Legal Murder

chapter:15

Her hands were shaking as she went over to the small podium on the large, terrifyingly silent stage.

Hundreds of eyes stared back at her as she looked down at the chipped wooden edge of the podium stand. There was a smiley face that smelled like Sharpie drawn on the top, and it gazed up at Dixie in the most peculiarly comforting way. The outline Virginia had mentioned was in the form of a yellow Post-It note stuck beneath a long-necked microphone.

Dixie ignored it.

"My name is Dixie." Was the first sound that echoed against the convention center walls. "And I am not here to tell you why abortion is wrong." Those words echoed back at her as she stared off into the dark audience. Blinding stage lights glared down at her from every angle. She cleared her throat, and made an awkward shift of her weight. "No." It echoed back again. "I am here to tell you why you should see its cruelty for yourself."

At that, a man from the Pro-Choice side stood up abruptly, and almost elbowed his wife in the face. "Who do you think you are little girl? And where's the lunatic in charge of this shindig?"

Dixie squinted to try and put a face to a voice, but only managed to see the outline of a burly older man. "Sir, with all due respect, I think the better question is who do you think you are?"

There was a loud huff. "I am Charles H. Anderson. I have eight children, ten grandchildren, and I am a doctor at Long Island Medical Center. I perform abortions because it's like any other job. Supply is always followed by demand. Abortions are demanded? I supply them. There's no difference between a garbage man hauling trash and getting paid, and a doctor removing a fetus and getting paid. I know who I am, and I know what I believe in. Does that answer your question?" His tone was so snide, it caused some people from the opposite side of the audience to send over a few choice words.

"Mr. Anderson, I have a question for you." Her voice was stronger than before. It snapped every single person's eyes up to the podium.

She rubbed the front of her Converse tips together, and took in a calming breath.

"Eh?" The old man challenged with arrogance.

"What if your mother didn't want you?" She didn't say it as a question, so much as a theory, "What if your mother didn't believe you were a human being? What if she went to Long Island Medical Center and said, 'you know what, I can't handle a baby right now. I think I'll get rid of it". And just like that," Dixie stared down at the silhouette of a silent, bitter man, "you were dead. You were dead before you even existed. You were dead before you even lived. You were alive, but you never lived."

The silence that fell in over the entire crowd was as deafening as the loudest clap of thunder. It suddenly felt colder in the room, perhaps colder than the freezing December snow outside.

"I have the answer, too." Dixie told him before he could form words, "The answer is, you wouldn't be here to end the most precious thing our world has: life. Don't you think that your beliefs are a bit unfair, Mr. Anderson? That you got a shot at living, and now you're terminating other's?"

"Not at all," He shouted, maybe too defensively, "I have the right to preform abortion, and my patients have the right to have an abortion."

Dixie felt a bead of sweat rise at her forehead and seep down her left temple. It wasn't from fear.

It was from anger. Determination. Passion for justice.

"You have rights, the women have rights... everyone has so many rights, but what about them?" Dixie exclaimed, her once shaking hands now clutching the sides of the podium for dear life. "What about the babies? The ones that can't speak. The ones that can't see. The ones that exist, but only if we allow them to. Shouldn't the baby have the right? The right to live?"