Sometimes I will post short non-fiction stories that I wrote about a trip. This story takes place during my winter vacation in Philadelphia.
She had an abortion. She claimed it had to be done as she burned another piece of her broken heart and snorted the ashes. She didn’t even tear up this time. She just kept rocking in place, addicted to the chase. The chase that used to be as innocent as elementary school love notes with questions like, “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” (And sometimes a drawn in “maybe” box.) Except over time her pleas weren’t innocent and they were no longer cute, just haunting.
This was a frequent occurrence, watching her pick at the scabs over her heart and listening to her run down the previous night’s rendezvous on the streets that led her into the clinic the next morning for penicillin and extended vacations for godchildren I will never get to meet.