“Are you sure you’ve never had an abortion?”
His manner was neutral; I couldn’t find a trace of judgment as I stirred in the stirrups. A real smoothie!
“I didn’t come here to be judged! I came for an abortion!” I met his challenge.
“As a medical doctor, my province is not to judge, but you seem to have excessive scarring on your uterus.”
His face was mild and friendly; he probably just didn’t want to be sued, but I knew how to get that phony look of impartiality off his “holier than thou” face.
“Yes, I did have one abortion. It was a mongoloid, and I didn’t want it!”
“We say ‘Down syndrome’ nowadays.”
The doctor maintained his casual friendliness, but I thought I saw a hint of disgust. He cleared his throat and continued, although without any further eye contact.
“I’m afraid that in your condition, it would be unsafe to proceed with an abortion…”
“I didn’t come here for your opinion; I came for an abortion…”
He held up his palm to silence me; what nerve!
“Unsafe both for you, and the fetus growing inside you.”
“Look, Mr. Doctor, I’m sure you’re trying to do your job, but you have to understand: I can’t have a baby right now, my career is going full blast. If my money isn’t good here, I’ll go to another clinic! Do you understand me?”
“Another clinic will likely come to the same conclusion.”
“I’ll go to another state then!” This man behaved as if he owned my body!
“I’m afraid that with the new laws, you might be prosecuted.”
“That’s outrageous!”
“You may want to contact the father of your unborn child. I’ll write you a prescription for chlamydia, and here is a pamphlet on healthy pregnancy. You want to cut down on stress and alcohol consumption and keep reasonable hours.”
Men, all the same. God, how I hated them. I had no idea who the father of my unborn child was. Men, always sticking it in, plying me with alcohol. It’s not easy being a female executive.
“You may want to apply for a maternity leave; your insurance will cover it.”
“Maternity leave! Are you crazy? That’s a career killer!”
The other two clinics I visited weren’t nearly as nice as the first doctor was. I almost wished I hadn’t knocked the potted plant off his counter when I left. That Indian lady doctor flat out accused me of having had over a dozen abortions! God, I hate female doctors!
Apparently, I was now on a list of women who are not allowed to have an abortion!
I bit the bullet and applied for maternity leave, but this was not over!
My gay friend Todd tried to cheer me up with an evening out. Those turned into an every-night barhopping, now that I was home from work.
“Cheer up: babies are fun! Bruce and I would love to get our hands on a child, especially from such a wonderful person as you!”
We discussed parenthood and laughed and drank, but I noticed as time went on and my stomach grew, that cisgendered and even minority men were ignoring me. My insurance dictated that I must have prenatal checkups, so I did.
The hammer dropped with the ultra-scan. I was informed that the fetus was not healthy. It was a mongoloid…I mean Fown syndrome. I waddled to the nearest bar. I was so upset that I didn’t want to be with my gay male friends; I wanted to be alone. But as I drank, I also schemed, and I hatched a beautiful plan…
They all knew what was coming in the delivery room; it was surely an everyday occurrence for these doctors and nurses to assist in the birth of “special” children. They probably were trained to have one smile for a baby born without legs, and another different smile for one with two heads!
They didn’t need to implore me to push; I wanted it out! They oooed and awwwed.
“What a beautiful baby, and so special, so special!” They beamed their collective bright smiles at me and swung the mongoloid in my direction, as if I would take it and hold it. It was hideous, covered in a yellowish slime. It did resemble a mongoloid from Mongolia, though; I could see where the name came from.
I pushed out my palm. “I don’t want it.”
The operating room became silent, with only the hum of the equipment in the background. Finally, an Indian doctor spoke up.
“The law cannot compel you to hold your baby, miss, but you cannot leave it here. You must take the baby when you leave the hospital.”
Ha! I already had a backup plan. I took a cab to the bad part of town and entered the Welfare Office. I went to the front of the line, ignoring the insults of the poor people.
“I’m dropping off my unwanted baby.” I dared them with my glare. I deposited the gurgling newborn retard on the counter and turned to leave.
“You got to fill out some forms before you leave, lady!”
The people of color jeered and cursed me as I filled out endless forms.
“Shut up!” I explained. “I pay for your welfare.”
I pushed open the heavy metal doors and left that horrible place. I was immediately approached by a woman of my own type; she smiled warmly at me before I had a chance to react.
“Hi! I just wanted to tell you how much I admire your courage!”
I felt my mouth drop open; she saw the surprise on my face and continued.
“I’m Esther Epstein. I’m a social worker, but also a political activist. I saw what you did in there. It was fantastic, the way you stood up to the whole rotten system!”
“Well, thank you, thank you very much.” I confess at that moment I felt confusion. She saw it too.
“What’s your name?” She looked deep into my eyes.
“Gwyneth,” I replied.
She took my hands in hers.
“Gwyneth, have you ever thought about running for political office?”
I felt the world whirling as I held on to Esther’s hands.
