Katelyn and Phoebe

She remembered being pulled from the car, not so gently, and her arm hurt from it now. There had been voices shouting at her, hitting her like spears, angry, even someone crying. Someone had quickly dragged her away from what had felt like a mob enclosing around her. She’d been dazed, known she’d hit something hard, someone maybe, a sign, people gathered and her car had taken off into the line of people, out of control. It had all felt out of her control and had the pedal stuck? Had the brakes malfunctioned? She couldn’t remember now, couldn’t remember the details, just a road she drove down fairly often, close to her home, a connector to other streets, always handy. But it narrowed and twisted in tight bends and she always had to watch her speed because of that and because of the people that lined up regularly across from Planned Parenthood. They were always there it seemed, carrying signs, pictures of fetuses, some would wave, some stood solemn as if in prayer, some held cups of coffee in the cold, but they were always there, huddled together, sometimes many or just a few, she could count on it. And now she couldn’t even remember where she’d been going, just driving, maybe errands or had she been scheduled for an appointment somewhere? It was all a blur, the morning, getting into her car with intent, but for what, she just couldn’t remember. She must have been going somewhere.
The room she’d been taken to was stark white, bright lights, her hands were cuffed to the table in front of her and she thought that had been excessive, but maybe not, because she thought that maybe she’d killed someone earlier today. She supposed she was a threat of some sort, at least the officer who had brought her to this room thought so. She’d been here for hours, maybe longer, hadn’t invoked her rights, but had been read them. No phone call, no attorney, not yet. She was in shock and couldn’t they see that? And her arm ached, a deadened throb now, bruises already rising to the surface and what had she done? What had she done?
It was a female detective that came into the room first, unsmiling, staring at her, sitting down across from her, arms folding comfortably on the table. Katelyn couldn’t fold her arms, she realized, couldn’t raise them even if she had an itch to scratch and what would she do if that happened, ask the detective to scratch it for her? And that thought suddenly made her feel like laughing.
“Something funny, Miss…” the detective looked down at the paper she’d placed on the table, “… Cross?”
Katelyn realized she’d been smiling slightly, but dropped it quickly, realizing even through her fog just how absurd it would be to smile or even laugh right now. “No, I was just…nothing.”
“She’s dead. Did you know that? Did you mean to do it?” Katelyn stared, hearing the detective’s words, but not allowing them to absorb, to make sense. She couldn’t be talking to her. The detective repeated her question then. “Did you mean to do it?” The door opened again and another detective entered, this time a man. He said nothing as he placed a file on the table in front of the other detective, looking at Katelyn. But he was going to let the female detective handle the interrogation. That was clear and he had judging eyes, Katelyn observed, the man had already formed an opinion of her.
“Someone is dead? How… I mean, no, of course not. I didn’t do anything.”
“You ran your car right through a line of protestors, activists, pro-life…you know.” Again, the silence between them that it seemed to Katelyn the detective purposely put there. “Do you even remember what happened, Miss Cross?”
“I was driving. I use that street as a cut-thru, go by there almost daily.”
“So, you’re well aware of the people that gather there regularly.” And again, the detective inserted a deliberate pause, waiting for her to fill it, to talk, to confess even, but to what? Katelyn sat silent. “Why didn’t you adjust your speed then?” The male detective shifted in his seat, but remained silent.
“I..I don’t think I was speeding. I don’t speed normal…”
The detective’s voice rose, her posture straightened and her entire presence seemed to loom in closer to Katelyn. “You drove your car right into them, over her. She’s dead, Miss Cross,” pushing the file, pictures, over to Katelyn. “Her name was Phoebe. She was only twenty-five years old.”

