by Cindy Maddox
“You can’t hide from the truth!” a woman yelled as they passed. “Abortion is murder!”
And then the yelling came from beside her. “I’m here to get a mammogram,” Mish called as she lowered the window. “So, unless you’re interested in my floppy old teats, back off!”
Juliann was still laughing when they walked in the building.
***
Oh, but it was good to see the girl laugh. Mish had gotten worried there for a second, what with those horrible posters and all. And then she just got mad. Those people had no right to judge another person, when they weren’t in the other person’s shoes. Damn fundamentalists need to mind their own business. So she just blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. She knew she shouldn’t have said it—Opal was always telling her that her mouth would get her into trouble. But it made Ann laugh, so it was worth it.
They entered the waiting room, and as soon as the door closed behind them a quiet calm came over Mish. The place was simple but peaceful. Nice music was playing, and the furniture was basic but clean and well cared for. Ann sat down in one of the gray chairs along the wall while Mish walked up to the counter and spoke to the young girl behind the glass window. “I have a three o’clock appointment.”
“Write your name on the clipboard,” she said without looking up.
Mish wrote her name, but her hand was shaking, and she wasn’t sure anybody could read it. “In case you can’t read my chicken scratches, it’s Mish Atkinson.”
The girl’s head jerked up and she looked at Mish all peculiar-like.
“It’s short for Artemisia,” she explained. “That’s a plant.”
“Yes, ma’am, of course. Please fill out this paperwork. Someone will call for you shortly.”
Mish took her seat and then glanced back up at the desk. The young clerk was talking to some other ladies behind the counter, and they were all looking at her. Were they all that interested in her name? Odd.
Before she even got done filling out the papers, a side door opened and a nurse called her name.
“Come on, hon,” she said as she stretched a hand to Ann. Ann took a deep breath, then accepted her hand. They followed the nurse into an exam room.
“I’m Jennifer,” the woman said as they got settled in the two chairs across from her. “And I know that you’re Mish.”
“Yes, indeed. And this here is—” She turned to Ann. She didn’t even know Ann’s full name.
“I’m Ann,” she said quickly. “I’m her granddaughter.”
Mish felt her heart skip a beat. If that didn’t beat all! For the girl to be claiming her after so short a time, and after her own grandma meant so much to her? Why, it was one of the biggest compliments she’d ever gotten. She grinned and put her arm around the back of the girl’s chair. “That’s right,” she said with pride.
The nurse smiled. “Well, Ann, I think you have just solved a mystery that has had our office staff in an uproar all day. It started with your phone call, Mish.”
“Me? How did I cause an uproar?”
“Well, look at it from our point of view. You called asking for a consultation to talk about an unplanned pregnancy. That’s a pretty common thing around here, but not for someone old enough to be on Medicare.”
Suddenly she cottoned on. “They thought I was the one who was pregnant? No wonder they was looking at me funny in the waiting room! I bet they was about to call the Guinness World Record folks!”
Ann and the nurse both laughed. “I don’t know what the record is, but you did have the place buzzing. You see, usually the appointments are made in the name of the person who is pregnant. Ann, am I correct in assuming that’s you?”
Ann tucked her hair behind her ear and nodded.
“Then we’ll need to get you to fill out your own paperwork. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait. Do I…do I have to? Already? I mean, I don’t have my insurance card or anything.” She paused and nobody spoke, then she ducked her head again. “My parents don’t know I’m here.”
“I understand,” the nurse assured her. “But there are procedures that we have to follow by law. I promise your parents will not be notified at this point.”
“At this point?” Ann repeated. “I really don’t want them to know. I was hoping I could—you know—get this taken care of without involving them.”
“The West Virginia law is pretty strict. You have three options. The easiest way is to get a parent or guardian to give consent for you to have an abortion.” Ann started shaking her head. “I know there’s nothing easy about telling your parents that you’re pregnant,” the nurse continued. “But it is the simplest, fastest way. If you were to tell your parents, how do you think they would respond?”
“They’d totally freak,” Ann said quickly. She started to say more but then stopped herself. Mish saw a muscle twitch in her jaw.
“Would you be in danger?” the nurse pressed.
Ann shrugged. “Define danger.” When nobody did, she took a deep breath and tried again. “My father is a violent man. There would be hell to pay. Telling my parents is not an option.”
Mish’s heart hurt to hear the news. She knew how it felt to be afraid in your own home, and she hated that this poor child had experienced that too.
The nurse looked at Mish, then back at Ann. “I understand.”
Ann’s face hardened. “No, you don’t,” she countered. “Please don’t pretend you understand what I’m going through!”
Mish looked closely at the nurse to see if she was mad. But she must be used to this kind of thing. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t understand what you’re going through. I just meant I understood what you were saying. I’m sorry.”
Ann’s shoulders slumped and her anger seemed to drain away. “No, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. I’m just…”
Her words trailed off, and she looked back at the floor. She seemed to be having a hard time getting her words out. “What about…what about another relative?”
