Undiscovered Gyrl

by Allison Burnett

  Wednesday, April 16, 2008

  Glenn closed up his shop and we drove to my abortion in his big old yellow Caddy with a red leather interior. I was so nervous we hardly talked. We just listened to oldies. Real oldies. Sinatra and Nat King Cole. The songs went perfect with his car.

  The clinic was glassy and modern and looked more like an office building than a hospital. There were metal detectors at the door. While one guard wanded me, another one dug inside my purse for a bomb. Inside everything was white. If I ran an abortion clinic I would make it the exact opposite. Cozy and comfortable. A lot of wood and nice rugs.

  The people in the waiting room were a lot browner than the people you normally see around here. Not just black and Mexican but also people that looked like they were from completely different countries. The white people were everything from a freaky chick with tats all upside her neck and hair like a parrot to a really rich-looking blonde lady in Prada. I was shocked that so many people of such diversity get abortions on a weekday.

  They gave me a clipboard and a ton of forms to fill out. I did not fill in the credit card info because I was paying in cash. People were definitely staring at us. Either because they thought Glenn was the father of the baby and they judged him for it or because they thought he was my dad and that it was kind of weird/cool he was taking me.

  About an hour later the nurse called out my name. They took me in and drew some blood. Then I went back out and sat with Glenn some more. He was reading an article about colic which is a disease that makes babies cry nonstop. He said that sometimes, because of colic, nannies and parents lose their shit and shake their babies to death. Cole never had it, thank god.

  A little while later a cold-faced blonde nurse with huge tits came in and took me away. I stripped and put on a robe. There was a big photo of the Grand Canyon on the wall. (Or was it a woman’s vagina after having a baby? Hahahaha!) I sat down on a table covered in paper. She stayed and watched while this older lady with glasses came in to do the ultrasound.

  “Anything you want to know about your fetus?” the lady asked while she was lowering me down on the table.

  I could not believe she asked me this. I looked at the first nurse like “Is this bitch for real?” and she made a sorry face and whispered “Some patients want to know if it’s twins.”

  “Well, not me.”

  The older lady stuck this greasy long instrument up me. Unfortunately it did not vibrate. Ha! When she was finished she gave me a pain pill and took me into a small operating room. This older lady turned out to be the coolest person ever. She told me she had two abortions when she was still in high school and that the place where she had them treated her like shit so when she became a nurse she wanted to work in a woman’s clinic that treated girls better than the way she was treated. It felt so good to have someone to talk to who understood how scary it all was. We both agreed we would kill for a smoke right about now.

  When the doctor finally came in, she was younger and prettier than I pictured. Maybe 35, brown hair, fancy glasses, slightly buck teeth. She was kind and friendly but I was too nervous to chat. I just wanted it over with. She asked if I wanted to be put to sleep or get a local. I picked the local because I didn’t want Glenn to have to wait too long.

  The whole thing took, I swear, about nine minutes. At least that’s how it seemed. And it hurt a little for maybe half a minute. I’ve heard girls say it’s like pulling a tooth. Trust me, it’s not. A pulled tooth hurts way worse. The worst part was the creepy noise the machine made.

  Afterwards I wanted to leave immediately but the rules state that the patient has to lie down for 30 minutes. I guess in case of bleeding. There were magazines but I just laid there and stared at the ceiling. I couldn’t believe how not sad I felt. I was going to have a new life now. When time was up they gave me this big sort of maxi-pad and some birth control pills. They said I could not have sex for two to four weeks. I had no idea! If I break my word and see Paul again, how am I going to explain it?

  When I got out of the clinic I turned my phone back on and there was a text from Paul. He said he hoped my ankle wasn’t too bad and that he missed me.

  “Something important?” Glenn asked.

  “No, just my mom. She’s all excited. She found the perfect place to have her wedding.”

  Driving back, Glenn and I stopped for waffles and he told me stories about the Japanese in World War Two and how cruel they were to our captured troops. They marched and marched them for hundreds of miles and if a troop got sleepy, they killed them on the spot, either shooting or beheading them. At the end of the war when they knew the American army was approaching, the Japanese needed to cover up their war crimes. So they put all the prisoners into air raid shelters then poured in gasoline and burned them alive. He said if we learned anything from it, it should have been not to lower ourselves to their barbaric standards.

  LATER: 1:06 a.m.

  Tonight I recuperated in bed watching the Democratic debate but it was not relaxing at all. The whole time I wanted to crawl into the TV set and choke Hillary to death. Anything to stop her from being so mean. I love Barack with all my heart. I doubt I would ever commit suicide if he was president, no matter how depressed I was, because I would always be able to picture a better life.

  Afterwards, I stared at the ceiling thinking about Joel. I felt so bad that I got up and typed this letter:

  Dear Joel:

  I agree with you that I am a selfish monster who has been a really dismal friend to you. You did not deserve that. You have been wonderful and supportive toward me. If my behavior in any way led to you having to go back into the hospital then I think I will die of guilt. Please forgive me. As soon as you are out of the hospital or are allowed to make phone calls or send emails, please contact me asap. I have so much to tell you about. So many changes. I am in therapy again. I know I can be a better person.

