The next week passed with a blur of exams and preparing for the trip to Tijuana. A private plane would take us to the clinic where the abortion was to be performed outside the city. That was all I knew.
Sally and I packed our overnight bags with essentially the same things: toothpaste and a toothbrush, some blue jeans, and a light jacket, in case it got chilly on this winter’s night south of the border. The only difference was that Sally packed a lot of Kotex and tampons. We didn’t know which would be most effective, so she packed both.
She gave me an apprehensive look through her eternally unkempt, overlong bangs, which covered a bit of her beaked nose. I met her eyes and smiled.
“Don’t worry. Mary Jane had her abortion in TJ and said everything went smoothly. She said the doctor was a good one.”
“But we have to fly!” Sally’s eyes widened as if the plane had already crashed.
“Flying is safer than driving,” I repeated what I’d heard and knew to be true.
“But a car is on the ground!”
I turned and faced Sally squarely. “When are you going to stop acting like such a baby?”
She averted her face. I had no idea what she was thinking. I kept packing my bag on my double bed, which had seen more than enough action, I thought, thinking of Crutches and Ira.
Albert breezed by singing one of my favorite Fats Domino songs, ‘You Were My Thrill on Blueberry Hill.’ “…love’s sweet melody…”
I chimed in, “So we’re apart…”
He poked his head in my doorway. We burst out laughing.
“TJ time,” I trilled.
“You broke my heart when you said we’d part…” he spoke directly to me.
“Ain’t that a shame…”
“Now get ready! The plane leaves in an hour,” I said and saw Sally searching her purse for the money Jerry had given her at the hospital. He’d been taken off the critical list by this time and would be home soon. She knew she had to pay cash.
Albert tripped up the stairs, light as Fred Astaire, still singing. How could I not adore this man? Maybe I did. Of course I did. But marriage? I was only twenty-one although in the early sixties, girls were still marrying in their teens.
Within ten minutes, Albert swooshed down the stairs from his studio and propelled me and Sally to his waiting car. He drove to the Oakland Airport as if he were catching a plane to the Cannes Film Festival, light-hearted and happy. His mood was infectious. Sally perked up and her TJ trip seemed like a caper we’d watched in the movies.
A small four-seater plane awaited us near the edge of the tarmac. The pilot waved us over and we grabbed our bags and ran, hustling up the removable stairs to get in. Sally sat in front of Albert and me. His hand fumbled for mine. We clasped hands. His strong hand in mine felt warm and reassuring. It felt like it belonged there. Sally turned before takeoff and gave me a terrified look.
“Sally, if the plane crashes, we’ll die with you, so cut it out!”
The pilot turned and gave us a brief frown. Then, he taxied the small craft down the runway and made a smooth takeoff. Sally leaned over and put her head in her skirt the whole time.
When we were above the clouds, looking down on the magnificent Bay Area, the Golden Gate Bridge barely visible, I said, “You can come up for air, Miss Sissy Pants.”
A hand slid back toward mine. It was Sally’s. I took it. Albert looked at me holding the hand and started to laugh. It was beyond comical, except that, of course, this scared friend of mine was about to have her first abortion. With her track record, I had no idea how many more she’d have to have. Back in the sixties, abortions were illegal, and you were thankful if someone would pay to fly you south of the border to have one. They were still illegal in Mexico, too, but the money seemed to matter most, not to mention the need to correct an ill-timed pregnancy, which could have been prevented with contraception.
Albert and I marveled at the beauty of the California coastline as we flew along, just low enough to be able to take in the sights. Sally’s head remained in her skirt most of the time. The sun began to set as we neared a small runway outside of Tijuana. The plane landed with a bit of a thump. We had arrived.
Albert jumped out to help us out of the plane. I shook hands with the pilot, who looked to be a Mexican national, and practiced my Spanish on him. “Muchas gracias, señor.”
“No hay de que,” he replied. “I speak English.” I laughed at my faux pas. Sally smiled, grateful to be on solid ground.
