Living with Jennifer Lawrence

[81:] Clinic

Maddie

“Are you sure you want to go alone? I could come with you, if that's want you want,” Jen offers.

“No. I need to do this on my own. But thanks, though. I appreciate it.” I show a small smile to prove it. In the state of California, I'm allowed to go by myself, even though I'm a minor.

“All right, then. I guess you should get going. Wouldn't want to miss your appointment.”

I hugged her tightly. She murmured into my ear, “You'll be all right. Call me when it's over.”

I nodded in response.

After that, I grabbed my car keys and headed outside. Once inside the car and situated, I begin to drive to the place that will change my life forever.

* * *

The clinic was rather small, and the inside was smaller. Well, the waiting room is little.

Soft colors were used for the walls. Quite a few women at various ages sit patiently in the plastic chairs. Some more nervous than others.

I was given a thick stack of papers along with a clipboard to fill out. Something about my medical history.

I choose a chair by the corner, next to a potted plant. I felt the green leaves: fake.

One by one, the women disappear and while more come in. Who knew so many people wanted abortions?

I gnaw on my fingernails, or what's left of them.

It takes about fifteen minutes to fill out the forms, and now I'm sitting here, repeatedly tapping my feet out of nervousness. My nails are bloody now.

My phone vibrates; a text.

You okay there? I haven't heard from you.

Jen, of course.

I reply: I'm fine. Haven't been called yet.

The magazines nearby show pictures of happy women who are child-free.

I've said this many times and I'll say it again: I still can't believe that another human being---life---is inside of me. Honestly, it feels surreal.

I think of nine weeks ago, when I woke up that one morning and I hate to relive it again. That moment of terror when I realized I had no clothes on, and the moment I realized who did this to me.

Brandon.

I went to his job, and his manager told me that he doesn't work there anymore. That night was the last I've seen of him. He's the reason I'm here, the reason that a baby is inside of me. And yet he flees during the time when I need him the most.

Some man.

I flick through some of the magazines, and read an article about a woman who had an abortion. She talked about what the procedure is like.

An overweight woman in lavender scrubs calls out a name, and I can't hear her.

She repeats herself again. “Madison? Is there a Madison here?”

My feet are glued to the carpet floor.

My body refuses to get up from this seat.

My heart beats a million times per minute and now I realize that now I have to make another decision.

“I... can't.” I mutter to myself. “I can't do this.”

“Madison? Madison Andrews?” Still wondering why she used the last name I born with and not my new one.