Faith Wish

by James Bennett

  June 4

  On Monday morning Anne-Marie found herself with an acute case of nerves before Eleanor even chose a space in the hot parking lot. The Planned Parenthood clinic was a long, single-story building of white brick, set at the end of a strip mall with a Papa John’s Pizza and a huge Walgreen’s. There were a few people on the corner, walking while holding large signs. One of the signs read:

  ABORTION IS MURDER!

  Another one read:

  A CHILD IS NOT A CHOICE!

  “Eleanor, there’s no way I could go in here if they do abortions. I could never have an abortion.”

  “We’re not here to get an abortion,” Eleanor replied. “We’re only here to get you some counseling.”

  “Because the Lord would never condone an abortion. It’s a sin, it’s like a murder.”

  “If you don’t want to have an abortion, no one is going to make you. Did you hear what I just said? We’re only here to get some counseling. Now don’t be silly; get out of the car.”

  The waiting room was air-conditioned and comfortable. The two sisters sat in padded chairs while waiting for a nurse named Mrs. Howard. There was a coffee table with stacks of literature and pamphlets dealing with pregnancy, prenatal care, assurances of confidentiality, and parenting.

  Together, they browsed through a red leaflet called, Am I Parent Material? There were several pages of questions with cartoonish drawings as illustrations of dilemmas and choices. Some of the questions were obvious ones, such as, “Could I handle a child and a job at the same time? Would I have time and energy enough for both?”

  The more disturbing questions in the pamphlet were under a heading called, Have my partner and I really talked about becoming parents? The first question in this section was Does my partner want to have a child? Have we talked about our reasons?

  “Please put this away,” said Anne-Marie abruptly “I don’t want to look at it anymore.” She hadn’t told Brother Jackson she was pregnant, and it was something she didn’t want to think about. She hadn’t even seen him since that afternoon they were intimate. He was far away in Crawfordsville, Indiana. She felt her nerves on the rise again; only her sister’s presence kept her from heading straight for the parking lot.

  Their wait was a short one. Mrs. Howard invited them into her office five minutes later. She was a young black woman with an RN badge pinned to her blouse, so young she looked like she couldn’t be much older than Eleanor. She folded her hands on her desktop before she asked, “So. Why are we here? What can we do to help?”

  Anne-Marie glanced nervously in Eleanor’s direction, but her big sister looked away. She’s putting the ball in my court, Anne-Marie was quick to realize. She cleared her throat before she said, “I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant, but I could never have an abortion.”

  Mrs. Howard smiled. “Fair enough. Nobody would try to convince you to have one if your mind is made up.”

  “My mind is made up.”

  “Fine. That’s that, then.”

  “And I have to know that everything we talk about is completely confidential. My parents don’t know and if anybody ends up telling them, it has to be me.”

  “I can assure you that anything you say will be held in absolute confidence. Nothing we do or say here will be shared with anyone else, okay?”

  “And that’s for sure?”

  “That’s for sure. Here’s a statement of our confidentiality policy.” The nurse passed a paper across the desk in Anne-Marie’s direction. “The same confidentiality rules that apply to others will apply to you. May I ask how old you are, Anne-Marie?”

  “Seventeen. I won’t turn eighteen until the end of August.”

  “That makes you seventeen and three quarters, then. But still a minor. Let me ask you, first of all, why you think you’re pregnant.”

  “I took one of those home pregnancy tests, the kind you get at the drugstore.” The same lie again? Why? Maybe because it didn’t sound as stupid as saying, I just know I am; I can just tell.

  “Do you understand that those are occasionally not accurate? When was your last period?”

  “The first of April.”

  “One thing we do ask each client to do is take a pregnancy test here, to be sure we know what we’re talking about. It’s a simple urinalysis, and we can get the results in just a few minutes. Do you feel up to that?”

  Anne-Marie glanced in Eleanor’s direction again, but her big sister was looking over the confidentiality statement. Then Anne-Marie looked back at Nurse Howard. “Would this be in confidence, too?”

  “Of course. Everything we do here will be in strict confidence.”

  “Go ahead,” Eleanor joked. “You’ve peed in a bottle before.”

  “Okay, okay.” Anne-Marie giggled, in spite of herself. She had peed in a bottle before, a time or two for cheerleader drug testing, in addition to other ordinary doctor visits.

  This part was easy, because Anne-Marie felt like she was about to wet her pants anyway. When the specimen bottle was full, she washed her hands thoroughly before she gave it to Mrs. Howard. The nurse handed it to a lab technician, then took Anne-Marie back to her office.

  “While we’re waiting for the test results, I’d like to ask you a few lifestyle questions,” she said to Anne-Marie.

  “Okay.”

  “If it turns out you are pregnant, one of the first things you need to do is pay attention to your health habits. Do you smoke?”

  “No,” she answered quickly. But she could feel Eleanor’s eyes boring in from her left side, so she added, “Not anymore. I used to smoke with this boyfriend I had.”

  “Good. No smoking. Any drugs?”