  Love, K

  I printed it out then folded it up and slipped it inside one of my mom’s Christmas cards, which are navy blue with a big white snowflake (the same card that killed my dad). Even though Joel is Jewish I decided it was okay to give it to him because snow is universal and Christmas is a happy time of the year no matter what religion you are. Even though the doctor said to take it easy, I walked to the corner and mailed the card so that Joel will get it soon. Now I can go to sleep knowing I did at least one good thing in my life.

  Oh, I emailed Margaret and told her I was still not allowed to put weight on my ankle yet, and that I would not be back to work until Monday. This gives me a few days to build up my courage.

  Thursday, April 17, 2008

  Thank you for all the kind letters saying I did the correct thing getting an abortion and that it would have been selfish of me to bring a baby into the world when I am so clearly not ready. And fuck you to everyone who wrote to tell me I’m a cold-blooded killer. Especially the little girl in Florida who says she can hardly sleep she is so worried about my eternal soul. You know what, honey? Grow some pubes then worry about others.

  Friday, April 18, 2008

  When I woke up, there was a very intense, weird message from Joel Seidler. He got home from the hospital this morning and he is enraged at me for not writing to him after his mom told me what happened. He obviously didn’t get my letter. I will wait a few days until the hospital forwards it to him. Once he reads it I am sure he will feel terrible and apologize for being such a dick.

  Saturday, April 19, 2008

  Paj2453 sent me a poem to cheer me up. I don’t know if he wrote it himself or he got it from a book but I like it very much.

  THERE IS SUCH LOVE

  There is such love that does no harm,

  Leaves no one choking in its wake.

  No one’s sanity is torn in two

  Or sacrificed for fealty’s sake.

  Its calm is deep, its sleep is sound,

  Misgivings never quake and size.

  It does not reveal its opposite

  Or make a s
eparate peace with lies.

  It draws no pint, breaks no bones,

  Lays waste to nothing in the chest:

  Of all loves I’ve never known,

  Surely this one is the best.

  It reminds me that almost all love is crazy and painful so I shouldn’t beat myself up for loving Paul so deeply. Will I be strong enough to bid him farewell forever?

  Sunday, April 20, 2008

  This morning I called Glenn and told him how scared I was to call the Spooners and quit. I said Paul was going to be crushed. Glenn insisted that I was wrong, that when a man in his forties is cheating on his wife with a teenage girl, no matter how much he cares about her, a part of him will always be relieved when it’s over, because he knows he has played a dangerous game and that he is lucky to have gotten out alive. It was hard for me to picture Paul being relieved that he will never make love to me again.

  Tomorrow is Monday. Even though it would be breaking my promise to Glenn, I could go into work tomorrow and then, when we are alone together, tell Paul in person. No, bad idea. If I see him, I will melt and everything will be out of control again. I will do it tonight. On the phone.

  The other scary conversation is going to be telling my mom that I am moving into the garage of an ex-rapist. She will have a fit. But once she meets Glenn, I think she will see what a wonderful man he is. He is not at all the same person who committed that heinous crime. He said I can come over to his house any time I want to see my new garage apartment. Maybe tomorrow.

  • • •

  To give you an idea of how much I trust Glenn, he is the only person in the world I have told about my blog. I thought he would be really impressed because it is a literary achievement (I think so) but he said that even though he admires my commitment to it, he dislikes blogging. He thinks it’s marvelous to keep a diary or journal, but that there’s something dishonest about showing it to the world. He said our whole culture is way too desperate for attention. We’re all famous in our own minds. I had to laugh because I have always felt I was going to be famous for something someday. I just didn’t know what. I was waiting to be discovered. Ha!

  Now that I am about to move into my first apartment, I realize how badly I have needed to be on my own, living apart from my mom. It’s time for me to start making my own life decisions.

  Moving in with Glenn is going to be like starting over. With a new job. And no boyfriend. And no more alcohol or drugs. (Since I have to attend three AA meetings, I might as well quit for a while and see how it feels, right?) This is my chance to be a better person. Maybe it’s a good time to stop blogging. Just see what it’s like to live without describing and analyzing everything I do. Just live!

  • • •

  Cancel my reality show. Crazy, huh?

  Is Barack Obama correct? Can human beings really dream a whole new life and then make it come true? Or do they eventually turn around and go right back to the way things were?

  Paul says there’s no such thing as happily ever after and that the world gets worse. Only one way to find out, I guess. Just live! Hahaha!

  I will call Paul now.

  Wait, phone ringing. Somebody loves me. Stand by.

  • • •

  Friday, April 25, 2008

  Dear Readers:

  My name is Carol Grantham. I am the mother of Amy Grantham, whom you know as Katie Kampenfelt. Five days ago, within an hour of her last entry, at around 7:00 p.m., Amy got in her car, drove away, and never returned. She has not been seen or heard from since.

