Justin Taylor - Everything Here Is the Best Thing Ever

“Are you on your way over?” Cass said. I’d been planning to kid her for a bit, since I was already on a roll. I figured she was just looking to hook up, and there was no reason that couldn’t wait — let her get even more worked up, right? — but I knew as soon as I heard her voice that kidding was the last thing on her mind, and that sucked the kidding right on out of me. “I’m a little drunk,” I said, “over here at Joe Brown’s place. What’s up?”

“Then buy a coffee,” she said, “on your way over. And do not under any circumstances bring your girlfriend along with you.” She was gone.

“All right, honey,” I said into the dead phone. “That sounds real nice. I’ll be there just as soon as I can.”

Well, I had knocked Cass up.

“Well,” I said. We were sitting in her driveway in the front seat of my car, cold half-drained cup of coffee on my dash, so she could see I listened. Her house was dark, folks inside asleep, and I was thinking of a way to say that wasn’t it possible it hadn’t been me who’d done it — who’d been the one — and it seemed to me that such a thing was possible, only I couldn’t think of a way to say that, but she figured out what was on my mind and gave me a look I could not help but read correctly. “I mean,” I said. I said, “Shit, Cass, forget it. Forget it. I’m sorry.”

“If you don’t want to help me don’t help me,” she said. “I’m smarter than you anyway, and I’ve got more money. So make up your mind real quick and if you’re gonna be in then be in.”

“Cass,” I said, and took her hand, which was closer to me in both of mine.

She said, “Well, okay then.” And we sat like that a while, her crying some.

When it seemed right to, or at least okay, I asked what was it she thought she’d like to do. I was trying to speak carefully, because I’d fucked up and hurt her feelings once already, but also, I was feeling oddly mixed about the thing. Terrified, yes, but also something else — excited, I guess, even somewhat thrilled. Like being on the edge of a cliff and thinking, Maybe if I jump I’ll fly. If we did it, it would be something we could never take back. I looked with a mingling of fear and true desire upon the idea that I might be forced to become some kind of man. What if I worked hard, raised myself — us — up? A small family out on the lake on a fine day in high summer. A boat of our very own.

“Do?” Cass said. Her tears were dry. “You know the answer to that, if you think you know me at all. Shit. I got a life ahead of me, not this.”

I was swept through with a blessed relief so sweet I’d have lost my feet if I hadn’t already been sitting. My fantasy crumbled like the pages of an old brittle book. Oh Dear Christ Jesus Rock Savior Master King, I thought. Oh Merciful God of Heaven, I am no more fit to play daddy than jazz trumpet, and I thank you for leading this girl into wanting to kill our baby. Amen.

I promised Cass she was not alone in this thing — promised up and down till she believed me. So the next day I set out to prove it, and went down to the library so I could get online. I never visited the library much, but I liked it. It was small and not pretty, but had a sort of built to last quality. Its architecture did not bespeak a shame about its own existence, which seems to be the traditional style for community buildings.

I learned there were only two places in the whole state we could go. It seemed to me that this miserable figure held a glimpse of some deep truth, like the world loves nothing so much as to make a hard thing harder, but of course I knew it was no natural order but fence-swinging Christers with their big ideas who had made it this way. They were people, I thought, who treasured denying mercy and bestowing pain. Self-appointed fixers. My own mother in their swollen ranks, drinking their decaf coffee and trifolding their newsletters. Belting their tuneless hymns.

I went outside the library and called the number, talked to some woman who was formal with me, but kind. She wouldn’t let me make the appointment for Cass, but gave me information I could tell her, the most important piece of which was that even though the Lifers had about run abortion out of the state altogether, they had somehow not managed to get passed any of that parental consent and notification stuff, which meant that whatever else happened, they couldn’t force Cass to ask permission.

Because of where we had to go, the only way it made sense was for us to take a weekend and make the trip. I told Cass about having to make her own appointment, and other stuff I’d learned, then I booked us a room at a place the woman on the phone had recommended. Cass wanted to pay half but I said no. She told her folks she was going to visit some friends who were freshmen at State. I got my shifts covered at work, and told my mother that me and Joe Brown were going down to the Gulf to fish on the boat of a guy Joe knew. I told Joe Brown he was my cover for a hot weekend me and Cass had been planning that also included a second girl, some friend of hers from Jackson who looked mighty special judging from her MySpace picture, and so whatever else he did to make sure and not let my mother see him hanging around town while I was gone.

Hurting him with the truth was one thing. This was a different case. Extreme and necessary, yes, but Jesus. I could hardly lift my head for the weight of my guilt.

We lit out early, and it was a good drive. We talked, but not too much; she studied. I never did understand how some people can read in a moving car. There were protesters outside the clinic. This had not been unexpected, but was still a fairly great shock to see. These people in their mad devotion. Old men with liver spots held up posters depicting things no less horrible for being mostly obvious fakes. Young people in their church bests. Enormous middle-aged women with short haircuts and fanny packs, heavy necklaces of colorful unprecious stone. The day was genius with sun, the kind of day that makes you want to say, God bless the sunny South forever, and not even be kidding at all. A man in a cheap suit stepped into our path and I let go of Cass’s hand and stepped out in front of her.

“Where are these children’s parents?” he shouted. Not to us, but past, addressing his own cohort, re-proving whatever it was they were all so sure they already knew. Cass, behind me, closed a hand over my fist and squeezed. I knew she would never forgive my fulfilling what was right then my life’s one dream of seeing this weasel’s blood run down my knuckles. He looked about my father’s age. I let my hand slacken, and walked forward, leading her on. For a second I thought he was going to force me to walk into him, and if that happened it would be all bets off, for my patience was expired and Cass did not have the power to stop me twice. But the weasel was only playing chicken. He dodged.

She was woozy after, like the doctor had warned. He’d said that would last the day, and that there’d be some bleeding. All normal. I picked us up cold sandwiches and juice, so we’d have them if we wanted, then took us back to the room and made sure she was comfortable and asked if she felt like talking. I told her I had been scared for her, even though there’d been nothing to be scared of, really, because I’d read all about it beforehand and the folks there had told me, too. I told her she’d done the right thing, that we had — I wasn’t sure which was the correct one to say, or which way she preferred to hear it, if at all.

I told her she was the smartest girl I knew, maybe the all around best one.

“Those people are just sick,” I said, thinking again of the weasel, his pinched face with its lightless eyes. Cass said something, but it was muddled, and may have also trailed off. I thought I heard my name, but didn’t ask her to repeat herself. She slept, and didn’t wake up until the next day, during which same time I spent eternity wide awake and all alone.