The Longer The Fall by Aviva Gat (best new books to read txt) 📗

she didn’t think he was good for it, as Keisha suggested. He was just 13 himself and—at the expense of Rhonda—was recently initiated into the Cobras, the most exclusive and scariest gang in Harlem. Rhonda hoped she wouldn’t see him again and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to ask him for help even if she did.

Unsure of her options, Rhonda had called the one person she thought might have an answer. After all, this person was older, white, and in college—Rhonda was sure she’d know what to do. Rhonda didn’t know the white lady very well, but she liked and trusted Hunter. He’d been hanging out at the community center for a while and recently started bringing around his new friend. The next afternoon, Rhonda pulled the white lady aside and explained her situation. She expected the white lady to offer her money or teach her what to do with a baby—because white people both had money and knew things—but neither of those options came out of her mouth. Instead, the white lady surprised her by giving her another option: abortion.

Rhonda hadn’t thought about that before; it wasn’t something that her peers did. She had peers raising babies, peers who gave babies to aunts or grandparents to raise, but none had aborted. She didn’t even know if that was even legal and if it was, where it could be done. The white lady assured her it would be OK and she would help her. Rhonda just nodded and followed along when the white lady told her when her appointment would be.

Madeline showed up right on time to pick up Rhonda in a taxi and take her downtown to a clinic where no one from their neighborhood would accidentally see them. Rhonda was afraid of many things and that was a big one—what if people knew she had an abortion? What would they say about her? What would the baby daddy say if he heard she killed his baby? Rhonda quietly got in the taxi as is sped downtown through neighborhoods Rhonda had never seen before. She hadn’t seen red carpets in front of doorways, or apartment buildings with gold trim out front. She hadn’t seen doormen or artisanal bakeries that advertised specialty dog treats.

Madeline held her hand during the car ride and Rhonda kept her eyes glued to the window. When they arrived, Madeline led her into the building and helped her fill out the paperwork. She sat with her in the operating room as she put on the hospital robe and held out her arm for the nurse to check her vitals. No one asked questions about why a young white woman was with a younger black girl at the clinic. No one looked at them judgmentally, nor did they give her a pitied eye. And this also bothered Rhonda. Why didn’t they judge her? Why didn’t they scold her or pity her or nod knowing that she was another cliché of her kind? Why did they just accept her and continue with their work?

Madeline hugged her before the anesthesia was delivered and promised to be there when she woke up. To Rhonda is felt like just a blink before she opened her eyes in a different room, with Madeline sitting beside her.

Madeline was reading a textbook and taking notes on a notebook when she saw that Rhonda woke up. She quickly put away her schoolwork and stood by the young girl’s side. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

Rhonda felt hallow and numb. Like these white people who operated on her had stolen a vital organ of hers. “Is everything OK?” she asked, but she knew the white lady would lie.

“Everything went perfectly,” Madeline responded. “We just need to wait until you feel good enough to get up and then we can go back home.” Madeline handed her a juice box and poked the straw through the little hole for her. “You need to drink some sugar.”

Rhonda took the juice box, feeling like a child who needed someone to take care of her. But she wasn’t a child. A child wouldn’t be able to bring a baby into the world. Wouldn’t be able to have sex even. Rhonda felt suffocated and angry. Why had she let this white woman do this to her? Why had she listened to her? Why had she let these people kill her baby?

“You can probably go back to school tomorrow if you feel better,” Madeline said. “But you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

Rhonda nodded, finishing her juice. “I want to go home.”

Madeline nodded and retrieved a nurse to organize Rhonda’s release. Once they left, Madeline suggested they stop for a Tasti D-Lite. Rhonda had never had the famous soft serve ice cream before, and she truthfully didn’t want it then, but how could she say no? She sat quietly and ate her dessert even though it made her feel sick. Then they took another silent taxi ride back uptown, past the fancy buildings and dog walkers leading poodles with bows in their hair.

“Drop me off here,” Rhonda said when they were a few blocks from her apartment.

“But you shouldn’t walk too much, let me help you into your bed,” Madeline responded, but Rhonda refused. “Everything is going to be OK.” Madeline rubbed her shoulder. The gesture reminded Rhonda of something she saw a mother do in a TV show she had seen once. It made her feel warm and even more hateful inside.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Rhonda said as she pulled away. “Everything is easy for you.”

“You’re right,” Madeline responded. “But that’s why I am here to help you. To make things easier for you. Call me if you need anything. I’m always here for you.”

Rhonda nodded, but she would never call. She would never ask another white person for help. That afternoon she told Keisha about the operation.

“Those damn white people don’t