***

The day that Phoebe Pearl died she’d woken up earlier than usual. She’d set her clock for six, a full hour before her normal hour to rise. They were counting on her to be there, the rally, her boyfriend, Paul, the others she’d met through him. They were of one mind and she liked that, relished being a part of something, having a purpose, a group. There was a time she’d been lost, had felt she’d lost something, but then she’d met Paul and he’d introduced her to the other activists and she’d seen it then, an answer to something she’d been seeking. It had been too late for her to save her child, but she’d been forgiven. They’d forgiven her. It had not been her fault, they’d told her. It was a mistake, she’d come to believe, one she’d vowed to pay for the rest of her life and the cause, the activists, would give her a path to do that. They understood as soon as she’d come around and they’d accepted her, mistake and all. Her family, religious, conservative, had seemed just absent, withdrawn from her and the guy who’d gotten her pregnant, he’d left as quickly as his wallet had closed after paying for the procedure which had just left her empty and so very sad.
But she’d met Paul, seen him as she had exited the clinic in shame. He’d come over to her before she could get into the Uber she’d called and he’d given her a cup of hot coffee, said comforting things to her, made her feel like she wasn’t a bad person after all, that she could change and mostly that it wasn’t her fault. She’d only been twenty, old enough to know better, but she’d been inexperienced and the man who’d had sex with her, older than her, hadn’t been careful either and it had all been a mistake, not the child, but the aftermath, what she’d done, but she’d been forgiven, so that was that. Paul and the others were her family now. They understood and there was only one way forward as she saw clearly. It was like penance and she was glad each day that she could give back, glad for the disruption they had caused, glad for the laws that they were changing, glad for the babies that were being saved and being born and then, well, she didn’t know after that, what would happen to all of them, but knew somehow, they would be cared for in a loving home… somewhere and would grow up to lead happy lives. They would be alive at least. Paul, the others, had told her so and she believed them. And their acceptance would let her exist with herself.
And sometimes she would let herself go there as if she’d made another decision, as if she had a young child, raising it alone, certainly no Paul around. She wouldn’t have even met him and the thoughts somehow were not comforting, envisioning that other life that might have been. She’d always struggled with money and with a baby and no family support, unable to finish her education, she might have slipped into poverty, never able to rise above it, but she pushed those thoughts out of her mind and romanticized a better life where she raised her child with all possible advantages and resources, an invisible supportive partner and full social network helping her to make it. That was the final beautiful picture she’d created in her mind, the life she’d been deprived due to her poor decision five years ago and she’d just work to make up for it, for tossing it all away, carelessly and cruelly, that’s all. Her mind was set and she could see no other way for her or anyone else. There was just no compromise on this. This was it. She would attend rallies. She would carry a sign. She would shout too sometimes as they went inside, forgetting how it had felt to walk through those doors, alone and afraid, seeing no other way. She’d forgotten in her zest to be a part of something bigger than herself, to make amends, to right a wrong. She’d just forgotten is all. But Phoebe had always been a good person.

