Here Comes Trouble - Michael Moore [76]
“What exactly is her condition right now?” I asked, hoping to end the lecture.
“She’s cut up inside, her uterus and her cervix. It also looks like they used some form of ammonia, so there seem to be burns in there, too. We’ve stopped the bleeding and are caring for the inner wall linings, and she’s in a bit of shock. We have her resting now and sedated, and she’s getting the proper attention she needs. Are your parents on their way?”
“Yes,” I lied. “They should be here soon.”
The doctor shot another look at Tucker. “You care at all to know if she’s still carrying the baby?” he said, without adding the implied “punk” at the end of the sentence.
“Yeah, sure,” Tucker said without looking at the doctor.
“The baby’s gone,” he said, using the word baby for the second time for effect, to hurt Tucker. It hurt me.
“It’s not a baby,” I said quietly. “She was ten weeks pregnant. It was a fetus. If Michigan wasn’t so backward, she wouldn’t be lying in there like that. That’s all I’m mad about. Thank you for helping her.”
He did not appreciate my diatribe and simply turned away and went back into the ER.
“Are her parents really coming?” Tucker asked, panicked.
“No. But we have to call them. She’s going to be here for at least tonight, and they are going to be frightened when she doesn’t come home. I’ll call them. And I’ll try to help when they get here.”
I went to the pay phone and called her parents collect. I told them not to worry, Zoe was OK, but she was in the hospital in Detroit as she had come down here to terminate a pregnancy. There was crying and cursing, and I told them I was sorry, I didn’t know, I thought Tucker had called them, I drove to the hospital as soon as Tucker called me. I said I would stay with Zoe until they got there.
When they arrived I stood between them and Tucker to ward off any violence, and I asked everyone to try and focus on Zoe and we can yell at each other later. Her mother spoke to the nurse, then the doctor, and they allowed her and her husband back in the room. In a few minutes, they sent for her “brother.” I looked at Tucker, who just seemed lost and more in need of a babysitter or a mother of his own at the moment. I followed the nurse into the room, and she pulled back the curtain to reveal Zoe, half awake in bed, her hand being held by her mother, her dad still glancing my way, wanting to punch someone.
“Hi Zoe,” I said, and went over to her other side and took her other hand.
“I’m… so… sorry,” she mumbled. “We… made… a… m–mistake.”
“Don’t think about that now. The doctor said you’re doing fine, you just need to rest. And your mom and dad are here and everything’s gonna be all right.”
“Thank… you,” she whispered, her throat all raspy. “You’re… my…” She broke down crying. There was no real word with which to finish that sentence, none that adequately described our relationship—or if there was, it could not be spoken in this room. I helped her finish the sentence.
“Friend,” I said, smiling.
“Yes. Always.”
Zoe soon broke up with Tucker. After we graduated, I became consumed with my first year of college and all things political, but Zoe and I still hung out a lot, still listened to music and shared our most intimate feelings with each other. She signed up to go to community college, but halfway through the second semester she dropped out, and she and her family moved out West. We stayed in touch by writing letters, but she was into adventure and wandering with hippie friends she met along the way. Soon, there was no contact, and life went on.
I last saw Zoe over a decade ago. She was playing in a recital in Chicago, and she told me how she got part-time work playing in various orchestras and symphonies (they made her wear shoes). She had lived in LA for a while and played in the back-up string sections on pop and rock records. It was good to catch up and go over old times. The man she was with seemed nice but of few words. I did notice that he had the same chain that Tucker used to have, hanging from his belt loop. I left our reunion feeling good about Zoe and the