“Heavens no,” she said, studying the letter through a magnifying glass that dangled from her neck on a chain. “This is a common misunderstanding. Your deferment’s safe. But now that you youngsters have numbers, the physicals can be conducted in an orderly fashion. Let me get your file.”

She disappeared behind a fortress of olive-drab filing cabinets and reappeared with a cardboard file mottled with stains like port-wine birthmarks.

“Excuse the folder,” she said. “The protesters came in and poured pig’s blood on our records. Let’s see. … Oh, my. You’re missing Form 109.”

“Is that bad?”

Smiling at me as though I were a good boy needlessly afraid of finding coal in his stocking, Mrs. Claus said, “It’s the form your school files to let us know you’re enrolled. The form is in your file for every other semester. I’m sure the missing one was an oversight. It’s easily corrected.”

Licking her forefinger, she slid Selective Service Form 109 from a stack of papers in a wire basket. “Here. You bring this to your registrar, and he’ll take care of it. Don’t forget or you’ll lose your Two-S.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Why, Merry Christmas to you, young man.”

I went to Brooklyn College and took my last final, then headed to Spuyten Duyvil, glad that I was done for the semester and that I couldn’t get dragged off to war against my will.

I was calm now, and although I didn’t want to worry my folks about the physical, I was anxious to tell Glenna.

I didn’t get the opportunity. Not that night. Not ever.

“FUCK YOU, Palmer!” Glenna was yelling. “Fuck you where you breathe! You promised we wouldn’t!”

They were standing at the bottom of the staircase and must have gotten in a minute ahead of me. Glenna was still in her coat, Biff in his sports jacket and scarf.

Patiently Biff said, “What’re you freaking about? It’s a straightforward procedure.”

“That’s a crock of shit and you know it. That woman’s what? Nineteen weeks pregnant? We have to induce labor. In thirty percent of induced abortions, there’re complications. She could go into shock from the saline injection. She could die from it.”

I hooked my peacoat on the Lucite tree. Glenna and Biff and Robin frequently argued about medicine. Who cared?

“She’s divorced,” Palmer said. “She can’t take care of the children she has.”

“You promised we wouldn’t do abortions after the first trimester. The fetus—”

Coolly Biff said, “The fetus will have no heartbeat.”

“You have no fucking heartbeat!” snapped Glenna. “If you do this, I quit!”

Good, I thought. There’ll be more of you for me.

Biff wasn’t so cool now. He ran his fingers through his thin straw-colored hair. “You wouldn’t be upset if—”

“Palmer!”

“You wouldn’t,” he said. “You know you wouldn’t.”

“If what?” I said, catching on, anger rising, fear coming along for the ride.

“If nothing,” said Glenna.

“You’re pregnant?”

“I’m late.”

“Five weeks late,” Biff said.

“You keep track of her tampons?” I said to him, and lit a Marlboro, exhaling smoke at him.