A late-model Chevy awaited us. We got in and the driver whisked us over the hills to a ranch-style home, replete with cacti next to the doorstep and chilies hanging on the porch. The driver opened the front door and asked us to be seated on a comfortable sofa in what looked very much like someone’s living room. The inlaid tile floor gleamed as if it had just been mopped. I glanced at Sally. She was cool as a cucumber. Some people would be more afraid of going to the dentist.
An amiable-looking middle-aged Mexican woman approached us, all smiles. This hardly seemed like a place that performed abortions, but who was I to judge?
Albert and I exchanged looks. “What about din dins?”
“Queremos comer una comida,” I said in my textbook Spanish.
The woman snapped her fingers. “La cena,” she said.
“Si, señora,” I heard from what must have been the kitchen.
“Pronto!” the woman said.
Just as we were about to sit at a lovely wooden dining room table with twisting, hand-carved table legs that turned into lion’s feet, the amiable-looking woman came to the doorway and said in pretty good English, “Who is the señorita?” Sally walked over to her and stood erect. She reminded me of someone about to face a firing squad.
“I’m the señorita,” she said with a terrible accent.
The woman led her away.
“Cuando, um, when will she be back?” I asked.
“Soon,” said our hostess. “Don’t worry. The doctor has experience.”
Albert and I exchanged worried looks.
“I wish I spoke Spanish,” he mumbled under his breath. “I’d like to talk to the doctor.”
He hesitated for a moment, looking down at the colorful tiles that covered the floor. “My father is a doctor. I’d like to speak to the doctor.”
“He only speaks Spanish, señor.” She smiled in an ingratiating manner that didn’t inspire confidence.
“I could translate,” I offered.
“El medico doesn’t like to be disturbed. Please.” A servant appeared with plates of rice, beans, and something that resembled enchiladas. “Sit down.”
Albert and I sat and ate in silence. We had no idea what was going on. A chill began to make its way up my spine. “Albert…”
We stared at each other while eating forkfuls of rice and beans.
“I don’t think there’s much we can do at this point. We’ve come this far. Try to eat and then we’ll find out how Sally’s doing.”
The meal turned out to be a substantial one, with flan and other Mexican delicacies following the main course. It seemed incongruous with Sally’s abortion. We finished and sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts.
The amiable woman came in and cleared the table. “Your friend is fine. She’s sleeping now.”
“Can’t we see her?”
“Mañana. Your plane leaves at five o’clock tomorrow morning. Before light.”
“Where can we spend the night?”
“On the terraza.”
I wiped my mouth on the cloth napkin. “Could we go there now?”
“Yes. Follow me.”
Albert stood up, brushing a crumb from his Brooks Brothers slacks. I did the same. The woman led us to an empty tile-covered terrace, which looked like a jewel in the moonlight. She tossed some blankets at us and a couple of pillows. Albert laughed. “Mexican hospitality.”
“The best,” I said and started making beds for us to lie on.
“Just look at those stars!” Albert enthu
sed. “I can see The Milky Way, Orion, the Big Dipper…”
I looked at the star-studded night sky, clear as day. No city lights to dim the beauty of the night. I put my hand in his. He pulled me towards him. We embraced for a long while. Then, we laid down on our makeshift beds.
“Ouch! These tiles are hard!” I said after a quickie.
“Just look at the sky,” Albert said.
I looked up at the sky with Albert. “Orion’s Belt points to the Pleiades… and the Little Dipper…” Albert was entranced. We stared at the sky for an hour or so. It felt like we had box seats to the best show on Earth. “The world is so beautiful… endlessly enchanted and magical.”
“I’ve always loved nature. Ever since I grew up crossing streams on fallen logs to walk to school with my girlfriends. We were always joyful, filled with glee. That was in Arlington, Virginia. Then, my father got ordered to Coronado, California by the Navy. Why do we need a military? Why do people kill each other? Animals don’t.”
“William Blake had a lot to say on the subject. It’s all in the human brain,” remarked Albert.
We marveled at the gorgeous stars a bit longer, wishing we could be on one.