“Another relative?” the nurse echoed.
“I read that in some states, another relative can give permission.” She hesitated again. “Like a…like a grandparent.”
It took Mish a minute to realize what Ann was saying. That’s why she had claimed Mish as her grandma—so that Mish could sign for an abortion. It stung a bit, to realize the girl was willing to use her that way. This ain’t about you, Mish, she reminded herself. This is about a desperate girl. So don’t get getting your bloomers in a knot.
The nurse smiled sadly. “I’m sorry, but in our state, it has to be a parent or legal guardian. And where a grandparent is permitted, usually you have to be living with them. But you do have other options. You could get a judicial waiver—that means you see a lawyer and a judge to get permission.”
Ann shook her head. “No. My dad’s an attorney. What’s the third option?”
“He wouldn’t know,” the nurse countered. “It’s very confidential, and—”
“No.” Ann’s eyes never left the stained tile floor. “What’s the other option?”
“Your primary care physician can sign off that you are mature enough to make this decision on your own. Do you have a family doctor who could speak to your maturity?”
Ann sighed. “I still see a pediatrician. How pathetic is that?”
“Actually, it’s not uncommon for girls your age,” the nurse said. “What are you, sixteen?” Ann nodded. “And do you know how far along you are?”
“Seven weeks.”
“Are you sure? It can be hard to know—”
“She’s sure,” Mish interjected. The nurse raised an eyebrow at her. “I already asked,” she explained.
The nurse nodded. “Do you think your pediatrician would help? Do you feel comfortable talking with him or her?”
Ann sighed again. “She pl
ays golf with my mom.”
“Well, if that ain’t the baddest luck I heard in a long time,” Mish said.
The nurse tried again. “Doctors are bound by confidentiality. Legally, she could not tell your parents if you asked her not to.”
“Yeah, well, legality doesn’t mean shit apparently.” She looked up and saw the looks on their faces, then continued. “Last time I was there, the doctor asked my mom to leave the room so we could have the confidential talk. You know, they all do that now.” The nurse nodded. “I asked her what it would take to get a birth control prescription. I didn’t want one—I just wanted to know how to get one. You know, when the time came, when I was ready. I thought she was cool. But then my mom came back in, and as we were leaving the doctor said, ‘Give me a call about that prescription.’ Obviously, my mom knew what she meant. Then I got a big fat lecture. So, no, my doctor is not trustworthy.”
“I’m sorry you had that experience,” the nurse said. “I can see why you don’t want to go that route.”
“What about outside of West Virginia?” Ann asked. “I looked it up, and it looks like all the nearby states are just as bad. Are there any states that don’t require parental consent?”
“States? Not nearby. But Washington, DC, might be an option. I’m not an expert—you’d have to check with a clinic there to see what the requirements are, and that’s pretty far away.”
Ann, who had started typing into her phone as soon as the nurse said DC, let out a whoop. “Yes! You’re right. But let me check how far that is.” Her thumbs flew back and forth, then she swore. “Damn, it’s a twelve-hour bus ride. Each way.”
“What about by car?” Mish asked.
She typed some more. “It’s five and a half hours, but I don’t have my license, and—”
“I wasn’t talking about you, silly girl.”
“But I don’t—”
“I didn’t kill you getting you here, now did I?”
Ann looked at her, stunned. “You mean, you’d drive me all the way to DC? To get an abortion?”
“Well, of course I will. I’m following the love, remember?”
Ann shook her head. “I still don’t know what that means. Besides, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. And this is your best option. So be smart and take it.”
Ann chewed on her thumb nail for a few seconds while she stared at Mish. She finally seemed to reach a decision. “If you’re really sure, then yes, I accept.”
Mish looked back at the nurse, who just shrugged and said they were welcome to call back if they needed anything.
Mish picked up her purse and put her arm through the girl’s as they left the office. “It’s just you and me, kid. Two West Virginia gals on a road trip. Why, we’re gonna be like Thelma and Louise!”
“My mom loves that movie. They don’t take shit from anybody. But can we try for a better ending?”
“Good point,” Mish said with a nod. “I’m pretty sure that ‘follow the love’ does not mean drive off a cliff.”
As soon as she said it, she wondered if she was doing that very thing.
6.
Jeff leaned back in his office chair and stared at the ceiling. He was supposed to be starting his sermon, but he wasn’t feeling inspired. He had preached on this Bible passage before, and he just didn’t have anything new to say about it. These days it didn’t feel like he had anything new to say about anything. Week after week he scoured the commentaries, hoping for something brilliant he could use as a jumping off point for a sermon, because he certainly wasn’t coming up with anything good on his own. Everything felt stale. He could hear his father repeating the advice he always gave to young clergy. “If you don’t take care of your own spiritual oxygen mask first, you’ll never be able to help others with theirs.” Yeah, well, that sounds good in theory, Dad, but what happens when you lose your oxygen mask?