***

Katelyn took the file after the female detective had unlocked one of her hands and they’d left her alone again in the room, after she’d surfaced from the fog that had surrounded her, after she’d asked for an attorney. The pictures were gruesome, blood, body parts and was that the young woman she’d hit, totally unrecognizable now, just parts, just flattened, the blue of Katelyn’s car turned red and black and pasted with lumps of flesh? She closed the folder, worse than the posters she’d seen of the aborted fetuses over the years as she’d passed by the groups frequently, as she’d let herself look, being reminded of the carnage that she’d caused herself many years earlier. She was in her fifties now, had no skin in the game anymore, long past her childbearing years and that had never happened for her anyway, despite the men, the dating, the disappointments and despite the child she’d briefly carried and then let go.
She hadn’t been so young, late twenties, when she’d gotten pregnant, but he’d been married and she’d been something, vacant, maybe self-centered, definitely not there, not ready to be a single mother. He’d told her he’d have nothing to do with it and she’d believed him, knowing she could get money from him, but what about the other stuff? What about the father that the child would need? Her own father had left when she was young and she knew what it was like, what was lacking without that person around daily, that presence and was that why being with a married man had felt so much easier than being with someone single, someone actually available? Commitment and vulnerability frightened her and made her uneasy. She didn’t know the psychology of it all, but she hadn’t been able to see her life with a child, the sacrifices that would be required, her dreams that would be stifled, her freedom just… gone. So, she’d gotten rid of it, legally, quick, only about five weeks along. Over the years she’d thought about it, but with little regret. She’d never felt like she was mother material and was alright with that realization.
She’d known immediately that she’d been pregnant, like next day immediately, had felt different so fast, dizzied, just different and she’d known, but no morning after pills in those days and so after a few weeks of waiting for her period, of denying, of self-recriminations, she’d taken a home test, then gone to the doctor, gotten confirmation, then told him, then been told, “… no way, just no fucking way…you cannot keep… it” and then she’d done it. And she’d felt relief, sadly admitting that to herself, she’d been fucking relieved. It was over, pregnant, then not pregnant, so easy back then. Not like now. Now women had to look at pictures, listen to a heartbeat, wait to feel it grow inside of them, turn it into a two-day procedure, have money for transport, sometimes even travel out of state, have support, a strong will to make it happen, determination, a belief that this was the only fucking way forward. No, things were very different now and the day the Supreme Court had reversed Roe v. Wade Katelyn had actually felt something shift beneath her and sensed being pulled backwards. She had felt sorry for women and had been glad she didn’t have a daughter, a granddaughter even, to feel afraid for. She had no one and for once that was a relief.
But even so there was the anger that Katelyn felt at SCOTUS, at the politicians, the men that hadn’t a clue and could care less about saving babies, were only interested in playing to some base of support, the Evangelicals that lived in la la land where all babies were loved and cared for and there was no crime, no abuse, no poverty, no want, just an idealized world of love that doesn’t exist. It was about control over women and, ladies, get out your prairie dresses, stand barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen because the other stuff, school, work, excelling in a man’s world, well, it just ain’t gonna happen, not while this court is in session. But despite her anger Katelyn was not a violent person, sure she’d killed, but it had been legal, she’d forgiven herself, had moved on… alone. She believed she’d been better off without it in the long run, but still she would wonder at times when she walked into her quiet home, a pet here and there, but devoid of any other human being and why was that to be her only chance or had she just deprived herself of it purposely for some reason? Had she punished herself? She’d often thought she’d have been better off sterilizing herself at an early age as it would have saved her much heartbreak over the years, but at this point it was all just an afterthought, water under the bridge. This was her life and she was okay with it despite societal norms that she apparently had failed to follow. There is just no way, despite all of it, that Katelyn would exact violence on… anyone, any group purposely. She just wouldn’t. Katelyn had always been a good person.

***

On her way to the rally Phoebe stopped by her mailbox, just trash, some sales flyers and organizations soliciting for money, for help, so much want and need in the world, but she tossed all of them, unopened, into the dumpster that sat at the end of the parking lot. She couldn’t afford to support the world, she reasoned. People would survive without her help. There were churches, social services, organizations that her tax dollars paid for and that was enough in her mind. The poor, the unwanted, the sick and other disadvantaged would survive… somehow. The government would see to it. Paul, the others had told her so and she believed them. She was following a higher calling. She had the unborn babies to save. She got back into her car feeling justified, determined, and drove to the spot across the street from the building that housed Planned Parenthood, parked her car and joined the others. It was a beautiful day at least, sunny and not too hot yet. She saw Paul, smiled sweetly at him, waited for his greeting, but he seemed preoccupied, talking to another activist, younger than her, pretty too and she saw - pregnant. She felt a strange panic run through her for no reason at all that she could understand, but it was there. She picked up a sign and began walking. She thought about her relationship with Paul, how he preached abstinence that over the years had begun to feel like a hard slap of denial to her needs and wants. Why had she put up with it for five years and who the hell was that young woman he was seemingly so engrossed with over there? A new recruit probably, but it made her feel uneasy, watching him with her, reminding her of how he’d been with her at first, so long ago, the promise of so much more, but being left with a dispassionate and cold relationship. Was he really her boyfriend when he would never even touch her? And had he really ever looked at her like he was looking at the young woman now, that gesture Phoebe was observing, touching her, just his arm around her, but still the implied intimacy, the unmistakable desire, made her upset and jealous, the thing she could now see in his eyes that was never there when he’d looked at her. And was it because she still had her baby? Phoebe was suddenly deflated, depleted. In her mind it was five years ago and she was just leaving the clinic after her procedure. She was that empty again.
She saw the car turning the corner, not too fast, just fast enough. Phoebe stepped off the curb just wanting to get his attention, his sympathy, get him back from her, whomever she was. She stepped off the curb and into the road, just a little bit, just far enough to be brushed maybe, not to be hit really, but the car tried to avoid or maybe it changed course, seeing her like that, an outlier, off the curb and into the street, fair game even. Phoebe didn’t know, just felt the impact and then nothingness afterward. Paul, her baby, the group, her ideals fading into a deep black nothingness.

