Countdown

This story is by Jessica Deen and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The bright sunshine and impossibly blue sky teased promise and joy with the warmest temperatures of the year. Lark sat cross-legged in the park across the street and checked her phone.

Thirteen minutes to go.

Rain, a thunderstorm with roaring winds and bending trees, would have been more fitting. What a cruel twist.

The children’s playground teemed with parents and caregivers eager to get outside and let their young ones spend their boundless energy. Giggles and cries, cheers and the soft soothing voices of adults rose and fell on the gentle breeze. She couldn’t bear to watch them.

The ground below Lark smelled of damp earth, but it wasn’t wet enough to seep through her clothes. She picked absentmindedly at the fresh grass, ripping each blade into pieces and forming a small pile in front of her.

Ten minutes.

Down the road sat a white stone library with an enormous clock at the top that was visible above the park tree line. It reminded Lark of Peter Pan and she imagined how the wind would feel in her face if he could fly her to Neverland like he did with Wendy and the boys. For years, Lark dreamed of flying through adolescence, passing by all the childish games and nonsense and getting on with her real life. But how light would she feel to leave the weight of the decision she faced behind her?

Dandelions pushed their way in clumps through the soft ground and Lark plucked one within her reach. Instinctively, she placed her thumbnail under the bud and the childhood song played in her head: “Mama had a baby and its head popped off!” Bile rose in her throat. Grimacing, she lay the dandelion, intact, on the top of the grass pile she’d been building.

People gathered on the sidewalk in clumps in front of the red brick building across the street. Her palms became wet and her stomach filled up with the bad butterflies.

Eight.

Lark took a deep, cleansing breath and squared her slumped shoulders. She untied and retied her sneakers and stood up to stretch her legs. Being on the other side of the city minimized her chances of seeing someone she knew, but she peeked over her sunglasses to look around, just in case. Brushing the remaining bits of grass from her ripped jeans, she walked toward the crosswalk.

The hand signal below the traffic light was flashing orange, counting down with her as she waited for her turn to cross. People rushed in cars and on foot, barely looking up from their phones, oblivious to others around them. Everyone was so deeply self-involved, no one even noticed a person in their midst who was in crisis. She wondered if she would have even noticed herself.

She crossed the street with the group and as the pack of people disbursed, she was the only one heading toward the Planned Parenthood front doors.

Six minutes.

As she approached the wide stairs, a middle-aged man with a pot belly pushing against the buttons of his starch-collared shirt yelled out, pushing a sign in her face. “Baby Killer.” He shoved it so hard toward her it knocked her off balance into an ancient woman who spat in her face. Lark wiped at her face with her shirt sleeve. Her eyes darted from the front doors back to the street behind her. Which way would be the easiest for her to disappear?

Part of Lark wanted to run away and part of her wanted to scream in their faces. She knew antibiotics and birth control didn’t mix well. She was terrified when she felt the pop of the latex inside her, but by then it was too late and they’d never believe her anyway.

Instead, she just pulled her Braves cap down over her eyes and tried to make herself smaller as she hurried for the clinic.

Lark held the handle of the door inside the reception area to slow her heartbeat and catch her breath. She knew her tiny frame made her seem younger than she was and anger coursed out from her core at the thought of being treated as she just was. Didn’t they realize she was just a child?

How many of those men speaking out to preach about purity and the sins of pre-marital sex had penetrated their girlfriends before their wedding day? How many of the women who called themselves pro-life had found themselves late and decided in secret to stop it before anyone found out? Hypocrites. Her face was tight with emotion as she swallowed hard.

Four.

When Lark walked up to the desk, the plump, grey-haired receptionist greeted her with such a kind smile that it took her breath away.

“Have a seat, darling,” was all she said.

Lark sat in the yellow vinyl chair furthest from the window with her school bag in her lap. She fidgeted with the zipper and checked the clock on the wall.

Three minutes.

“Lark?”

A tall, dark-skinned woman entered the waiting room that contained only Lark. Lark raised her hand to chest level, unsure how to respond.

When the doctor nodded, Lark stood from her chair, the seat barely warm. She hurried swinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Take your time. No need to rush.” Her voice was like honey. Thick and sweet.

Together, they walked down the long hall. Understanding how Wendy felt walking the plank, Lark tried to lift her chin up. She drew a jagged breath, her throat constricting, burning. Voices screamed inside, “Get it over with,” as she crossed the threshold into Room #3 and she wished Peter Pan could save her before she hit the water.

The door shut behind them and the doctor gestured to the paper covered table. It crinkled underneath her as she climbed up. Lark bit the inside of her cheeks while she watched the doctor read over the forms Lark filled out when she was there for the first time.

“Okay. So, Lark. You’re seventeen?”

“Yes,” Lark said.

“And you’re eight weeks pregnant?”

“Yes.” She paused. “I think so.”

“If the date on your intake form for your last menstrual period is correct, then that’s about right.”

The doctor set the clipboard down on the counter and turned her chair to face Lark.

“When you came to book the appointment a few days ago, I explained the procedure to you and what would happen before, during and afterward. Did you have time to think about that and review the information I gave you?”

Lark nodded and blinked back tears, her hands scrunched between her knees.

“Do you have questions? Anything you’d like clarified?”

She sniffled and shook her head.

The doctor leaned forward.

“Whatever you are feeling right now is normal. You may be sad or you may not be. You may not feel much at all and that’s alright, too.”

At this simple acknowledgment, Lark let loose a sob that had been building for weeks. It shook her whole tiny frame and the more she tried to contain it, the more it threatened to split her in two.

The doctor took a seat on the paper covered table beside Lark and covered Lark’s hand with her own. Her thumb stroked the back of Lark’s hand, just like Lark imagined her own mother would if she were there. Of course, her mother knew nothing of this.

When Lark’s crying subsided, the doctor squeezed her hand and said, “It’s also okay if you change your mind. This is your decision.”

Lark could only nod, not having caught her breath enough to speak.

One minute.

“What is your support like at home?”

Lark’s chest ached thinking of the love her mother would pour over her if she knew. She would be there holding her hand if Lark had only asked her to. She would undoubtedly help her raise a baby, too, if that’s what Lark wanted. Her eyes stung and her cheeks reddened with shame.

“It’s good.”

“Okay then. How do you want to move forward?”

There were roads you could take, walk a few hundred yards and turn around to find your way back if you discovered you’d gone the wrong way. Lark imagined herself standing in the centre of a crossroad, facing a path hardly visible with overgrown weeds. The drop off just past it was so great she couldn’t see the bottom. A warning had been given to her that this path would lead her to the depths of hell, and she knew as soon as she placed her first foot on this path and stepped over the precipice, there would be no return. The cavernous opening would swallow her whole and she had nothing to help her climb out.

Zero.

“I want to go forward with,” Lark wiped her nose on her sleeve. “With what I came here for.”