Another Life

by Robert Haller

  It was my mother who stopped. In fact, she had stopped doing much of anything. Usually, during the last month of summer vacation, my mom was immersed in some project she wouldn’t be able to do once school started—say, painting the porch or redoing the kitchen. But this year, she had mostly just sat around the house drinking unsweetened iced tea, watching old movies on TV, and going for long walks in the evening, which she would return from looking sad and forlorn. I was relieved when the school year drew closer and she had to start gearing up for work, attending meetings, and making up lesson plans. Things started to go back to normal, with one exception: she kept avoiding church, although she never said explicitly she wasn’t going anymore. If I asked her, she came up with some lame excuse—she had a migraine that Sunday, or she was tired. But since I didn’t feel like going to church, either, I hadn’t pressed her about it.

  Because of this, I hadn’t even seen Bethany since July and had no idea where she and her family might have gone. Over the week, the sense of foreboding grew stronger, but I told myself I was being silly. Wherever they were, Bethany was sure to be back in time to go down to Albany on Saturday. I would see her then, talk to her then. But on Saturday morning, after my mom dropped me off in the church parking lot, I scanned the small crowd of kids waiting to depart and didn’t see her. Quite a few kids looked surprised to see me, since I hadn’t been to church in so long, but they quickly looked away, politely hiding their unease.

  I waited around the parking lot for a few minutes, watching the dark clouds overhead. I hadn’t dressed for rain and hoped it wouldn’t start till we were on our way. I kept looking down the drive that led to the parking lot, waiting to see the Moyers’ car pull in, but fifteen minutes went by and they still hadn’t arrived.

  I found Jon Newman by the vans, loading everyone’s overnight luggage into the back. Even though it was only an hour’s drive, we would be staying overnight at the church of the United Believers of Albany, who would also be protesting with us. It made the trip more exciting that way.

  Jon stopped and looked at me warily when I approached him. I couldn’t blame him after what I’d said to him at camp—which, from what I could tell, he hadn’t told anyone about. He had every right to be a little afraid of me. I did my best to give him a reassuring smile of normality and asked whether he knew where Bethany was.

  He started loading up the bags again, giving himself an excuse not to look at me. “Oh, she isn’t coming. Pastor Eric called me and said that they’ll be out of town this week—something about a family vacation.”

  I couldn’t tell whether Jon was being vague because he didn’t want to appear to know and care too much about Bethany’s doings and whereabouts, or whether he really didn’t know more than that. Either way, I decided not to press him. I didn’t want him angry at me. I needed to be as agreeable as possible today. As casually as I could, I asked, “Oh, hey, my mom talked to you about this weekend, right?”

  He thought for a second, then shook his head, still not looking at me.

  “She must have forgot—she’s always forgetting things before the first week of school. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to meet my grandmother this evening, after the protest, to get dinner. She lives just outside the city and can pick me up at the church, then drive me back. It’ll just be for an hour or so, while you guys eat.”

  “Okay …” Jon sounded not completely sure of himself. “I guess that’s fine.”

  And now for the big gamble: “Would you like me to call my mom to confirm it?”

  Jon nodded. “We’d better.”

  I smiled, took out my phone, and called my own voice mail, held the phone to my ear for a few seconds, then looked at Jon, frustrated. “She’s not picking up—probably still driving. I’ll call her again in five minutes.”

  As if on cue, a rumble of thunder. Jon checked the clock on his phone. “That’s okay, Laura, we should really get going. We can call later.”

  Sitting in the back of the van, I wondered what would have happened if Bethany were here. If we had talked and made up and become best friends again, would I have chickened out on the whole idea of meeting Martin? Would I have confessed everything to her the way she had confided in me? Maybe that was all I needed: someone to confess to. But she wasn’t here, so I didn’t know.