***

The next day the headlines across the country were mixed,

The Dallas Morning News: YOUNG WOMAN KILLED, ACTIVIST FOR PRO-LIFE MOVEMENT, MOWED DOWN BY SPEEDING CAR

The Boston Globe: PRO-LIFER KILLED IN ACCIDENTAL CAR CRASH

The Washington Post: WOMAN STEPS INTO TRAFFIC AND DIES, MEMBER OF ANTI-ABORTION GROUP

Wyoming Tribune Eagle: ACTIVIST MURDERED AT RALLY WHILE EXERCISING CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS

The New York Times: RALLY FOR LIFE ENDS IN DEATH, ONE PERSON HELD WITHOUT BOND IN WHAT COULD BE INTENTIONAL HOMICIDE OR A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT

The Oregonian: PRO-LIFE ACTIVIST SACRIFICES HERSELF TO BRING ATTENTION TO CAUSE

The Seattle Times: WAS GLOBAL WARMING AND EXTREME WEATHER A FACTOR IN CAR LOSING CONTROL?

The trial took three weeks. Eyewitness accounts had been contradictory and unreliable. After four days of deliberations, the jury foreperson stood and told the judge that a verdict could not be reached, the jury was split, much like the headlines, much like the country. The judge had asked incredulously, “…and are you sure, if given more time you cannot reach a unanimous vote of guilty or not guilty?” to which the foreperson had answered, head cast downward.
“No, your honor, we are divided and more time, more deliberations, would not be helpful.”
So, after dragging Katelyn’s past through the court system, Phoebe’s too and with a good faith effort on the part of Katelyn’s defense attorney, “…the brakes were old, could have been faulty and the gas pedal, that little piece of floor mat, well, it might have gotten stuck under the accelerator…and that sharp turn, the girl was in the street for pete’s sake, the car just overcorrecting and all…” creating some reasonable doubt, Katelyn walked away free, but not exonerated.
She wasn’t to be retried, the prosecutor admitting defeatedly, “she has no history of violence, no record, another potential jury pool will be just as divided on the issue, on her guilt or innocence, so – absent more evidence, Ms. Cross is free to go,” Katelyn relieved she was spared testifying also.
And a few weeks later she was leaving town because of all the hate directed her way, social media, grotesque things left on her front porch, phone messages, threats. People stood in the shadows, tossing anonymous vitriol and hated her. It was all too much and she decided to move out of town. She’d lost some weight in the months since the incident and after the trial was done, she cut her hair and changed the color, packed up her possessions and prepared to leave her hometown for good, to become someone other than Katelyn Cross.
The day she left town she loaded up her puppy, Riley, putting him into the back of the used Jeep she’d just purchased. On her way out of town she stopped by the cemetery. It was a peaceful and beautiful place and she felt glad of that. Walking across the pathway, she searched the stones, looked for freshly dug earth, a mound of dirt, and saw it in the distance. Phoebe’s remains had been laid to rest under the shade of a big oak tree, next to what appeared to be her grandfather and grandmother from what Katelyn could determine from the names and dates that were inscribed. She laid the bouquet of freshly cut wild flowers in front of the newly placed stone that had Phoebe’s name and dates of birth and death as well as a nice brief sentiment chiseled into it. As she knelt down, she gently whispered, “I’m so sorry, Phoebe, but… well, there is… a war,” and she stood slowly, respectfully, for a fallen soldier, a sister in another world, both somehow collateral damage. Katelyn then turned and walked away, back to the Jeep where Riley sat waiting, tongue lolling, tail wagging.