Sandra

Because its immoral and unchristian.

Since when have you been a Christian?
I grew up a Christian and still believe in many of the core beliefs, especially, thou shalt not kill.
This feud has been intensifying for the past half hour. Neither side has backed down, and neither side
has listened to what is actually being said. Both are too busy preparing something vindictive to say.
Whats to kill? Its not even born yet. Its one thing if I were to hold a gun to its head when it came out,
but its something completely different keeping it from entering an unloving environment.
She looks across the studio at him. Most of the things have been cleared out: the white leather couch, the
prints of Cezannes Les Grandes Baigneuses and a couple selections from Matisses Jazz series, the record
player, which they played Tony Bennetts Duets while touching each other. Two men with flannel jackets and
mundane small talk had put these affectionate objects in storage this morning, presumably less affected by
their romance.
She could have kept the things here and just changed the locks, but she needed a change greater than
that. She needs to leave this city. It just isnt worth it for her, the crime risks, the stress from working in one of
the citys top architecture firms, the weather, what did it all add up to? Busy-ness. It all kept her from being
happy and doing what she wanted to be doing. Or at least, what she would like to be doing.
She wanted to improve her drawing and writing, perhaps create some sort of autobiographic graphic
novel similar to Persepolis or other personal/political works of art. And she thought traveling would guarantee
her the time to do so. Until life arrived.
Sandra, do you really think theres only one way?

She informed him it was going to be them and the baby OR her and the baby. There was going to be no
middle ground, she wasnt interested in the life of mistress-hood. Shes been hurt enough as a woman to know
that isnt right. But, then again, she has no qualms with hurting him. After all these months of telling her what
she wanted to hear: Family, Marriage, Us, We, Our. It was as much doublespeak as a politician trying to promise
the end of economic crises. And she was tired of his campaigning.
So, youre just going to walk away?
Honey, I dont have to walk away, Im walking MY way, and if that means away from your selfish, selfish
ways, praise the lord.
There you go again.
Yes, excuse me if I have decided to be open to god in my life, excuse me if I have opened myself to what
god wants for me. I am not giving it up, do whatever you want with the rest of this, cause I wont be back for
ANY of it.
She finishes her half-turn and clacks her way down the hardwood. It sounds like an air gun shooting
nails into the floor, her breath the hissing compressor, her shoes the gun. She stops at the door, only to take her
key off its chain,
Here. Find some other woman to be your getaway ho.
**
When she first told him she knew he wouldnt be ecstatic. But, she at least thought hed grow into the
idea. After all, isnt this what he said he always wanted? Family. Probably another lie.
Dale always seems to get his way, he seems to finagle a relationship or capitalize on some weakness so
that he is perpetually achieving the upper-hand. She was tired of it - the fight for the upper-hand. And, thinking
about it, she was pretty sure Andrea was sick of it too. The two women had never met but Sandra listened to
the cues, the dead air between Dales conversations of her, the air where she was supposed to be feeling sorry
for him. Sandra was sick of feeling sorry for him, or anybody else. Really. If somebodys not happy, why make
others feel the same? Sandra knew Andrea was a good woman, and that was what made this all so hard for so
long.

When she first told him, she thought hed concern himself with her more, drain the ocean to give her
one pearl. She thought hed grow up some, switch roles, not a lot, but enough to fool her, take on more
consequences and repercussions. Nope. When she first told him, he was pretending the music was too loud. She
remembered it all, regrettably, too well.
Really? He shouts above the music.
Are you sure? And its always beenyou knowjust you and me?
He tried right away to shrug off what was his gift, a blessing, something that he alleged was still missing
from his life.
The music from the pick-up band was profoundly bass-ed. The bassist couldnt have been more spirited
if he was opening for The Koochies at the Pabst, but, regrettably for him, he was just playing some art show on
1st Avenue above an Antique shop. It was a gallery of local artists, any medium, any theme, the common bond
was knowing the right people, but what was an art gallery without that bond?
Sandra told him as the bassist slapped some Gypsy Swing that had the antique
shop-turned-temporary-art space swaying. Oriental tea sets and gold-glowing lamps large enough to hide not
just a genie, but Robin Williams himself, were only a few rattles away from causing percussion to the sticky tile
floor.
Dale kept his feet tapping as he continued his interrogation; this was the man she thought would be the
father of her finally-child.
Of course Im sure. She yells above the din.
Im thirty-five years old, Ive been down these roads before, butwell they wereunfruitful as you
know. Lets talk somewhere quieter.
Sandra had a miscarriage for every decade she was fertile. When she was seventeen, she had gotten
pregnant right away, truly, right away, and began telling her friends and the boy she had been seeing. She had
been accepted to the University of Washingtons College of Architecture and Urban Planning, so no one was
concerned about her lack of long term planning. Her boyfriend at the time, a boy named Manny, told her hed
move to Seattle if that was what she wanted.

Then she bled.

The doctor her mother took her to called it a chemical pregnancy, which only made her think of
laboratory pregnancies, as if she had been mixing acidic vials of magnesium and chlorophosphate and POOF!
she was +pregnant, and HISS! - not pregnant.
When she was in college at Seattle, sluggishly working towards her license, she got the second letter.
Thats what she began to call them. Letters from her children. He or she still wasnt ready to join her yet, but
she wrote to say she was in her thoughts and theyd meet soon. He wrote from her bedroom, writing a long,
eloquent letter about how much fun they would have one day, one day soon, and to not get discouraged, the
time was coming. She wrote from Sandras bed, and the paint-thick cursive felt warm against her thighs, more
intimate than she had been with his father.
The third letter, the one that came after her 30th birthday party, was not such a depressing one. It was
bad news, certainly, but not so unexpected news, and when, to be honest, she couldnt remember much about
the man who prompted the message, besides how he dotted his is and wrote with a slant (she had teased him
about that all night, while drinking manhattans and smoking marijuana), she was glad after all, in a way, in
some small ways. She was becoming more used to strangers writing strange things across her thighs, and she
longed for the un-strange, the acquainted, that which equals a family, but didnt expect it.
Well, um, what do you think about it, Sand?
Dale, again, was trying to postpone any opinion or ownership as long as he could. He came from a long
line of opinion postponement. His mother, the deep cleaner, was queen of passive aggression. If anger was
amusement for some, that is, if some people found relief or joy in screaming, then Dales mom was not an
amusing woman. Dale adopted her fear of confrontation merely by witness. It was what he knew of best. He
kept his anger in as long as he could when she responded.
Well, I think its terrific, Sandra gloated.
Her response, terse and direct, dislodged him from his train of apathy. He didnt have the heart to ask
her then, but later in the weekend, while out to eat in Chinatown, before the dim sum lady came around a

second time to offer them the choice between rice noodle roll or vegetable congeee, he asked her to write her
own letter to the baby.