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Now the nurse looked at the goose pimples running up and down my arms. Not my face. "After the ultrasound." The blades of her eyes cut back to the sticker on the side of the fresh tube of blood. "Angel, is there a last name?"
"No."
She pointed with her pen. "Down the hall, to the right. Room three."
The corridor was filling up with blank stares, waiting to get into the tiny lab chair to have their blood taken by a nurse who won't look at them. Half the towns' female populace must have been in there, but I did not recognize anyone, guessing that they came from another community. That was the smart thing to do if you wanted to make sure you didn't run into anyone that might recognize you. But I already knew what people thought of me and I didn't care.
At the other end of the hall, more girls walked with hunched postures. No one knew how difficult it was. No one wanted to. So, no one was asking, speaking softly, or even pretending to comfort us. We were cattle, lumbering through the course laid out for us; being herded from one station to another. And no one had sympathy for cows.
The hallway was covered in thin carpet, no padding. My socks, hanging loose over my feet, had slipped down during the herding. I stepped into them, shoving my cold toes a little further back in with each step on my way to the next room.
The term 'family planning' seemed ironic. Most the girls looked school age. Maybe some were drop-outs, but all of us were there. Together and alone. There were a couple of boyfriends in the waiting room, a mom or two, but none of them were in the back to witness the herding. They didn't want to know how the meat got to the market.
I wondered what it was like to work in a place like that. To be that woman, the one who took the blood. She probably hit the snooze on her alarm a few times every morning because she didn't want to get up-probably because she didn't like her job.
I didn't like her job, either.
I'd bet good money that Blood Lady would've preferred working in a cancer clinic-a 'health planning' clinic. I knew that the nurses in a place like that would be nicer than the ones I was seeing. The doctors, too. That's why no one was smiling: none of us had cancer. We were going to keep living, wondering how we became the confused little shits who didn't know we were choosing to be there the second we said yes to the Troy Bleechers' of the world.
Such an asshole.
When I woke up afterward, I felt sick-misshapen-like they gave me the flu by tearing my insides out. The nearest nurse assured me that it was normal. She told me not to sit up, that I had to wait for at least twenty minutes. But that was not going to happen. I had to get up. I had to leave.
I made the nurse carry my clothes while I hung onto the wall, steadying myself along the corridor that led back to the dressing rooms, ignoring her protests. Once I was there, an old lady with an icy gaze handed me a huge pad: a giant diaper to catch the rest of my insides.
"Second stall," the icy nurse pointed towards a swinging door.
It reminded me of the dressing areas they had in the shops at the mall. There were no mirrors like a department store, though. It was probably a good thing: I wasn't ready to look myself in the eye.
On the other side of the door, I heard the voices of the icy old lady and another girl. They were arguing. I listened and surmised that the other girl had dropped her diaper when she was putting her underwear on and now she needed another one.
"You get one. That's it."
"But it was on the floor. What if I get an infection?"
Cancer patients had to worry about infections, too, didn't they?
The mean old lady huffed. "Don't drop this one."
When I was almost done dressing in my sweat pants and flannel shirt, the stall door flew open. Ice Lady was staring at me. "Are you finished?"
I grabbed my shoes from the lonely chair in the back corner, ignoring the pleasured thought of smashing that chair over her head. Passing through the door, I locked my eyes on the old woman.
"You're a bitch."
I used to wonder if I belonged in the general population. Not the depressive wondering in the abstract, like I was curious about my place in this great big world. No. I've always known there is no place for me. My wonderment was relegated to the safety of the general population, if I were a part of it.
If they were exposed to me, was it safe for them?
Chewing over that question, I shoved my way through the crowd that was content to ignore me the second time around. They only bothered with the girls on the way in because once we're done in there, they were done with us.
The inter-city bus passed right by the clinic. The receptionist inside said it was ten 'til one. That meant the bus would be there any minute. Walking the fifty feet from the door to the bus stop was exhausting. I thought for sure that I would fall apart before I got there.
The bus bench was hard and warm to touch even though it was shaded from the beating sun by an overhang. I welcomed the heat. Pulling the flannel tight around my empty stomach, the hot Arizona weather was not enough to chase away the cold I felt. It seemed to radiate from within.
"Hey, are you okay?"
I opened my eyes to find a girl with two blond braids and a baseball cap. She was resting a sign at her feet. It was a good one. Must have taken her hours to mutilate and paint a naked baby doll before tacking it to poster board.
