After the third miscarriage, John promises to get a vasectomy so I won’t feel like it’s my fault. The very words shift all the blame to me, and I regret telling him about my past abortions as a teenager. That I’d changed my mind about not wanting kids.
When the nurse calls him back, I slip out of the doctor’s office and wait in the elevator. As the steel doors slide closed, they show me the reflection of a freckled face I haven’t seen in nearly thirty years.
She cowers in the furthest corner, peers up at me, her eyes big and wide. When ours connect, she quickly faces the wall.
I feel the motherly urge to protect her, shield her from all the bad decisions she’ll inevitably make in the years to come.
“What floor?” I ask.
“First,” the mousy voice replies.
My finger hovers over the “1” on the keypad. Next to it, the tag “Family planning.”
When I turn around, she’s not there, but I still see her image in the doors.
“Are you sure?”
She shakes her head.
I punch “G” for the parking garage instead.
When the doors open again, a girl in an oversized sweatshirt runs out.
© 2021 Nortina Simmons
There are plenty of Twilight Zone episodes about having an encounter with one’s younger self, but I would say this story draws its inspiration from “Spur of the Moment.”
We’re going strong with our marathon! I’ll step away for some coffee and be back in an hour!
Nortina's Writing Inspiration Well 