The International Writers Magazine - Our Tenth Year: Parenthood

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The Positive of Negative • Karen Murray Gow Bang, bang, thud, "hurry up," a deep satanic voice bellows from the other side of the toilet door. Squatting over the stench, of the well soiled bowl, pigeon toed around an incontinent puddle; I manage to un-wrap the stick. Bang, thud, desperation, outlets on the other side of the door.

"What the hell are you doing in there?"
"Oh, having a great time just can’t pull myself off," I shout sarcastically, secure behind the knowledge of a floor to ceiling metal barrier. A trickle of fluid seeps under the door, turning into a steaming stream, raising the threat of the puddle. "Oh, great thanks," I shout again, no retaliation was echoed, realising whilst still hovering, that in my obsession with reading the how to decipher the results blurb, I had mis-read and mistook the gender confused icon. The fact that pisssing on the door, without being sexist, confirmed my early suspicions that the now relieved and vacated voice must have been male. As only a male has the prerogative to be able to pee erectus standus; which produced envy, only seconded by disgust. I carry on with my mission whilst mentally penning a letter to God.

Trying not to think about it, I Insert my hand and the stick, back down into the toilet bowl. "Oh bloody hell," in the tension I project the pee past the stick catching the cuff of my coat. I stop the flow; sloshing from one foot to another I reposition my- self. This time my aim is successful. Standing up, I pull up my knickers whilst trying not to drop the stick into the puddle, hence rendering it negative and this sordid ordeal would have to be repeated. Tentatively relieving myself from the one meter box, I exist. I opt to keep my own bacteria germinating on my hands and give the option to contaminate my hands, even further, in the wash basin a miss.

Reaching daylight I gasp in the freshness of the air, turning up the soaked cuff on my coat and letting down my hair to rid it of the smell which is persistently following me. "Have you done it?" Talking of following me, Si, my man for the last five years. "What the hell are you doing here; can’t a girl get any privacy?" Sickened, that my whole and only reason for entering that cubicle was to avoid any emotional reactions, positive or negative. It has been hard enough keeping anything down for the last few weeks, I needed time to digest the results and take it in. "So have you? Come on Jules I have rights." Pathetically he makes a stand but he is right and in a way I was glad that his usual zombie state was showing an inkling of humanity. When I had first informed him of my suspicion, all I received was a grunt as he
Crooked his head around me to carry on with his latest massacre of the universe.
"So, what you care now?" I ask, whilst scrapping my hair back up into a band.
"Well, we need to know, fucking bad timing though. I haven’t budgeted for an abortion," Like when has Si ever budgeted for anything, I thought. "Unless," he pauses before stating the predictable. "My mum, she would help us pay for it. Gosh you stink." He lovingly adds to his usual solution to all our problems. He looks at me sensing a scenario that he didn’t want to confront.
" What’s up now? What is wrong with suggesting my mother pays?"

I was well aware that if we confided in her that we would not even have to suggest that she pays, she would do the abortion herself; if it saved her from becoming a grandmother. "How much do you reckon we should ask her for?" Si, ponders on turning the situation into financial gain."
You’re sick," I say.
"Oh come on Jules, think what we could do with the moneee….y"
"Shut, up Si, do you not care at all that we would be killing our baby?"
His throw away words so casually throwing away this our baby impacted.
I was suddenly a pro-lifer, complete with maternal issues, for my unborn child. Which up until this morning, protested pro-abortion activist stuff, Complete with t-shirt.
"Baby," his voice raised mockingly. "it is not a baby Jules, it is just a…..a."
"It is just a what?" I demand.
"A cell," he smugly answers then unfortunately carries on. "Well by now taking into account the mathematical calculation from the predicted time of conception, it might be in the region of ..."
"Shall I define Shut up to you?" I didn’t want to hear his scientific or medical prognosis, of the size and state of our babies living capability. All this and the probability was still yet to be confirmed. I patted my coat pocket, checking that the results still resided in residence.

