We've gone well past search warrant to abortion and boobs (but no silly puns).
As it's obvious that those here have some divergent views on abortion, I'd like to offer this draft of part of a scene I'm writing, to see if people 'on the other side' of this issue think I'm giving it a fair enough portrayal.
The narrator had been told a few weeks earlier by his mother and had a bit of a emotional meltdown. This here is the first time these two have seen each other since, and for a while before that as well. For a variety of reasons, the abortion being one of the early ones, and the drinking has been building for several months, her mother found her passed out drunk and was taken to the hospital for possible alcohol poisoning.
Mom came out of Hannah's room and reached out to lightly stroke my upper arm. With Aunt Janet standing behind her, still keeping a distance, Mom said, "we're going down to the cafeteria for dinner. You gonna be okay?"
I nodded and watched them recede down the hallway, then made my way back into the room and deposited myself on the upholstered chair.
Other than a gentle rise and fall of the blanket covering her chest, she displayed no movement. She was pale, with no makeup, and her sweating looking hair lay in twisted strands. Her left arm was at her side, on top of the covers and palm up, as a plastic tube carrying intravenous fluids wound its way from a bag suspended from a wheeled metal stand down to a needle inserted in and taped down to her forearm. The tears streamed down my cheeks.as I stared and thought about how beautiful she still looked.
As quietly as possible, I got up and slid the chair right next to the bed. Again seated but then able to lean on the bed, I reached out to my left and slid my hand under hers, my fingers between hers. My scalp tingled as I considered how long it had been since we had even touched. She was still so warm and soft to hold.
With nothing to do but wait, with the only sounds being the background din of conversations from people down the hall, it wasn't long before my brain started shutting down as if in a hypnotic trance, creating an irresistible urge to simply fall asleep until something changed.
And change it did. Whatever I may have been dreaming about evaporated as I suddenly became aware of the growing pressure on my hand. As I struggled to regain my wits and lift my head, I heard a hoarse whisper. "Hey."
Her eyes were open as she struggled to maintain a weak smile. Righting myself in the chair, I replied, "Hey. You're awake."
"Yeah, I think so." She glanced around the room. "Is it just you?"
"Right now. Mom and…your mom, they went out a bit ago to get something to eat."
"Yeah…okay. What time is it?"
I looked up, then pointed at the clock above the bathroom door. "Just past six."
Hannah nodded but fell silent as she gazed out into the hallway. Her face tightened and she turned back to me. "We had a baby."
I closed my eyes and dropped my head. "I know. Mom told me…a few weeks ago."
"I named him Ben."
I winced as my chest and arms tightened in pain while my head snapped back up "Wait – how do you know…"
"I don't. It's just that whenever I think of him, that's what I see."
My fingers were still laced with hers as she spun her face towards the wall and went silent. There I sat while all the things that I might have said ran circles around the inside of my skull. When she bit her lip and squeezed my hand I whispered simply, "It'll be okay."
Hannah pulled her hand away and scooted up on the bed. Turning her gaze back at me, she spat, "Right. I nearly killed myself today. Look at me – a god damn fifteen year old drunk who aborted her baby."
Tears welled up in my eyes. "I thought…they made you."
"Yeah, not like I had much choice." With the I.V. still attached to her arm, she waved her hands in circles. "There she goes! Ninth grade mom!"
"Dave and Susie are keeping theirs. I…if I'd known…I would've done anything. You know I would."
"They're seniors and are talking about getting married. I'm in ninth grade. What was I going to do?"
"I'd've married you. We could've stayed at my house."
"Oh yeah – and listen to your Dad rag us every day. Raising a family in your bedroom."
"Or your place. It's bigger"
"My mom's still wanting to rip your balls off for what you did."
"I've got a job now."
"Three-fifty an hour? Part-time? Maybe we get a bedroom over someone's garage?"
"We could've got past those things, made it work, eventually. This is just so…permanent."