  If I did this, I would never be normal again. Given enough time, people would forget about what I had called Nola. I could still slip back into my former safe and dull identity. But if word got out about what I was doing, people would never forget it. Some things stay with you forever—or at least, as long as you remain around those who know what you did. In our town, there was the Girl Who Got Caught with Cocaine in Her Locker, the Girl Who Ran Off with Her Boyfriend at Sixteen, the Girl Who Tried to Kill Herself. If I did this and people found out, I would no longer be Laura, I would be the Girl Who Seduced an Older Man Online … and Then Sneaked Away to Meet Him.

  I wasn’t completely stupid. I had taken some precautions. There was no way, in fact, that I could see how dinner with Martin could develop into anything more than just dinner, unless I wanted it to. We were meeting at a restaurant Martin had picked out in downtown Albany. I had told him I wanted to go somewhere casual for our first date. I was nervous enough about meeting him, I didn’t need the added anxiety of finding something fancy to wear and worrying about mispronouncing the items on the menu. Martin seemed quick to comply with my request. And when I looked up the place he’d chosen as our rendezvous, it was even more casual than I’d been thinking. The Starving Artist looked more like a glorified coffee shop than a proper place to go to dinner. I felt almost insulted. But he said their food was organic and the coffee fair-trade.

  I found out online that I could call a car to take me there right from the church, and then call another to take me back. It was expensive, and I would have to dip into my meager savings, but this way, Martin would never have the opportunity to be completely alone with me unless I let him.

  Still, of course I was nervous; of course I was a little frightened. But I was also excited, full of a pulsing energy. It seemed to shoot through my body in an endless cycle, now and then manifesting itself in one spot or another, sending my hand into quivers, or my foot, or making my face warm and red.

  I was so caught up thinking about meeting Martin, the incidental fact that between now and then I had to take part in an abortion protest rally didn’t really hit me. Not while we drove down the highway. Not as we took the exit into Albany. It wasn’t till we arrived at the United Believers church, parked the vans, and all piled out into their back parking lot that what we were about to do sank in.

  New Life and United Believers of Albany had had a relationship for some time now. Pastor Eric and the pastor of UBA were friends, and we would come down here for big worship rallies, youth retreats, the occasional abortion protest. In some ways, I think UBA was everything New Life wanted to be. It was big, a giant modern building right in the heart of Albany, and it was hip and contemporary and active in the community.

  When we all filed into the church’s foyer, I noticed it had been redone since last time I was here, about a year ago. The floors were a new, sleek tile, and on the walls, giant flat-screen TVs advertised the week’s church events in an endless loop.

  Jared, a man I recognized as UBA’s youth leader, greeted us in the foyer. He was a tall, thin guy about Jon’s age, who laughed a lot and always clapped his hands together before saying anything. He had grown a beard since last I saw him and was wearing thick-rimmed glasses and shorts and sandals despite the gloomy weather.

  “Hey, welcome, guys,” he said, smiling and clapping his hands together. “It’s great to see you.” He gave much shorter Jon a side hug and we followed him into the sanctuary.

  On one wall of the giant sanctuary, they had decked out some folding tables with pretzels and chips and two-liter bottles of soda. I didn’t see how anyone could even think about e
ating right now, but everyone dived in like starving hyenas. It was as if we were about to go to a dance or a concert, not a protest outside an abortion clinic.

  I was standing in the corner trying to swallow some too-fizzy ginger ale when I heard somebody call my name. I turned to see Liz Burchaw approaching me with a big smile on her face. Liz was the daughter of UBA’s pastor. She was a little bit older than I, but over the years she had formed a lasting though intermittent friendship with Bethany, and with me by extension. Liz had come up with her parents to Grover Falls several times when her dad was the guest speaker at New Life. She was a nice person, but I always had a hard time knowing what to say around her.

  “Laura!” she said when she reached me. “Hey, how are you?”

  I nodded and gave as bright a smile as I could manage. “Hey, Liz!”