We walked to the café on the park; Si jingles some coins in his pocket looking at me. Wisely he decides better than to ask me for a contribution and gallantly goes to the counter. I find a table next to the window, wiping a porthole in the condensation, I peer through, shocked to be confronted with a swing park. I had never noticed it before. Full off little people, giggling and screeching in innocent play; I smile. Si returns slopping the coffees and dropping one of the doughnuts of its plate. "What you smiling at?" he asks, pushing the still plated doughnut towards me whilst picking the other one of the table and stuffing it into his mouth. Jam squirts out of the side and dribbles down his chin; I grimace, and push my plate back towards him.
"There you go," he says through a mouthful, "If me eating a doughnut makes you feel sick, just image dealing with that." He points to a toddler devouring an unrecognisable chocolate bar, thinned with juice. He leans forward and enlarges my porthole; the swing park becomes the total vista. The swing park to him remained invisible. I pick up the cup and sip through the froth, reaching the black liquor, the bitterness of strength that would usually kick me into life defeats me. Si looks at me again, this time approaching the subject of abortion with a bit more thought.
"Look Jules, the sooner we sort this out the better and no doubt the better you will feel, you look like shit" He tries to handle it in his new found maturity.
"Don’t tell me how I feel," I spit, knowing that he is only referring to my paleness due to my lack of sleep and vomiting. I love Si, for all his faults, but at this moment, I want him to suffer, to feel the conflicting emotions of, fear, excitement, despair and joy, nauseously welling around inside me.
"It is so easy for you, isn’t it?" I scoff. "Just get rid off it, basically kill it." This was meant to cut and going by the reaction it certainly did.
"As I said it is just a cell, Jules,do you understand nothing to kill….yet!" Anger was marked in committed sentence.
"Of course there is, we would be killing our child," I was determined not to let him off lightly, not to let him disregard his responsibilities with such simplistic justification. He was going to feel my conviction of thought.
"It is your sperm and my egg, its identity has already been inherited and will divide into more, little cells of you and me each and every day." I turn the knife. "All the more reason, why we should get T'he Cell' eradicated,now!"

His forcefulness actually shook me; Si was not one to argue with me. I didn’t know if I was more cross, with his insistence not to connect to our potential off spring, or that he had the audacity to stand up to me.
"How can you just dismiss this pregnancy as just a bunch of worthless cells? That fertile little egg, which is now probably an embryo, is unique and individual it will never exist again if we kill it!"

He was actually starting to listen, he seemed to be actually taking it in; a frown of acknowledgement for a moment aged his face. Pushing the remaining half of the second doughnut into the middle of the table, he turns his head towards the window and gazes out. Ha, I was winning, then turning his gaze back into the cafe; he throws me a pitiful sympathy requesting pout. "What about our round the world trip? We have worked hard, dreamt of travelling for so long. Jules, I am just not ready for babies, there are so many things I want to do. I thought we wanted the same things." The self pity turned to anger. "When the fuck did you exactly change? When did you suddenly decide to throw away your career prospects and dreams to become what a mother? Did you purposely not take your pill, maybe you are having a rare moment of self doubt, what? Is my career potential greater than yours? "

I had hit a reactive vein of emotion, the blame was firmly placed on me. "Don’t be patronising." I warned. "The answer is, I don’t know the answer, I just know that at this moment I feel something. I went all fifties movie genre on him. "One feels a responsibility, for this little life, snug inside of me." I was starting to scare myself. My tone changed quickly back to the present, I was going too far. Si sat quietly, eyes fixated on the park outside. "Funny that," He murmurs.
"What?" I ask.
"I have never noticed those swings, hey look at that little bruiser, uh good one, did you see that little girl. Christ, swung straight across the monkey bars, I would have trouble doing that" His face changed to a picture of happiness, reminiscing on his childhood. I had definitely gone way too far. "Si, look, if the truth is told I am not happy about a termination but of course I am not going to... Si are you bloody listening to me?"
"Yeah, I was just looking at that bunch, on their skate board, bless they are only about seven. No! No!" He despairs, " they are doing it all wrong," He stands up with the intent to go and show them how an overgrown child does it. I lean across the table grab his sleeve and tug him down, squashing the remnants of the doughnut into the squelch of my cuff.
"Jules," he protests.
"Si, hello,please let me speak." He seemed animated unable to keep still, like he’s found God or something. He stands up to go again, I catch his arm again.
"Simon" I plead, "we have to talk."
"No, Jules, let me speak, you are right, that little bunch of cells inside of you is part of us. Christ, you can get so much help nowadays and why not take our kid travelling, we can do it. I know my mother when she gets over the shock will support us." He pulls away, turning at the door; he shouts over. "Better get some practice in with those little thugs out there, for when our little one arrives."
"I don’t want a bloody baby," I shout back, too late, he didn’t hear. I watch him run across the grass to the skateboarders. Nervously, I laugh at the irony of the situation and also at the thought of his naivety getting him mugged by the gang of eight year olds. I smile secretly with a vision of our future. Pushing the cold coffee out the way, I reach into my pocket and pull out the stick, placing my other hand on my stomach. I place the stick on the table in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I look down.
Negative.
© Karen Murray Gow May 2009
karenmurraygow at ntlworld.com

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