Thursday, April 19, 2012

Now See the Story From Z's Point of View

By Alexis P

Note to Readers:  "Alexis P," a pseudonym for a writer in upstate New York, wrote the first version of this story from her own point of view; it appeared in MyStoryLives on Tuesday, April 17, 2012. Today, Alexis has "flipped" the story, and is telling it from her boyfriend Z's point of view. Stay tuned, there is still a third point of view coming.

  “Get up.” 

 She throws a pillow at me, and I roll over. The room spins a bit. 

 “My head is killing me…” I think aloud. 

 “Maybe you shouldn’t have gone out drinking last night then,” she snaps. 

 It’s raining hard, the struts are going on Alexis’s car, the ride is bumpy. My alcohol-filled stomach isn’t happy with this car ride. What was I thinking going out last night? I knew what today would bring. I knew what this meant to Alexis. Oh, right, I went out to calm my nerves. I’ve never done this before; I don’t know what to do. 

She had made her up mind how to handle the problem before I even got home from work. I didn’t even know she was pregnant until I unlocked the front door and heard her screaming. She ran up to me and slapped me across the face. 

 “What did you do to me?” she screamed. 

 I was speechless, I still am. 

 “I’m scared,” she says now, as the rain splatters the windshield.

 “Everything will be alright,” I say. I don’t look at her; if I do she will know that I don’t know if that’s actually true. 

She flicks on the radio; it’s her favorite band playing. 

I flick it off; I don’t want her to associate today with her favorite music. 

I tell her my head hurts. 

 We pull into the parking lot, everything is so dreary, there are no leaves on the trees, the sky is grey, the grass is grey, my thoughts are grey. 

“There’s a spot right in front.” I direct her to it because she always misses the good spots. 

 “I was told to park out back, the doctor didn’t say why.

I suddenly realize why we have to park in the back. I see the protesters out front. They are standing there in the rain with their smug looks, with their smug signs, wearing their crosses like smug badges of honor.

“DON’T KILL GOD'S CHILDREN!” the sign says. 


 “ABORTION IS MURDER!” the sign says. 

 “MURDER IS A SIN. SINNERS GO TO HELL!” the sign says. 

 Alexis doesn’t see them, and I’m glad, I want to protect her. 

The nurse tells me I can’t go in with her; I can’t believe I have to leave her alone. Why can’t I be there? It’s my baby too. 

 “I’m scared,” she whispers,” Pray for me.” 

 I don’t know if there is a God, I don’t believe in prayer. But I think of the protesters, I think of their signs. 

 “Everything will be OK, this is the right thing to do.” I hug her and kiss her, and start to talk to the sky.

No comments: