The Second Wave by Jean Copeland

Author:Jean Copeland [Copeland, Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781626398313
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2016-08-26T04:00:00+00:00

October 1977

Alice stood in the kitchen rolling joints as an early autumn breeze ruffled the curtains over the sink. She licked the edge of the paper and twisted it between her thumb and forefinger, realizing she was looking forward to the first hit a little too much. Several weeks of not speaking with Leslie was wearing on her, and time, apparently, had her low on the waiting list for wound healing. Now she had to muster the stamina to fake being fine around the girls—no way that was happening straight. She held up the last of her creations and twirled it around, admiring its tightness, symmetry, and all-around craftsmanship.

“Alice, hurry up with the party favors,” Kathy called out from the living room.

Suddenly, their voices rose to an excited pitch. At first Alice assumed they were cheering in anticipation of her handmade accoutrements, but when she walked in the room, the girls were taking turns hugging Leslie, who’d just made a late and surprise arrival.

Alice gritted her teeth, simultaneously compelled to jump into her arms and bolt out the back door before Leslie spotted her.

“Hi, Alice,” Leslie said, her blue eyes speaking words only Alice could comprehend.

She exhaled and forced a smile. What a buzzkill. Good thing she wasn’t buzzed yet. She sat down across from her and sparked up a doobie.

Her strange aloofness and eagerness to smoke were too obvious to pass unnoticed.

“Jeez, tough day, Alice?” Cynthia asked and sipped her wine.

“Yes, you might say that.” Alice fought the urge to look at Leslie, her throat burning from the billow of smoke she’d sucked down.

“Well, then, let’s get down to business,” Dolores said as she unwrapped a platter of Spam, tomato, and cheese squares.

“It was my turn to pick,” Cynthia said, exhaling smoke. “So I went for a real hot-button issue, but it needs to be addressed.”

“Let me guess,” Dolores said with a grimace. “Abortion.”

Cynthia glowered at her. “I’m sorry. I know this is an unpleasant topic and one we’d like to avoid, but it’s a crucial issue that speaks to women’s basic civil rights.”

“Right,” Kathy said, sipping her beer. “The right to choose what happens to my own body.”

“If you ask me,” Dolores said, “abortion is just another social construction that helps men avoid responsibility. Think about it—no shotgun wedding, no eighteen-year financial commitment, and best of all, they’re not the ones who have to have the god-awful procedure.”

Alice leaned into Dolores’s face and stared for a moment. “Whoa. You just blew my mind with that one, Lucretia.”

Dolores nudged her into a pile of pillows. “You dope. You’re stoned.”

“I’ll say she is.” Leslie’s glare and the bite in her voice were a clear response to the freeze-out Alice had been giving her since she’d arrived.

“Wasn’t this argument settled four years ago with Roe versus Wade?” Alice said and reclined against a pile of pillows as the herb worked its magic.

“Only in the sense that women don’t have to die getting back-alley, illegal abortions anymore,” Cynthia said. “But women in most states still have to face the indignity of having to justify why they need one.

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