“There are eight million stories in the naked city…”
No one uses a pregnancy test in Wal-Mart’s bathroom unless she’s in a real hurry to know. What did she hope – or fear – the answer would be? Did she see the results and fling it aside? Or carry it in disbelief and then accidentally drop it as she dug her keys out of her purse? How could I see it there on the parking lot pavement, soaked by rain, smashed by car tires, and not wonder?
The result – the one on the test, anyway – has faded from view. But before that happened this little device presented some very important information. Like whether someone would be unable to go to college. Or was tied to someone she was trying to leave, or forget, or even escape. Or was faced with a decision that she would have to keep secret all her life, lest she be thought a murderer by people who confuse a clump of cells with a baby. Or perhaps, it gave its owner a message of sweet relief, and an opportunity to visit Planned Parenthood for some less stressful options.
(And yes, I meant that exactly the way it sounded)
- In Bloomington/Normal, it’s only about 120,000 stories
- Yes, conceivably the woman using this might have been hoping she was pregnant. If that were the case one might speculate she’d open it at home, and save it to show her partner.