Don't Drink Bees

I shifted my position in the green, cushioned chair another time and crossed my legs - the right one on top, my foot jiggling in the air. I twisted my wrist towards me and checked my watch. Fourteen minutes waiting. I smoothed my skirt, wiping the sweat off my hands at the same time. I'd abandoned my knitting, abandoned the magazine article on carcinogens. My eyes wandered to the television. A popular talk show was on. The topic today: abortion - as if it hadn't been discussed to death already. Not exactly the discussion that could capture my attention and get my mind off the test results I'd see shortly if they ever got to me.

Just then, I heard the sound of the door and turned to see a woman leaving the office areas, pale and obviously shaken. She stood before the receptionist booth. The blond looked up from her typewriter. "Okay, Mrs. Jecert. Let's see...you owe us 325 dollars now." She smiled showing her pearly white teeth, flawless skin. No laugh lines.

"Twenty-five more?"

"Yes, for the p-"

"Yes, of course." Mrs. Jecert lowered her eyes and bowed her head over her checkbook as she wrote out the amount.

I tensed in my chair. A room was now open. Would they call for me? My thoughts were diverted by the entrance of another woman. This one from outside. She waddled into the room breathlessly and removed her coat, dropping it into a chair. "Edith Crum," she called out to the receptionist and followed her coat with as much grace.

Mrs. Jecert left, her eyes following her own feet as she moved across the room and out the door.

Back from a commercial break. A man was saying, "Abortion is getting out of hand. It's become an easy way out, people killing their children on whims. Sure, they have their reasons. Everyone seems to. But we're going to extremes just like we did with divorce. If you have a fight with your spouse, you don't have to work things out. You get a divorce and move onto someone else until they get angry with you. Now, with abortion, we give up on the rest of the family unit - the children. You go to a developmental counselor and find out your baby-to-be will be a brown haired, hazel eyed girl, and that isn't quite what you wanted, abort. Try again. Better luck next time and all that! It's wrong!"

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