Chasing Clouds

Chasing Clouds

Later, she would not regret her choice. But right now, so soon after making it, she was a tossed salad of mixed emotions, regret being one of them. The ratcheting pounding of the F train, usually soothing, punctuated the throbbing in her head. Pulling out a stick of lip balm from her coat pocket, she coated her dry lips in three passes. Strawberry mango, her favorite.

The fact is she'd always been rash, rushing into things without much regard for the consequences. And this morning was no exception, was it? She'd agonized over whether to order beer or wine longer, for Pete's sake. Or whether she should spend the night with the hunky surfer dude or the rugged lumberjack.

But in the matter of life or death, she came to a decision in the time it took her to brush her teeth. Surely that spoke to something ... off ... with her. Some fundamental, deep flaw that can't be covered up with the right blemish cream. No fad diet can fix what's wrong with her. Perhaps years of therapy where she could recount the joy of living with a schizo mother and an abusive father...second thought, no thanks! In the end, hundreds of hours on the couch, thousands of spent tissues, and one bored psychiatrist later, she would still be the same screwed-up mess of a thirty-year-old.

When it came down to it, she had no business raising a baby. Not someone as careless as her. How many times did she lock her keys in the car? Twice, in as many months. And she'd totaled her first car. And her third. She sprinkled guys in her life like salt on a side order of fries. No, this was the right choice. The only choice.

One more stop to go. Get home and curl up on the couch with the remote. Watch some TV. Maybe pick up some ice cream on the way home. Yeah, that sounds good. Huh, that woman's having trouble getting her stroller on this packed car. Should get up and help her.

She half raises herself off the seat, but sits back down when a young man offers his assistance.

Of course, wouldn't you know it. The woman parks the stroller right in her face. Chubby-cheeked baby in a knitted blue rabbit-ear hat. Adorable blue eyes. Staring right at her, as if he knows what was flushed out of her this morning.

Yeah, life, kid. It's a funny thing. She closes her eyes and leans her head back against the window. The thudding train rocks her head as it speeds down the track, intensifying her headache. Pain she no doubt deserves. A lump forms in her throat, like she swallowed a plum whole. Her face feels flush and tears sting her eyes. No, I won't cry. I made the right decision.

Then why was she feeling so ... so ... hollow? Yeah, okay, the docs had removed the fetus from her uterus, but he wasn't even an inch long yet. Not a he. It. So this emptiness couldn't have anything to do with the procedure. Could it? Well, there are those stinking hormones the nurse had warned her about. Mood swings, Nurse Ratched had said. And if the clinic ever sent her a "how did we do" survey, she'd be sure to mention that they might consider getting rid of the cuckoo nest RN with her cold zombie hands.

The train slows and the Prospect Park stop is announced. She pops up to leave and the beautiful baby gives her a shy wave.

The mother smiles, but would the woman smile if she knew? Probably not.

She returns a tight-lipped smile to the woman, a half-hearted attempt at New York friendliness, and follows the line of people getting off the train.

Regret. Yes, that was what she was feeling. A sorrow so deep it pierced her soul. Funny, she didn't recall feeling this way after her first abortion. Or her second. But in a few days, she'd be right as rain. Cindy would call, they'd go bar-hopping, and life would return to normal. She could waste time thinking about what might have been, to undo what she's done. But why? May as well chase clouds in the sky.