“I love nature,” I finally mumbled, just as Albert reached over and kissed me.
“I love you,” he said.
I returned his kiss. I kissed his lips, the nape of his neck, his shoulder. Our bodies sought each other as if an ancient ache that needed pleasure to heal. We made love until we couldn’t bear the pleasure anymore. We fell asleep on the hardest of tiles under the magic of the night. It was dawn before we knew it. Too soon. We scrambled to get into our clothes and see Sally, who smiled with relief.
They hurried us back to the small plane and we were airborne before you could say Jackie Robinson. I held Sally’s outstretched hand. She put her face in her skirt.
“Sally! We’re in the air. We’re fine! Are you okay? What happened?”
She took her face, half covered with her too-long bangs, out of her lap. She smiled. “It was over in a minute. And it didn’t even hurt. I didn’t feel a thing… Well, maybe a twinge.”
I detected a trace of pride in her face. Perhaps even the beginnings of courage.
“Congratulations! You’ve survived your ordeal! Are you sure you are all right?”
“A bit woozy, but that’s all.”
Albert and I exchanged looks. Woozy didn’t sound good. I hoped that we’d be back in Berkeley within an hour. I looked down at the ocean beneath us. It looked so deep and blue. A few white caps, but very serene. It calmed me. Albert took my hand and squeezed it. I kissed him. Marry Albert Curtis ran through my mind. I pictured my mother’s face. Then I laughed.
“What you laughing at?” he asked gruffly. He frowned at me, a furrow creasing his normally smooth brow.
“Oh, nothing. I just have a funny sense of humor.”
He nodded in bemusement. “I’ll say.” He hesitated. He cleared his throat. I looked into his dark brown eyes, which were somber and brooding today. “You don’t really know me,” his voice faltered. I realized that I took him at face value. I’d never thought of him as a complicated person. A person with…
“I have a few skeletons in the closet.”
“Don’t we all?” I answered, encouraging him to continue.
“My past was… I don’t want to say I was exploited… Just a lonely black kid studying English in a nearly all-white university.”
Sally had already fallen asleep in the seat in front of us. She had lost her fear of flying.
“It must have been awfully hard, but you graduated with a doctorate.” I tried to sound upbeat.
“Jerry has lived downstairs from me for many years. He… he…”
I turned my head and stared at his chiseled profile. I prepared for the worst.
“He seduced me when I was a junior. I was still a virgin…” The plane lurched and so did my heart.
“Jerry? That… that abusive, sadistic, disgusting excuse for a man?”
“I was grateful for his friendship. I didn’t ask questions. I submitted to him… like a slave, a sex slave.” Albert lowered his eyes. I grabbed for his hand and squeezed it.
Tears filled my eyes. I turned to him and saw that he was crying, too. I leaned in and kissed him. We embraced for a long time. The thought of Jerry taking advantage of Albert sickened me. I felt as if we were on a par, the same. We’d both suffered at the hands of others, yet in different ways. A warm feeling of compassion and love suffused me and I held him tightly. “I love you, Albert. I’ll never hurt you.”
“I hope not,” he whispered in my ear. It tickled and made me laugh. We both started laughing involuntarily, wildly. We held each other and kissed, sliding our hands over each other’s bodies. I’d never felt closer to another human being. Maybe I should marry him.
Albert held my hand as we landed in the Oakland Airport. One big bump and our small aircraft came to a halt. I had a paper to write. Albert had to teach a class. I looked at Sally. Her face was a bit ashen.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. The doctor was so nice. I’m just tired and a bit woozy.”
Albert frowned. “What do you mean by woozy?”
Sally smiled through her bangs. “Just a little bit dizzy and…”
She fainted. Albert grabbed her, hoisting her into his strong brown arms as we ran down the tarmac.
“Call an ambulance!” I yelled.