  She looked around her and asked the question most kids who knew me asked whenever they found me alone: “Where’s Bethany?”

  “Oh,” I said, “she’s not here, actually. Um, she and her parents went on vacation.”

  “Vacation?” said Liz. “The week before school starts?”

  “Um, yeah. I guess they’re doing some family thing.”

  I heard somebody let out a snort next to me, and I turned. Tall, blond Haley Thomas saw me looking at her and feigned a look of surprise. “Oh, sorry. Yeah,” she said, “vacation is exactly where they are.” Then she turned and walked away.

  I was startled and confused—what did Haley know about Bethany that I didn’t?—but I did my best to smile at Liz, who smiled back dutifully. Usually, Bethany was the one to keep the conversation going in situations like these. But she wasn’t here. She was on vacation. In September. Last minute. Not answering her phone.

  “So,” I said to Liz, but before I could continue, at the front of the room Jared cleared his throat loudly and clapped his hands together.

  “Okay, guys, can we listen up?” The conversation died, and everyone turned to look in his direction.

  “First off,” Jared said, “I just wanna say how encouraging it is to see all of you young people here in this room, ready to serve God. I want to welcome our brothers and sisters from New Life and thank them for making the trip down. Everyone in this room is such a blessing to the Lord! I know you all have lives. You’re teenagers, and there are so many other things you could be doing right now with your weekend—the last weekend before school starts, too! But you chose to come here today because you understand that this is more important.

  “There’s a genocide going on in America right now, people. A genocide nobody wants to talk about or even acknowledge. People don’t want to hear, because they find it inconvenient or uncomfortable. But you know what? Sometimes, the truth is inconvenient; it is uncomfortable. So we’re going out there to speak the truth in love. We’re going out there, with the help of the Holy Spirit, to open hearts and minds to the truth. We know it’s not easy. In the scripture, Jesus says, blessed are those who are persecuted and mocked for his name, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Let’s pray.”

  abortion = murder!

  protect the unborn!

  it’s a child, not a choice!

  I read the signs, one by one, as Jon pulled them out of the back of the van and handed them to us kids, waiting in line in a public parking lot a block down from the clinic. It was drizzling slightly, but behind us I could see a break in the clouds, and sunlight filtering through. Soon the rain would end. As Jon pulled another sign out of the back of the van, Haley squeezed by me to the front of the line. “Oh, oh!” she said, raising her hand and jumping up and down. “That one’s mine.”

  Jon handed Haley the sign, and she turned to me—maybe because I was the only one who didn’t seem to be doing anything, maybe for some other reason. “I spent all yesterday afternoon making this,” she said, holding the sign up for me to see.

  It was a giant collage of photos of babies, and on closer inspection, I saw that she had written names under the pictures: Martin Luther King Jr., Ronald Reagan, Oprah Winfrey, Taylor Swift.

  In the middle of the sign, in much larger letters, it read, What if They Had Been Aborted?

  Haley was looking at me expectantly.

  “You won’t be able to tell who they are from far away,” I said. “You have to be really close.”

  “So?” she said.

  “So people passing by will just think they’re random babies, not famous people, and your whole point is lost.”

  Haley looked at me with real hate in her eyes.

  “Also,” I said, enjoying myself a little, “I’m pretty sure Oprah is pro-choice.”

  “That’s not the point,” Haley snapped. “It’s not about who they are. It’s about opening people’s eyes to the fact that all the unborn deserve the right to life.”

  I shrugged. “Okay.” I thought of adding that Oprah would still probably object to her image being used for such a message, but held my tongue. I didn’t want to start an argument. I needed to stay as under-the-radar as possible. So when Jon called me to come take a sign from the van, I obeyed, grabbing the most dispassionate, basic one available—overturn roe v. wade—and followed the rest of the kids across the parking lot, toward the abortion clinic.

  APRIL

  On Saturday evening, the last weekend of her summer vacation, April sat on the sofa in her living room and, as usual these days, couldn’t think of anything to do.

