Saving Grace

Okay, well I wrote another story and I'm interested in other people's thoughts on it... If you'd like to read it, please have a go and let me know what you thought! 

As a note before you start... I had to extend the story but I'm not sure how I feel about it... I'll put the extension in a different color, so you can maybe comment separately. Thanks, guys! 

Saving Grace

In a small city, on the sketchy side of town, sat an insignificant building hidden behind a line of stores and fast food joints, as if it had something to hide. A vast parking lot separated this building and the others, and in this lot stood a group of venomous people holding various signs and chanting something that had long ago lost its vibrancy and melted into the white noise of the road. The door to the facility was thick and metal, guarding those inside from the group in the lot. The clinic was not as one may expect a medical facility to be. The wallpaper was piss-yellow and shedding from the walls, the ceiling occasionally molted little flakes of paint or plaster, and the smell was comparable to that of a gas station washroom-- sticky and vaguely artificial. The reception area of the clinic was defined by cheap motel paintings and silk flowers coated with a dense layer of dust. Around the room, padded with a thin stip of maroon felt, chairs delineated the walls. In these chairs sat a diverse group of women ranging from ages 15 to 30. Most seemed fairly nonchalant, but in one corner crouched an emaciated woman gnawing at the stubs of what once were nails.

She’d first visited the clinic at 17, and swore she would never come again. At the time she didn’t have a choice, but now, 24 and on her own, it seemed absurd that she was here. Again. Things ought to be different by now. She ought to be ready. Prepared. Mature. She’s not a kid anymore. But here she sat, in the waiting room of a place that had a 1-800 number. The room had not changed since she was last here. The same vase of flowers sat on the same coffee-stained table in the same corner. She peered across the room at the receptionist, trying to remember if she were the same as last time. The receptionist glanced up and caught her staring. The glare she got in return confirmed her suspicions: the receptionist recognized her. After seven years working in this hole, why hasn’t she offed herself yet?  She grimaced.

The door swung open and in walked another girl. Her mascara and nose were already running. The receptionist shoved a stack of paperwork at her and the girl slogged to a chair in the opposite corner of the room. She watched the girl cry over the paperwork and thought of her first visit to the Women’s Clinic. She had been about the same age as Mascara-Face and just as scared. At the time, she thought she had loved this boy, but first loves always end in heartbreak. He stopped talking to her after he found out, and later moved to a new city. Didn’t want the “situation” following him anymore. Her parents took her to the clinic just a week after the news broke, and wouldn’t consider an alternative. As just a kid, she had no choice but to follow along. The office door swung open and she was snatched from memory by an older woman scanning the room. She spoke gently, “Erin? Erin Marcotte?” Erin walked as calmly as she could manage to the nurse, trying to disguise her violently shaking hands. Mascara-Face noticed and lapsed into another wave of tears.

They walked to an exam room where Erin changed into a hospital gown and laid down on the cold metal table. The nurse spoke again, her voice wavering, “Erin, are you absolutely sure you want to do this? It’s an invasive procedure…” Erin cut her off.

“I know.”

“You’ve done this before, yes?”

“Yep.”

“You’re a strong girl.” The nurse patted her hand gently and swept out of the room. Erin looked about,  fighting the urge to vomit. She battled to forget the last time she was here. She tried to think of her boyfriend and her job and her student loans. She tried to remember all the reasons she had for coming back, but she couldn’t help picturing a different kind of life. A life of bottles and toys and tiny shoes. A life of family. Her eyes watered. Some sacrifices she wasn’t willing to make. Tears overflowed onto her cheeks when the doctor entered the room, closing the door behind him with a note of finality.

…

The door of the clinic slammed shut behind Erin as she left. Tears trailing down her cheeks, she walked defiantly past the protesters and to her car. She opened the door, gingerly maneuvered into the seat and smiled, tears still running down her face. Elaine. Gracie. Daniel. Benjamin. Erin sat in the drivers seat, running through what happened just minutes ago inside the clinic. Inside that linoleum hell. It had been the same as last time, right up until her feet nestled into the stirrups. The doctor was under her legs and she could feel the cold clinic air creeping in between her legs and grasping at Gracie or Daniel or Benjamin. The gap between legs kept shrinking until finally, she burst.

“No! No stop! Stop! Stop stop stop!” The doctor didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even say anything. He just stopped. Rushing from the exam room, she didn’t bother looking at the other girls. She just ran. All the while thinking Carrie. Delilah. Jacob. Ford. Jane.

Humming gently, Erin drove from the clinic into the parking lot of a Sears. She walked briskly through the store to the back, where hundreds of miniature outfits hung from the walls and began to stroll by, running her fingers across the dozens of fabrics and colors. The tips of her fingers lingered on an infinitesimal pair of shoes for a moment before she lifted them from their spot and carried them to the front.

“Congratulations!” The young red-haired cashier beamed at Erin.

“Thank you.” Erin returned to the car and was driving to her apartment when she had a crushing realization. She needed to talk to Mark. She and Mark had met in college, and while she didn’t particularly like him, he worshipped her. Erin resisted a relationship at first, but was flattered by his devotion and figured a handful of nights together wouldn’t be so awful. Years passed, and Erin still found herself with him. She never had stopped to consider why, but rather took it as the way things were and accepted it. Mark was there. He was reliable. Mark was… fine. But fine didn’t cut it anymore, and Erin knew it. It’s had to be love. Passion. Excitement. Not merely presence. Not anymore.

Mark and his house appeared outside the car sooner than Erin had hoped they would. As she pulled to the curb and got out of the car, she breathed deep and prepared herself for what lay ahead. Minutes ahead as well as months ahead. This was for the best.

“Mark?”

“Sweetie!!” Mark barreled towards her, and her hand flew to her stomach. He stopped short. “What’s up baby? You okay?” He took her hand.

“Mark, I need to talk to you.”

“Ok.” He smiled at her, waiting.

“Um. Uh, well, Mark, um.” Erin searched for the words to say, and failed to find them.

“Sweetie, what’s up? You can tell me anything.” He kissed her cheek.

“Um. Well, Mark, hun, I think that maybe… I think that maybe we should… you know… not see each other so much… um… you know? Like… maybe take a break or something… I think that would be good… for, um,  you… and… well, me.”

“What?” He asked. Erin took another deep breath.

“Let’s break up.” She spat out. “We should break up.” Erin waited for a reaction from Mark, watching his face twist in stages of shock, anger, desperation, and ,finally, sadness.

“I love you, Erin. I love you a lot.”

“I know you do, but I… I don’t Mark. I just don’t. And it’s not fair to me or to--” Megan. Joseph. Rose. “-- or to you.” Mark nodded once, kissed her cheek once again, and retreated into the house. Erin climbed into the car for a final time. It was getting dark now, and she was ready to go home. She hummed as she drove, running through an endless list of names. Caleb. Joanne. Francisco. And up the stairs. Jerry. Mary. Jaqueline. And finally into her apartment. Jenna. Sean. Jeremy.

Erin collapsed onto her bed and pulled two tiny shoes from her purse. She set them gently on the nightstand, turned off the light, and snuggled under the covers.

“Gracie, I think.” She said out loud.