Cradle Robber

by Staron, Chris

  Hours went into planning these gatherings; he used to assemble them himself. They traveled all around Indiana protesting abortion clinics and attracting local news media. This was back when he still went to church, put together MissionFocus meetings, held down a full-time job, and dated Linda at the same time. How did he manage it all?

  If they expect me to hand out pamphlets they're going to be sorely disappointed.

  The photographer from the town paper came by and snapped his obligatory shots. Wade ducked out of his way, stepping into the street to avoid the man’s lens. He did not need to appear in the paper. The journalist tried to pose the protestors into something more menacing, but they resisted any kind of demonizing. Wade could already see the ho-hum article in the back of the local section—big enough to keep the crowd from getting angry, and small enough for everyone else to ignore.

  Wade knew these people from his old life. There were family men and women, members of the community, people on the PTA. Harmless. But some passersby reacted out of fear.

  A young woman on the far side of the street shouted at them. “It's my body. Intolerance is not welcome here.”

  The group continued marching in their circle, not responding, which only angered the young woman. “Did you hear me?”

  The police officer that presided over the march turned his head and glared at her. Intimidated, she cast an ugly glance at the protesters and continued on her way.

  Wade joined the group about two hours later than anticipated. The Department of Defense pressured him to stay late at the computer station to get his contracts in on time. Funny that a man with a time machine had scheduling problems.

  “So he finally shows,” bellowed Louis, a middle-aged man whose rotund figure dripped with sweat from the heat of the day. They shook hands.

  “Yeah, sorry. You know how it is.”

  “Work don’t stop for nobody.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  After years of marching in circles, staring at the back of the person in front of him, he’d rather stay home. But Tom was persistent. First it was the art museum, then it was coffee with a “friend” who happened to be single. Wade admired the tenacity of the Griersons. They were trying to draw him out of his shell. This was probably their next foray into matchmaking. Wade wondered which of these women he would be forced to take out next.

  Tom sidled next to Wade and put his arm around him. “What about Darcy? She’s really something.”

  “She’s a nice girl, and I appreciate all of your work.…”

  “She’s active in the community, great with kids…, it’s a crime that she isn’t married. This girl likes you. I can see it.” Tom nudged Wade in the side. “You even look good together.”

  Wade elbowed him back. “Thanks for the opportunity. I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about it? Oh, to be single again.”

  “She’s fine, but I have too much on my plate right now.”

  “Okay. We’ll try a little harder next time. Linda has so many friends….”

  Wade picked up a sign and joined the march. The circle continued its serpentine route around newspaper vending machines and light poles. Louis lifted his feet high, chest puffed out, like a soldier on a mission.

  “Three potential abortions turned around and another at least reconsidered.”

  Wade bit back the words. His lips trembled with the pressure of holding his opinions. Emboldened by his success with the machine, he wanted a fight. But nobody likes a rabble-rouser.

  “What happens when we leave?” asked Wade. “Can’t watch the place all the time.”

  Tom dodged a pedestrian and spun his sign around. “We can only plant seeds. Make our voices heard. The government has to know that someone is opposed to their policies.”

  A strong breeze blew past. Wade pulled at his shirt, willing the air to enter and break the stifling heat. It helped a little, but no breeze could diminish the argument boiling in his brain.

  “Still, we’re sitting around, waiting for the government to take our side. Like helpless kids calling our big brother to get the bully off our back.” Electricity charged his spirit, his mind awake. He was right and he knew it. “Justice has to come, even if it means taking action where the authorities are too spineless.”

  Louis patted Wade on the back. “I like the way this guy thinks. Get the job done. That's what the man on the radio says. Don't hear no candidates talking like that anymore.”

  Tom’s face scrunched the way it always did when he got concerned. He was so overprotective, like Wade was a kid rebelling against his parents instead of a grown man taking calculated action.

  Tom stopped in place and let Wade and Louis march around him. “It’s dangerous. What you’re talking about is incendiary. Vigilante justice doesn’t save lives, it breeds chaos. There are reasons, good reasons, that we have government to step in at times like this. We can make our opinions known, but it is unfair to society when we use force to demand our preferred way of life.”

  Wade laughed and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “I’m not advocating an all-out street war. Everyone worries about chaos and the breakdown of society. I’m talking about strategy—justifiable hits on researched targets.”

  Louis huffed, backing away from his friend. “What are we talking about here?”

  Wade was on a roll. The words came so easily. They stopped marching and stepped out of the circle. The look on Louis' face was classic. He was totally overreacting.

