It Was 1975
I was supposed to look up the year of the abortion for Linda Lazzarini’s art installation—For Every She, There Is a He—and give his first name. A month later, I apologized for being too busy to check medical records. Then another month went by. When my hesitancy approached three months, the question of legality surfaced.
I had been so nonchalant—saying how it was in Atlantic City, an old hotel, the Claridge, a year or so after Roe vs. Wade. How afterwards I wanted to go eat a steak, medium rare, at a restaurant I remember as being called Bonanza. This was before Atlantic City had gambling. This was before he wanted to go West with another woman. This was before I was afraid to stay alone in the house where I made the decision—waiting for him to come home from his lover’s boardwalk Hawaiian Tropical Juice Stand.
This was after the condom broke carried in someone else’s wallet. This was after I retched in the toilet while his lover stood over the jigsaw puzzle I’d been trying to put together in the next room.
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