in defense of abortion:

the smithfields drove a fully loaded blue chevy trailblazer. debbie had been the one to offer me the ride. i could tell from the beginning that ron wasn't really hip to the idea. he wasn't exactly discreet about rolling his eyes and huffing "gimme a fucking break!" when debbie suggested that i ride with them. in the parking lot debbie and i tried to keep up polite conversation while ron crawled ino the car and swore a lot while he tried to figure out how to get the extra seat set up. eventually debbie had to do it. this really pissed ron off and he slammed the door extra hard to make sure we all knew not to fuck with him. when he accusingly asked why i wasn't in school, i made up a lie about a family rift between my mother and her sister. i said that i was trying to mend the rift by travelling to my aunt's deathbed. my mother forbade my going, but i was determined to get there by any possible means. debbie (the archetypal nurturer) was really impressed by the tear-jerker aspect of my story and pressed me for details. her eyes filled up with empathetic tears. thankfully i had recently watched "beaches" when i was bored out of my brains on a recent home-for-hooky afternoon. otherwise i would have been hard pressed for facts: there is no illness in my family, and both of my parents are only children.

the boys were offensively mocking and violent. the oldest kid, codi, was ten. codi the leader. he ruled with the threat of harm. he strut around the car cracking a yard-long licorice vine like a whip against any available surface. occasionally he would turn to his brothers and say "next time it's your face!" benji, at eight was the middle child. benji had an evil-clownish smear of red on and around his mouth from a cherry sno-cone whose cup he held onto but had long since melted. he mainly used the syrupy remains as a method of keeping his sibling attackers at bay. at one point codi ran past him and cracked his licorice whip on benji's sneaker. benji went ballistic screaming "do it again! do it again, codi and i swear to god i'll put this shit down your pants! then dad's gonna beat the shit outtayou, faggot! do it again!" max, the youngest, was seven. max's weapon of choice was a glow-in-the-dark yoyo that he swung in exaggerated circles over his head like a medieval flail. as much as i admired max for his understanding of lesser known medieval weaponry, he definitely freaked me out the most. his rage was mostly directed at his mother. anytime debbie attempted to address the boys, max would squawk "shut up bitch! shut up bitch!" in what i believe was a his impression of a depraved parrot. i imagine him on trial in ten years for date rape.

debbie was embarrassed. she became quiet. for a second as we pulled out of the parking lot i wondered if these people were planning to kidnap me and force me to participate in some sick, sado-masochistic, incest orgy in an abandoned warehouse somewhere. when i looked at debbie i thought better of it. clearly she had offered me the ride as an attempt at an hour of female companionship.