  “I’m saying, hypothetically, that there are times when an average citizen has to step forward and mitigate justice. Quietly. Without fuss. If we trust the government to solve all of our problems, it'll take decades to get the paperwork started. By then the bad guys have moved against our cultural strongholds. We watch television and see violence, sex, drugs, alcohol, you name it, being forced on us everywhere we go. We let them have it. We lost that battle years ago, a battle we didn’t know we were in until it was too late.

  “Where are the people who are willing to say they've had enough? That they won't watch that filth, or let their kids do whatever they want? Where are the good people who can take back our news and media outlets?”

  Tom scoffed. “Take back? You can't take back something you never had.”

  Wade nodded in agreement. True. He shouldn't let himself get sidetracked.

  “Forget about the media. It's small potatoes. What would have happened if Hitler or Stalin never got the chance? What if someone stood up to them early on instead of waiting for the next guy to take care of it? When does action go from being the responsibility of the government to being the job of the individual? No papers filed, no committees brought in, but a bit of justice here and there.”

  Tom grabbed Wade by the arm and pulled him away from the crowd. They stood only a few inches from each other. “And a society breaks down. Who are we to judge these people? What one individual can we trust to say, ultimately, that sin X is worth death, but sin Y is something we can live with? That’s why we have juries in this country, so that we don’t let power go to our heads. One person isn’t given the keys to the kingdom. We have debate, checks and balances. Discussion.”

  “And we give those Hitlers and Stalins enough time to sneak in, set up camp, and jeopardize the lives of millions,” rebutted Wade. He headed back to the group, but Tom grabbed him again. No point in resisting, Tom only wanted to protect him. Wade couldn’t keep the stupid smile from his face. He was messing with Tom. What a rush.

  “Which reality is more frightening?” said Tom. “One where democracy is pounded out by due process and maybe some blood gets shed, or the reality where we promise safety and risk the freedom of the masses?”

  “What if we didn’t have to choose? What if the people in charge were careful?”

  Tom put down his sign. “There is no man on earth capable....”

  “Not me? Not you?” Oh, this was good. Keep poking, Wade. You’ve got him now. “You don’t trust yourself to look someo
ne in the eye and see what they are capable of?”

  Tom glared at Wade, hands on his hips, the way he stood when he put on his “adult face.” It tickled Wade to see his friend bothered like this.

  Tom dabbed at his sweat with a handkerchief. “There is no way to know. Hitler tried painting, Castro wanted to play baseball. If we’d let them achieve their dreams, if some rich person saw Hitler’s paintings and put them in the museums of the world, thus distracting one of the greatest psychopaths of the last century, guess what? No Holocaust. But man can’t look into the souls of his brothers and tell the future. Otherwise there would have been one more lousy baseball player, and another artist whose work caused no stir in the art community. Disaster averted. But we have no way of knowing until the act itself is committed and it’s already too late. We can’t allow everybody to be the greatest artist who ever lived or play baseball at the professional level because we suspect they might have tyranny in their veins.”

  “I’m not saying distract all the psychopaths,” Wade said. “I’m saying if we look hard at another human being and witness pure evil, see the consequences of their actions, we have a responsibility to do something about it. We could save the world a lot of pain.”

  Tom leaned in. “We can’t live our lives in constant judgment of others. After all, as you once told me, we are all sinners. Not one man is perfect. Jesus Himself said that if a man hates in his heart, he has committed murder. In the eyes of God—”

  “I’m not talking about that and you know it— ”

  “—in the eyes of God, each of us is a murderer. We’ve all hated in our hearts. I, for one, still believe that people can change.” Tom stared deep into his eyes, but Wade couldn't kick his smart-aleck attitude. Maybe Tom had it coming. It was easy for Tom to act all high and mighty. He didn't experience what Wade did, hadn't struggled through the same pain. What did Tom know about the real world?

  “If you really believed that,” Wade said, “you’d let criminals out onto the streets. If you really believed that all men are murderers, then you would see no purpose in jails because we’re all the same.”

  “Wait—”

  Wade put his hands out as if confronting a stray dog. “Go with me here. In your hypothesis, we all deserve jail. Why not take the things down?”

  “I didn’t say….”

  Wade lowered his voice. No need to panic the rest of the group with his version of logic. “Why? Because you don’t actually believe we’re all the same. We are not all murderers. There are those who need to be separated from society. Some guys are only capable of petty crimes and they get out in a few weeks or years. Fine. Let the system work. But there are men who keep repeating their crimes. And there are those we must dispose of for the greater good. If you don’t believe me then you should protest in front of the prisons. When you do, they'll throw you in the nut house because the world doesn’t operate as you think it does. Justice must be carried out by the people.”

  Tom licked his lips and seemed to hold his breath. Yes, Wade knew he disturbed his friend, but he was right and it felt good to be right.

