Exit, Pursued by a Bear by Johnston E.K

Author:Johnston, E.K. [Johnston, E.K.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-03-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

THE CLINIC I’VE BOOKED MY abortion at in the hopes of avoiding local scrutiny requires me to be four weeks’ pregnant when I show up for the procedure. This means I have to spend another week in purgatory, waiting for my body to catch up with the rest of the world. It’s rapidly becoming my least favourite thing. Well, that and the feeling I have every morning when I wake up and remember what’s happened to me in the first place.

So I start running after school. I don’t wear my practice uniform or any Palermo Heights gear. And I’m glad it’s cool enough now that sleeves and tights aren’t unreasonable. As the four weeks wind down, I run all over Palermo’s streets, but I feel like I’m running in place; waiting for my body to catch up and the light to change.

—

When I ask Reverend Rob not to pray for me, I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing or what I expect. It doesn’t seem to faze him.

“You don’t think it will help?” he asks. His tone is completely nonjudgmental. I am very impressed.

“Oh, I’m sure it does,” I say in a rush. “But—and I’m not sure if this will make sense—but I can’t deal with being a public figure of pity. If you ask them to pray, they’ll pray, and they’ll keep remembering. I’d like to be able to walk down Main Street and look people in the eye. And I don’t think that’s going to happen as long as they’re being reminded every week.”

“I understand,” he says. “I did mention you in our prayer requests these past few weeks, but I’ll stop.” He pauses and watches me. His face is still calm. “And you had another question, yes? What’s the other favour?”

“I’m hoping you will pray for me,” I say. “I’m not sure what for. Holding it together, I guess? Or maybe falling apart at the right time?”

“I’ll leave the specifics to God, and pray for your peace of mind,” he says.

That seems fair. “In the interest of full disclosure, and because I don’t think people should intentionally misrepresent themselves to God, I’m having an abortion.” Saying it out loud gets weirdly easier and more difficult every time I do it. “If that changes anything.”

He says nothing for a long time, appreciating that there’s really nothing he can say. He can’t say “Yes, good for you,” because that’s not nice. He can’t say “No, don’t do that,” because that wouldn’t be nice either. There’s simply nothing nice about it. He hasn’t stopped looking at me, though, which is more than I can say for most people. His face is empty of both judgement and pity. Lots of compassion, of course, but that I can cope with. Also, it’s kind of what he gets paid for.

“It doesn’t change a thing,” he says.

I exhale a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. “Could you pray for my parents too?” I add. “They’re also in the middle of this and not sure what to do.

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