* Names have been changed to protect both parties.
In early February, Frank* took a day off work. Naturally, I gave him the 3rd degree for staying home, because I thought it meant he had the sniffles, and he was a giant pansy. I asked him if he cuddled up on the couch and watched a Julia Roberts movie while sipping some reduced sodium chicken noodle soup out of an oversized coffee mug. I asked him if he was home listening to his hipster music and hitting his new fixie with a sack of nickels to give it a dinged-up, weathered look. I asked if he’d been home, thinking about long lost love, writing poetry on a typewriter and immediately crumpling the pages up and having a good cry about all of the things he’d dreamt about.
That’s when Frank told me that he was at a clinic the day before with his girlfriend, having a follow-up appointment, after aborting what would have been his son.
The kicker is that Frank wanted to keep the baby. His girlfriend did not. This is Frank’s story.