“Why, no, I’ve been too busy with my career.”
“You know, there is a congressional opening. I think with your message, you would make an excellent candidate!”
Just as Esther had predicted, I was a natural at politics. I destroyed all male opposition and got hold of every woman’s vote!
“Men expect the world from us women. They expect us to work and be important executives, but they also expect us to cook for them. Well, I’ve never once in my life cooked a meal for a man! I don’t even know how to cook!”
Thunderous applause and chants of “You go girlfriend!” erupted from the crowd; that line about not cooking always played well.
“Children: Wwho needs them? They just get in the way! They think they can outlaw abortion and tell us what we can and cannot do with our bodies?”
The crowd responded with chants of “No, no!” and “Our bodies, our choice!”
“Well, they can’t make us keep them. Especially the boys! You can force me to have the baby, but I will not raise that child. I will return it to the state that refuses to recognize my constitutional right to abortion!”
I waited for the cheering to die down.
“If you vote for me, I will pass laws to force the state to buy your children from you, so you can all pursue careers and take vacations!”
20 YEARS LATER
“I’ll punch your lights out!” I see fear in Mr. Manager’s eyes.
“Sorry, Tard…I mean Mr. X. I’ll get someone else to collect carts in the parking lot.”
“That’s why I college grad, but you still go to night school. You so dumb! I laugh at you!”
Mr. Manager go away with his tail between legs. Haha! I don’t like bring carts in the parking lot. I like inside supermarket. Hang out. Shoot the shit. Shaniqua making goo goo eyes at me!
“Hi, Tard.”
“Hi, Shaniqua. What cooking?”
“I don’t know. Want to eat lunch with me?”
“You want Chinese food because I mongoloid?”
“Now Tard, don’t say that. You’re special.”
“You right, Shaniqua. Special. I always feel I have special destiny! I don’t know why I have this feel?”
“Tard, have you ever wondered who your father is?”
“I got no father. I got mother, but she don’t tell me her name!”
“Maybe she has money? She might pay for you to keep out of her way.”
“My mother she don’t tell me who she is. Mommy throw me out because I mongoloid.”
“We can try the Freedom of Information Act; that how I found out who my moms is. She don’t know who my dads is neither, so we have that in common.”
Shaniqua find out who Mommy is.
“Tard. We got the free info! You never guess who your mommy be.”
Shaniqua titties bounce when she excited. I also excited to find out who secret mommy is. “Is my mommy Kim Kardashian?” I guess wrong like retard.
“No. Even better: your moms is the white lady who running for president!”
Shaniqua take out papers and read name real slow “G,w,y-neth Mer-kin, Senator Gwyneth Merkin. I seen her on TV. She want reparations for womens. She all over the president. If I vote, she get mine!
Light bulb go off in brain! “Oh boy, Shaniqua, now I know special purpose. I born to be president! Not secret mommy. I punch your lights out mommy!
“Secret mommy never let me suck titties. Never take me to Mickey D. Never get happy meal. Now time for payback. Payback a bitch!”
God want me for special president. I hit campaign trail hard!
“Don’t ask what you do. Tell what you want!” The crowd always cheer for me when I say this thing! “I running now for president cause I can’t wait to 35 because I old by then! Mongoloid die young, so they change law for me!” The crowd happy for me; they gonna vote!
“When I president, gonna change bad law, bad law for special people; but they gonna change back when I top dog in white house!
“Law say IQ 85 points retard, 86 IQ smart. Now special 70 IQ low, but IQ 71 smart; now they got less retards.
“We gonna make it back 85 retard point 85 IQ. Then we gonna take all money from smart people! Money to retard special people only!”
Everybody clap. The people love me! They gonna vote. I start chant.
“Retard Power! Retard Power!” The people, they chant back.
“Retard Power! Retard Power!” They answer me!
“I’ll punch your lights out!” I say.
“I’ll punch your lights out! I’ll punch your lights out!” Everybody yell and punch air with me!
Next on list is debate with Mommy for Democrat nomination. A mere formality! The American people they want retard power. They want all the money!
Mommy say she shake hand but not let me suck titties! We see about that Mommy. She not happy I gonna win!
Finally debate here! I been waiting all life for this! We walk across stage. The audience say nothing, you could here a bug fly, it so quite.
Tom Jefferson say “tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”
Mommy hold out hand for me to shake, but I not shake hand; I punch her lights out! Mommy curl up on floor, Mommy bleed! The people, they clap for me, I win debate! Next I gonna win election. Bye-bye Republican. Soon I gonna be president!
Delmo Latchkey was born into old wealth and has enjoyed a privileged existence. He learned to ride ponies before he learned to read, but learned to read before graduating ponies for horses. Someday Delmo might learn to pilot an automobile, but his chauffeur does the driving for now. Delmo has done mega-charity work and would like to give away his family’s money someday. Mr. Latchkey is smarter than most and has traveled the world and written under various pseudonyms. He currently resides at Trump Towers.