  “No.” She could have added the same proviso with respect to the Richard part of her life, but she decided to keep the answers simple. Besides, all she ever did with him was smoke some cigarettes with a little rock powder inside the tobacco.

  “You will want to watch your diet. One of the simplest good habits is to eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, especially leafy ones like lettuce and cabbage.”

  “I like salads,” said Anne-Marie.

  “Good. They provide you with plenty of folic acid, which is important for women who are pregnant.”

  Anne-Marie tried to remember if anyone had ever called her a woman before. The nurse asked her, “Are you taking any medication?”

  “No. Sometimes I take aspirin when I get headaches. Or Alka-Seltzer when my stomach is upset.”

  Nurse Howard smiled. “It sounds like you might be suffering from a little morning sickness.”

  “More than a little.”

  “I’m sorry. If you’re pregnant, that’s not an unusual set of symptoms, but it doesn’t last forever.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “But from now on take ibuprofen, not aspirin. You look to be in good health, Anne-Marie. Am I right?”

  “Yes, I think so. I don’t have much appetite lately.”

  “Your appetite will return, dear. Trust me. You look healthy for sure, nice and firm and athletic.”

  “I’m not really an athlete, unless you count cheerleading.”

  “I do count that,” said the nurse with another smile.

  Then the lab technician appeared with the test results, which he placed on Nurse Howard’s desk. She studied the form for a moment or two while Anne-Marie squirmed. “Well?” she asked. “What does it say?”

  “You were right. You’re pregnant.”

  Immediately, Anne-Marie felt the knot in her stomach tighten. “I don’t know what to do,” she blurted out.

  “It’s a good sign that you’re willing to admit it, which means it’s good that you’re here. When we aren’t sure, the wisest thing we can do is ask for help.”

  Eleanor spoke for the first time. “Can Anne-Marie come back for additional counseling at a later date?”

  “Of course. Just make an appointment. If you make the decision to carry the child to term, which it sounds like you have, you can have the best pre
natal care right here in our clinic. I can’t say for sure, but if you haven’t had a period for two months, I’d guess you must be six or seven weeks along.”

  “Six or seven weeks,” Anne-Marie repeated numbly.

  “In which case,” the nurse continued, “you’ll need a thorough prenatal exam in a month or two. If we’re going to have babies, we need healthy ones, as well as healthy mothers.”

  First she called me a woman and now she calls me a mother. It was all too, too scary. “Where would I have this exam?”

  “You could have it here with us, or you could have it with your family doctor, if you prefer. I’m going to give you some literature to take home, as well as this form, which confirms you had a positive pregnancy test in our lab on today’s date. You can show it to anyone or no one. That’s up to you.”

  One of the pamphlets Nurse Howard passed across was entitled Options in Pregnancy. “I urge you to read through this material carefully,” she said. “Hard decisions are so much harder when we don’t know what our choices are.”

  Anne-Marie glanced at Eleanor, who was smiling. The words were nearly the same as those her big sister had used the night before.

  “After you do read through your list of options and do some serious reflecting, don’t hesitate to call for another appointment. We can discuss possible choices in more detail. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Anne-Marie. But she was ready to leave now. “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  When they left the parking lot, Anne-Marie scrunched down low in her seat so she wouldn’t have to look at the sign-carrying protesters. On the drive home, she leafed through the pamphlet called Options in Pregnancy, but wasn’t able to pay close attention.

  The pamphlet was divided into four distinct sections: Parenthood, Marriage, Adoption, and Abortion. That word again. She was sure that would be the ideal solution in Eleanor’s mind. There were lists of specific line-items beneath each heading, but she was too anxious and upset to concentrate. She put the leaflet away in her purse.

  “You’re getting skinny,” Eleanor observed. “What are you eating these days?”

  “I don’t have much appetite. I won’t be skinny for long, though, will I?”

  “That sounds like an attempt at humor. Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not now. Maybe later.”

  “Are you going to discuss it with Mom and Dad?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Anne-Marie.

  “Maybe you should give them a chance.”

  “Oh please. They wouldn’t understand any of it. If they want to help, they can give me a little freedom so I don’t feel like a prisoner all the time.”

  Eleanor sighed before she goosed on into traffic. “They’re parents, Anne-Marie. Sometimes people try to help the only way they know how.”

  “If you’re going to be mature, you can just shut up. I don’t need it right now.”

  “Okay, okay, my lips are sealed.”

  June 5

  Eleanor’s plane departed on time from O’Hare. Before she boarded, she gave Anne-Marie a good-bye hug at the ramp. “You make sure and follow through,” she whispered.

  “Okay.”

  “No one has to go through this alone. The counselor we talked to at Planned Parenthood can be a big help. You can trust her.”

  “I know,” Anne-Marie agreed. “I’ll talk to her again.”

  “And you can always call me. I gave you my new number, did you write it down?”

  “I wrote it on the back of my library card.”

  “You have to promise,” her sister persisted.

  “I said I would, Eleanor, okay?” The conversation itself was out of earshot of their parents, who were standing near a vending machine. Eleanor’s advice was right on target of course, but at the moment, she and Anne-Marie weren’t on the same page. Anne-Marie was preoccupied with Brother Jackson and how she might be able to see him again, at least one more time. In Indiana.

