, and bask in culture that the tiny hamlet of Willows lacked. “You know what? That’s a fabulous idea. I still have all the savings bonds Gramma Muriel gave me for my birthday and Christmas, plus the one I inherited from my mom. Can cash out a couple to fund this adventure.” Gramma didn’t believe in ‘traditional’ gifts. She gave everybody the same: a hundred dollar savings bond. Except for the day they were born. I’ve got a five hundred dollar savings bond that belonged to my mother before she passed away, bought by my grandfather the day Gramma popped out her daughter. Last time I ran it through the treasury calculator, it’s worth went over three grand, and that’s in addition to all the bonds that are mine. Until now, I never thought about redeeming them; never had a reason. Well, except for the grand plan to put a deposit on some acreage, but that plan withered on the vine and died. With The City looming in my thoughts, hope kindled in my spirit, banishing the negativity the thought of land and Nic conjured.

Dane turned and flashed me a quick smile before focusing back in the road. “Do it. Go kick your heels up and feel alive again. You know you want to, Tali!”

Which sounded like the best idea in the entire universe to me at that point.

Challenge accepted.