  This was a new experience in April’s adult life—it must have been at least fifteen years since the last time she could remember feeling boredom in such an intense and enduring way. April always had things to do, more things than she could ever do, so being bored wasn’t an option. And really, this hadn’t changed—she still had plenty to do. It was just that the things she had to do no longer held her interest. In fact, they left her completely and excruciatingly bored.

  When April ended things with Paul Frazier that night in July in the Adirondacks, when she told him to move on with his life, she had fully intended to move on with hers, as well—or, more precisely, return to her old life—the one she’d been perfectly happy with before Paul somehow crept in and shattered it.

  But she hadn’t really considered what going back to her old life would be like after, however briefly, living a different one. Suddenly, it was depressing to wake up in the morning without having Paul’s face to look forward to seeing, although she had gone all these years perfectly fine without it. Things that used to motivate her—planning for the upcoming school year, working in her backyard, repainting a room—now seemed empty and pointless. She had little energy and less drive. Was it possible that a single week could so effectively and thoroughly render the rest of one’s life void?

  So why did you end it with him, April? asked the voice that was not quite her, not quite her sister, and not quite her mother. Of course, you would have to eventually. I know that. I’m not naive. But why so soon? I mean, you had hardly even begun. There was so much more you could have gotten from each other! So much more you could have experienced! He was ready. He was game. And you know—I mean, you know—you’ll never get that opportunity again. That was your last chance. And in the end, you really liked him, didn’t you, April? That’s the really sad part. Don’t try to deny that you did.

  I did! I did! she would cry in her head. Can’t you see that’s why I had to end it? It was pointless to continue, pointless.

  Why do things have to have a point, April? What if there is no point? What does that word even mean: “point”?

  If a knife doesn’t have a point, you can’t cut anything. If a pencil doesn’t have a point, you can’t write anything down.

  So don’t cut anything; don’t write anything down. Just live. Just enjoy yourself for once, April. God damn it, why couldn’t you, for once, let yourself get what you wanted?

  To drown out these arguments, halfway through the month of August, April h
ad knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door one afternoon and asked for some music to put on her phone.

  Laura had been incredulous. “You want my music?”

  April had nodded. “Please.”

  Sitting on the edge of Laura’s bed, with Laura’s laptop on her lap, scrolling through her iTunes, April had read through the band names. “The Cure,” she said. “I think those guys were around when I was growing up.”

  “Yeah, Mom, they were.”

  She put an album by them called Disintegration on her phone—the title seemed appropriate.

  She was just about to close out iTunes and unplug her phone from the computer when an album icon caught her eye. She clicked on the icon to enlarge it. There were four boys sitting against a bare brick wall, smoking cigarettes. One of them was Paul. He was younger—still in high school, she guessed. His hair was a little longer, and those circles under his eyes that she had come to find so captivating had not really sunk in yet. But even at this young age, there was something about him that looked older, tired, as if he knew something everyone else didn’t. She read the name of his band: the Seizures. April had never once asked him about his band, his music. It simply hadn’t occurred to her. There was so much she didn’t know about him.

  She became aware that her daughter was watching her. April cleared her throat. “That’s Paul Frazier, right?”

  Laura nodded. “He had this band in high school everybody was crazy about. Actually, I don’t see what the big deal was.”

  April closed the icon and unplugged her phone. She sighed, looked around the room and then at her daughter. Laura was changing. Her freckles, once so prominent, were beginning to fade. Her body was beginning to grow into its adult form, the shape of her breasts now visible under her shirts. Since the weekend of camp, her volatile mood had begun to calm down. She was still quiet and withdrawn but no longer openly hostile, and at least, she had quit wearing her dad’s horrible old sweatshirt. Still, something was bothering her, and April hadn’t been able to break through her wall. “So,” she said, “still not talking to Bethany?”