  Wade continued. “I’m pointing out a contradiction. We say that justice is God’s alone, but we lock away our undesirables until He gets around to the justice we want. We say we want forgiveness for all, but can’t help wondering if the guy in the trench opposite ours won’t kill us if we don’t get him first. We all believe in justice. We all want accountability, but sometimes safety comes first.”

  A loud noise broke the drone of the group. One of the female volunteers blocked the path of a woman headed for the clinic.

  Louis leaned over to Wade, talking low. “She’s come here before.”

  The newcomer’s dark hair flowed down to the middle of her leather coat. The volunteer who met her was a short woman, no more than five and a half feet tall, but full of spunk. The two lined up on the sidewalk, nose-to-nose. The volunteer blocked the visitor’s path with her body.

  Wade pointed in their direction. “Look over there. What about that poor girl? She’s probably scared out of her mind right now. Pressure from her family, pressure from her job. There is probably some boyfriend somewhere forcing her to do this. As soon as she’s not pregnant anymore, he’ll disappear. He may be packing his things right this minute, content to know that once his girl gets home his world will pop back to normal. You’re telling me that we must allow innocent unborn children to suffer because some deadbeat is too scared to love that girl and raise a proper family? A child has to pay the price so that democracy can take its time to come around?”

  Tom drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “No, I’m saying that it’s the lesser of two evils. The laws of our land dictate that she has the right to do this. Do I agree with her decision? No, I disagree with every fiber of my being. If I could, I’d give my life savings to change that law, even for a few hours. I want to find that deadbeat boyfriend and knock some sense into him. But that’s not how a functioning society works. I am doing my best to petition change to protect future kids. Is it slow? You bet it is. Does that mean that thousands of children have died in the process? Sadly, yes. But I’m not willing to replace a slow system with anarchy, even if it’s anarchy that produces the results that I want.”

  The woman attempted to walk around the volunteer, rolling her eyes and pretending to fiddle with something in her purse. The volunteer placed herself in front of the advancing visitor without breaking stride in her conversation.

  “You must understand,” said the volunteer, “that what you’re doing is not only a crime against a human life, but a sin against God.”

  Standing still, the woman attempting to enter the clinic lowered her head like a ram about to charge. She tried another route around the volunteer, but was blocked.

  Louis stepped in between Wade and Tom. “We should get her on the basketball team. Nothing’s getting past her.”

  “Please get out of my way,” said the stranger. The powerful woman put on an intimidating show. She clenched her car keys in her fist, ready to strike. “You don’t know all the facts.”

  The volunteer backed off, aware of the threat. “But.…”

  “Please,” the woman said. “Please. We both know that I have a right to go in.”

  She made one final sweeping motion around the volunteer, which this time, was not blocked. The protest fell quiet as the door swung open and the woman stepped inside. Whispers sprang up, questioning what they’d seen. They lowered their signs. The volunteer looked her friends in the eye and tried to speak, but words did not escape her lips. Louis ran over and held her in his arms in time for tears to flow and pained sobs to escape her throat.

  Wade glared at Tom. “Democracy.…”

  He patted Tom on the back. Time to make an exit. Wade started down the sidewalk, but Tom called out to him.

  “Wade,” he said. “We’re just talking here, right?”

  “Right. Just talking.”

  # # #

  Wade’s truck veered onto the rumble strips at the side of the highway. He jerked the wheel, narrowly missing a stand of mailboxes.

  Pay attention. Don’t let her get into your head.

  The woman who walked into the abortion clinic stuck in his brain. She resembled so many of the girls he once counseled. MissionFocus once partnered with a crisis pregnancy center. All of the volunteers stepped in twice a month to offer free programs to those in need. That was before Angela, before the time machine. Back before he gave up on humanity.

  Those days engraved stereotypes into his psyche. Now he could not shake them.

  There were only so many variations on the same theme. Most of the people who came to him were single mothers, abandoned by their men. Not all of them were low income; college educated, well-respected women often entered his office. They offered a handy brochure that talked through the options: adoption, financial assistance, daycare. But they spent most of the session talking through the situation.

  The men, when they came, were quie
t or resentful. They tapped their feet, twitched, bit their nails, or played with their hats. Some felt like they were on trial. Yes, he maintained a bias against the men in these relationships. Not only could many of them not sit still in his office, but few possessed the guts to comfort their lover when she broke down in tears, let alone stick around once the baby was adopted.

  The logical outcome of a night of passion seemed to escape those involved. At MissionFocus he heard kids ribbing each other, teasing as if virginity was a form of leprosy. Thin, pale boys were tormented by their muscular counterparts for having never slept with a girl before. Young women ridiculed each other for wearing modest clothing, while others danced around as if waiting for their cue at the burlesque. No wonder the boys stood in the corner, mouths agape. The girls taunted them, begging for something to happen.