  Anne-Marie’s appeal to her father came on the drive home. She rode in the front passenger seat, while her mother sat in the back. They were driving the Jaguar. Her father commented on the rich smell of the leather seats. Anne-Marie never knew if he loved cars for their looks or for driving.

  With very little hope, she couldn’t help asking her father if she could go to Indiana to attend one of Brother Jackson’s tabernacle meetings.

  “You’re asking if you can skip a class?” her father questioned.

  “No, not even. I just want to drive down there for the weekend. It wouldn’t have to be the whole weekend, maybe just for the day.”

  “To Crawfordsville, Indiana? That’s a long way.” He rolled up his sleeves a turn or two and loosened his necktie.

  “It’s only two hours, or three at the most,” Anne-Marie said. “I looked it up on the map.”

  Her father asked her mother if she knew anything about the situation.

  “Anne-Marie and I discussed some Bible study at Sara’s house the other day,” she replied. “Crawfordsville is something new. I guess it’s your turn now.”

  He didn’t spend much time pondering this information. “Do you remember signing your contract?” he asked Anne-Marie.

  “Of course I do.” It was something she could never forget, no matter how hard she might try. The contract was a symbol of the old Anne-Marie, the girl she used to be. It was failure. “But this is on the weekend. It’s not part of the contract.”

  Her father replied, “It’s our part of the contract. Your mother’s and mine. You’re grounded, remember?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Unless I’m mistaken, the contract stipulates that you won’t miss any classes at all if you want to graduate or use your car on weekends.”

  Her father wasn’t likely to be mistaken about details of this nature; he wasn’t a successful attorney for no reason. She felt like telling him he was speeding, which was another form of breaking a contract. “I know what it says,” she replied. “I don’t even care about using the car.”

  “Then how would you get there?”

  “I’m sure Sara Curtis would take me. Pretty sure, anyway.”

  “That would just be sanding off the edges, Anne-Marie. Maybe you don’t understand what a contract is. A contract is binding. That means it’s not something you sign, then decide later on you’ll disregard the parts that may be inconvenient.”

  “I know what a contract is,” she answered quietly.

  “Maybe when we get home, you and I need to get it out and have another look at it.”

  “No thank you.” She was glad it would never be her job to face him in court. Almost in spite of herself she said, “I was just hoping we could make an exception. Not for fun and games, but for spiritual reasons.”

  “Why is this weekend so important?” her father said. “Why not simply wait until summer school is over?”

  “Because Brother Jackson might not be there after this weekend. There’s no telling how long these crusades will stay in one place.”

  “Are you telling me he’s leaving for some other part of the country?”

  “It’s possible. That’s what I’m telling you.” She regretted her equivocal language almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

  Her father seized the opportunity like a treasure: “Then you don’t know for certain if it’s his final weekend or not.”

  She couldn’t lie, so she admitted she couldn’t be sure.

  “It’s possible, but not certain,” her father persisted. “Is that fair to say?”

  “It’s fair.” She sighed, wishing now that the conversation had never begun.

  He seemed satisfied with that part of the agenda, so he changed the subject. “I wish I could tell you that your mother and I have been able to find some enthusiasm for this Brother Jackson character and his type of religion.”

  Anne-Marie didn’t want a confrontation. She bit her tongue before she replied, “He’s not a character. He’s a
man of God.”

  “He seems to be presiding over a cult of some kind.”

  “And what’s a cult?”

  Her mother leaned forward to say, “It seems like the kind of religion that doesn’t have much balance.”

  “Balance,” Anne-Marie repeated with contempt. She felt her nostrils flaring in spite of her best intentions. “Balanced religion is armchair religion.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means religion without a soul. It means religion without any real commitment.”

  “Is that what Brother Jackson teaches?”

  “It’s what we learn when we become Christians.”

  “But we’ve always been Christians, Anne-Marie,” said her mother. “You know that. You were baptized in the Presbyterian Church.”

  Anne-Marie knew there was no use in continuing this. The really significant issues of her new life with the Lord and the new life growing inside her were beyond the range of her parents’ comprehension. Or her own. Besides, she had another headache.

  She understood now that surrendering in this situation was good. It was simply another dimension—even if a painful one—of the pattern of submission Jesus wanted from her. It was taught in the Word; it meant losing herself to find herself. Arguing wouldn’t work.

  June 8

  Friday morning, her mother helped her with an English essay. From her desk, Anne-Marie could see her father using rubbing compound on the left front fender of the Beamer. And he was dressed for an appearance in court. If he could only understand as much about the Lord as he does about restoring cars, she thought.

  “Pay attention,” her mother urged. “Your mind is wandering.”

  It was true. She was bad enough at concentration under normal conditions, but conditions in her life right now were in turmoil. Her mother looking over her shoulder at this point didn’t help. “I can do this, Mother, okay?”

  “Okay, so show me. Show me you know how to cut that paragraph and paste it on page two.”