* * * *
Albert and I paced outside of the Intensive Care Unit at the Oakland hospital the ambulance had taken Sally to, the one closest to the Oakland Airport where we’d just landed. The cold, sterile hallway, devoid of lovely paintings of nature that had lined the hallway at Crowell Hospital in Berkeley, hardly reassured us. An older, tall, spare doctor emerged from Sally’s room, a worried look on his face. He looked like he’d seen more than his share of emergencies.
We ran towards him, hoping to hear she’d be all right.
“She’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve given her a transfusion. Her condition is still critical.”
“How critical is that, Doctor?” I asked.
He looked into my eyes. Then, he stared at Albert, who stuck out his hand and introduced himself as a Professor Curtis. Standing erect, his gaze meeting ours, he explained that she’d hemorrhaged, which meant she’d lost a third of her body’s blood supply. It could affect the brain, but he thought she’d pull through and be back to normal in a day or so.
He frowned. “The doctor who performed the procedure cut a vein. This should never happen.” Albert and I looked at each other, scared to death for Sally.
“Thank you very much, Doctor. My own father is a doctor and has had to deal with similar procedures that were… ah… poorly preformed.”
“No woman should have to go through this,” I murmured. “Another friend had this procedure and she was fine. But we’re playing Russian roulette with women’s lives.”
The doctor gave me a knowing look. “We’ve notified her parents. They should be here shortly.”
I pictured Sally’s sweet, pudding-faced, middle-class mom who’d let me spend the night with Sally’s family after spring break, in our freshman years. She’d remarked that I was the kind of friend she’d hoped Sally would make. She was impressed, because I’d passed all of my classes and done research in the Berkeley library. Sally had gotten a couple of Ds and could flunk out. “I’ll wait to talk to them,” I said.
Albert had to go to his office to correct papers and get grades ready. His elegant face filled with compassion, he left me, whispering, “That was no doctor who performed the procedure.”
The horror of what Sally had gone through hit me. I sat down and nodded.
“Why don’t you come with me?” he asked.
“I want to talk to Sally’s mother. They can give me a ride later.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Albert stuck his hand out and he shook it. I looked on, stupefied by the turn of events. Too much tragedy was entering i
nto my friends’ lives.
Hours later, after missing my flight to go home for Christmas, I learned that Sally had hemorrhaged from a coat hanger-style abortion that had not been performed by a doctor, very likely. They thought she’d pull through, but they couldn’t assure me of her full recovery. I reeled in shock. I didn’t know what I’d say to her parents.
Albert kissed me sweetly as he left the hospital. I felt unmoored.
Jerry had been released from Crowell Hospital, and although he still wore bandages, he was able to come to the hospital to see Sally.
“This is your fault!” he raged.
I began to cry. “I thought everything was going to be all right.” I wiped my teary eyes. “She begged me to go with her, so I went as a favor. YOU should have been there! You got her pregnant.”
He slugged me. I went down and the nurses ran to intervene.
I came up spluttering as Jerry yelled, “She took her to TJ for the abortion! It’s her fault!”
The nurses did their best to restrain him. One phoned the police.
“No, don’t call the police!” yelled Jerry.
He gave me a filthy look that was worse than the sock in the jaw. I wanted to help Sally, but I wasn’t responsible for her botched abortion. The doctor in TJ was. It turned out it was a midwife/abortionist who’d used a coat hanger.
Jerry almost exploded when he heard the word ‘coat hanger.’
“I paid five hundred dollars for a D-and-C-type abortion!”
“If you paid for it, and you and Sally decided to go through with it, it’s your fault!”
“Cunt!”
“Stop it! This won’t help Sally!”
We exchanged furious looks and then sat down on the vinyl-covered chairs in the lobby, looking morose. A coat hanger abortion. Why didn’t they tell me?
I was in over my head, but I had to stay, for Sally’s sake, or what was left of Sally. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her mother, whom I had met at their comfortable home, in Walnut Creek when we were freshman. She said I was the kind of friend she’d hoped Sally would make. I even went to the library. I didn’t mention that almost everyone at U.C. Berkeley went to the library, at least, to do research, or that her daughter was somewhat of a joke in our sorority for her lack of organizational skills.
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