And then there was this Mish situation, which he couldn’t stop thinking about. He knew it wasn’t healthy, knew he shouldn’t worry about his parishioners this much. But Mish was special. She was just so endearing. He knew that since her husband died, he had become a little too paternalistic toward her, but he just felt himself wanting to protect her.
And now he needed to protect her from some random woman who had convinced Mish that she was Jesus. How can she be so gullible?
No, that wasn’t fair. She wasn’t gullible, and she wasn’t dumb. She had a certain innocence about her, but it was more from being an eternal optimist than from lack of intelligence. She saw the good in people, even when nobody else did. He wouldn’t want her in charge of the church’s benevolence fund—he had a feeling she would give it all away to the first person who needed it. But because she was so generous, he would certainly want her voice on the committee.
So who was this woman claiming to be Jesus? As far as Jeff could tell, Mish met the woman at the diner, and shortly after that she encountered this Ethan character. How did that happen? Were the two connected? Was the woman passing Mish’s number along to others in her—what? Scam circle? He shook his head and reminded himself that he wasn’t going to solve that mystery today, and he had plenty else to worry about.
He scrolled through Facebook—his favorite form of procrastination—but these days his entire feed was filled with political diatribes and talk of collusion with Russia. Nothing much inspirational to be found there. He opened his email and knew instantly he had made a mistake. All down the screen, subject line RE: INCLUSIVE POTLUCKS. With the use of all caps, there was no way this could be good.
Jeff scrolled down to find the first of the thread. It was sent to the whole church email list.
Dear friends,
It has come to my attention that some of our members are not feeling particularly welcome at our monthly all-church potluck dinners. We have an increasing number of vegetarians among us, and it would be so kind if more people would consider bringing vegetarian dishes. Last month there was only one vegetarian entrée, and it was gone before many of us reached the table.
Since a vegetarian lifestyle is a super-positive thing we can do for the environment, I believe that we as a church can do a better job of supporting those who make this commitment. We would prefer that the potlucks be entirely vegetarian so that we didn’t have to see the evidence of cruelty at all, and I think we’re being very gracious by not demanding vegetarian potlucks. So please think of other people’s needs. Or better yet, give up meat and join our healthy lifestyle!
Thank you for anything you can do to help all our members feel welcome at the table.
Yours in Christ’s inclusive love,
Sammi
Oh, great. A passive-aggressive email couched in social justice language, wrapped up in Southern hospitality, and tied with a Jesus bow! No wonder his inbox was full. He clicked the arrow to read the next one. It was from Valerie. Jeff’s shoulders lowered a bit. Valerie was both level-headed and kind. Her response would be good.
Dear Sammi,
Thanks so much for bringing this to our attention. Of course we want everyone to feel welcome. I think most people simply provide the kind of food their family prefers. I wonder why this isn’t coming out evenly for our vegetarian families.
I’ll try to be more careful about my selections.
Thanks again,
Valerie
Good answer, Jeff thought. So why do I still have seventeen unopened emails?
Sammi,
I personally brought both a green salad and a marshmallow Jello salad last month, and I had leftovers of both. I don’t see the problem.
Carol
Jeff closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. Focus on the breath, like he had learned in yoga and meditation. Focus on the breath, he told himself.
It’s difficult to focus on the breath when you know the shit i
s about to hit the fan.
Dear Carol,
Thank you for your response. I appreciate your generosity in providing two options at last month’s potluck. I’m sure many people enjoyed your iceberg lettuce and radish salad. But I was speaking about entrees. There was an abundance of meat entrées, but for those of us who don’t eat animal flesh, only the eggplant parmigiana was a good option, and it went very quickly. I would hate for us to have to put “Vegetarians Only” signs on the food we can eat.
And for the record, vegetarians don’t eat gelatin. It is made from boiled animal bones and hooves. I couldn’t bear the thought of eating God’s creatures!
Peace,
Sammi
Jeff clicked through the emails quickly to get the gist of each one, so he could hurry to assess the damage.
—Why don’t they just bring their own entrees?
—Vegetarians shouldn’t have to bring entrees every time just so they have something to eat.
—We’re cattle farmers. Beef: it’s what’s for dinner.
—Since the vegetarians tend to be younger, I would think you’d want to do anything to welcome us.
—I’m a vegetarian, too, and I’m very happy with our potlucks.
—Does our church library have vegetarian cookbooks? I wouldn’t know where to begin.
Jeff buried his head in his hands. He considered himself a nonviolent man, but he was seriously ready to strangle the person who set up the all-church email list.
“Pastor Jeff?”
Jeff dropped his hands and smiled automatically toward the door. His smile changed to a genuine one when he saw who it was.
“Carl! Come on in!”
Carl ran a hand through his thick gray hair, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Are you sure? I hate to bother you if you’re in the middle of prayer or something.”
“No, please!” Jeff insisted. He quickly moved around his desk to shake Carl’s hand, then motioned for him to have a seat. Jeff took the chair across from him. “It’s nice to see you. I missed you last Sunday.”