  Everyone who loves Amy is sick with worry. Local police, as well as a private detective whom I have hired, are currently investigating her disappearance. We know very little so far except that Amy has not withdrawn any money from her bank account, used her cell phone, or attempted to use her credit card, which was given to her for emergencies.

  Like many young women, Amy is imaginative to the extreme, as well as enormously secretive. In this blog she changed not only her own name but the names of everyone with whom she came into contact. This has made the investigation of her disappearance difficult.

  If any of you exchanged e-mails or phone calls with Amy in which she confided anything that might help us to locate her, please write to me at this website. I am offering a $25,000 reward for any information that leads to the discovery of her whereabouts.

  No matter what you think of my daughter, I can assure you that she is a wonderful girl. A person of remarkable spirit, intelligence, humor, beauty, and courage. If you know anything that might help us to find her, please contact me at once. Yours truly, Carol Grantham

  Friday, May 2, 2008

  Dear Readers:

  First, let me thank you for your letters of support. I know that Amy would be touched by your outpouring of concern. To those of you who write only to inflict pain, I beg you to stop. Please show some compassion.

  In the week since I last wrote to you, a great deal of time has been devoted to questioning each and every person mentioned in this blog, in the hopes that one or more of them might hold the key to Amy’s disappearance. We began with the people who knew her best. It was not difficult to find the boy whom you know as Rory. Amy’s boyfriend has been a fixture in our home, on and off, since they began dating last year. We know from a review of Amy’s phone records that the call which Amy received while posting her final blog was from him. We were curious as to whether he would tell us this fact without being prompted. He did. He said that he called her the night she disappeared to apologize for his angry outburst. He claims that while he had lost his temper with her on many occasions, he has never shaken or struck her. He confirmed his affair with “Jade.” Our investigator asked how long they had spoken on that final night and he said ten minutes. Phone records show that, in reality, they spoke for thirty-eight. It remains to be seen if this discrepancy is meaningful.

  This phone call was not, in fact, Amy’s last. Phone records show that two minutes after she hung up with Rory, she received another call on her landline, this one from a blocked caller. The call lasted less than two minutes. Approximately ten minutes later, Amy left the house without saying good-bye. Who placed this final phone call? Why did Amy leave the house in such a hurry?

  Our investigator could find no one in the area teaching film history who matched the description or particulars of “Dan Gallo.” Through a combination of good police work and blind luck, we eventually discovered the real Dan, who is the day manager of a local video store.

  Given a chance to read Amy’s blog for the first time, he confirmed that the substance of their relationship as described was true, but he claimed never to have received a phone call from her about the possibility that he might be the father of her unborn child. He said that if he had, he would not have hung up on her. He said that the last time they spoke was five or six nights before her disappearance when she called him at work. He had told her many times never to call him there. Annoyed, he told her that he would call her back as soon as he could. He never did.

  The local couple who hired Amy to be their nanny, the “Spooners,” confirm all of the facts of this blog except the most important one. The husband denies any improper sexual relations with Amy. We have no way of disputing this. We are urging local authorities to obtain a search warrant.

  Amy’s former tutor, “Joel Seidler,” was not difficult to find, as Amy did not bother to change his last name. He says that her disappearance has devastated him. He is also burdened by a terrible feeling of guilt, because their last contact (the voice mail he left) was so unfriendly. His mother claims that he has never shown a history of violence toward anyone but himself.

  Our investigator spoke to “Jade,” but found her in a very bad state due to obvious drug abuse. She confirmed that she and Amy had not been in contact for months, but denied ever having had a sexual or romantic relationship with Rory.

  We still have not been able to track down “Nick Dempster.” On each day that Amy claims he left her a voice mail, she did indeed rece
ive at least one phone call from a blocked caller ID. Is this the same blocked caller who contacted Amy the night she disappeared? We have no way of knowing.

  Which brings us to “Glenn A. Warburg.” While he confirms the truth of all of the early incidents Amy relates, he claims that he never saw or spoke to her again after she left his employ. Which would mean that everything which took place afterwards was a complete fabrication. We have found no record of Amy having received an abortion under her own name at any clinic within two hundred miles of here. While Mr. Warburg’s home has no free-standing garage, there is an empty guest bedroom.

  I beg you once more for your help. If any of you exchanged e-mails or phone calls with Amy in which she confided anything that might shed some light on her whereabouts, please write to me here. Your help will be kept strictly confidential. There is now a $50,000 reward for any information leading to the discovery of Amy. Again thank you for your prayers and good wishes.

  Yours truly, Carol Grantham

  p.s. To those of you who continue to send hateful and threatening e-mails filled with contempt for my daughter and ridicule of me, I beg you once again to stop. From now on your letters will be turned over to the police.

  Friday, May 9, 2008

  Dear Readers:

  Again I want to thank those of you who have taken the time to write to me, not only to express sympathy and genuine concern but to offer help. I cannot tell how much I appreciate it. While most of your help so far has been in the form of conjecture and speculation (much of it quite shrewd), we are still hopeful that one of you might have something more concrete to offer.