“Come to the side door,” Sue said, shaking her head. She walked away and opened the locked wooden door that girls who had appointments spent what seemed like hours staring at, hoping their names would be called next. I walked in behind her and started talking as we walked through the hallways.

“I got the money for the abortion,” I proudly announced.

“Oh, that’s right,” she suddenly remembered. “You were pregnant and needed to decide what to do. Shivana, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Shivana and I know what I want to do,” I said. “I ain’t got no doubt.”

We reached her office and she shut the door. I expected her to pull out a pamphlet, explain to me the different types of abortions I could get, and send me to the front with an appointment. Nobody took the time to talk to us—only to grudgingly give us stuff: pills, appointments, procedures, and bullshit.

“Shivana, an abortion is a very serious decision,” she said, taking me off guard.

“I know, and I’m serious about getting one. I think I’m about two months.”

“You’re going to have to live with this for the rest of your life,” she continued.

“I would have to live with a baby for the rest of my life. I would rather live with the thought of a kid than the kid itself.”

“Well, that’s what you say,” she sighed. Then she started talking to me in this sappy therapist tone. “I just see so many girls come in here all the time, getting abortions and then pregnant again within months. Shivana, this is not birth control.”

“Well whatever it is, it’s my business. I don’t need your advice,” I spat.

“Obviously you do or you wouldn’t be here,” she said. I guess my South Side attitude couldn’t shake her because she was used to it. I began a different approach.

“I want to do this now so I don’t ever have to come back and talk to people like you later,” I said, rolling my neck Aunt Jewel style.

“People like me?” Sue’s eyes bucked.

“Yes, you,” I explained. “All the folks that give you public aid and WIC and food stamps and doctors’ appointments where you ain’t got no choice in what you get. Telling me what to do and how to do it. I got to fill out forms telling my business just to get a gallon of milk, just ’cause I got kids. You know who I’m talking about. Mr. Welfare.”