There Will Be Hope | Zoe Krauskopf | Grade 11
place up myself. I didn’t know what it was, but I had
faith in my brother — he’d never lead me somewhere
that was dangerous for me unless there was a good
reason. Instead of checking it out for myself, I sat
in bed and re-read the note several times, using it as
my packing list. Of course I’d take boots and a coat
— it was cold out. I didn’t own any kind of weapon
but a pocket knife, so I took that, wondering all the
while what use I’d find for it.
Then I set about steeling my nerves for the worst.
All sorts of strange images came to mind, but I never
for a moment believed that any of them were real. I
trusted my brother too much.
Finally, Liam texted me, saying he was outside. I
quickly grabbed up everything I needed and ran
downstairs. There he was, waiting for me in his
pickup truck.
“You don’t have to come,” he said feebly.
“Liam, I can do this. I don’t know what you’re so
upset about. It’ll be fine.”
We were silent other than that. Liam drove quickly,
eventually parking on the side of some road I didn’t
recognize. “We’re almost here. We can walk the last
part.” He helped me out of the truck, and we began
our solemn walk in the freezing darkness.
I had imagined countless possibilities, but none
of them matched up to the reality, which I saw as
soon as we rounded the corner: Dan had given me
directions to the city’s abortion facility.
There it was: an old stone structure with a decrepit
awning overshadowing it. In peeling letters were
painted the words “EWM Women’s Surgical Center.”
There were large windows in the edifice, but they
admitted no look into the building — heavy blinds
were drawn over them. There appeared to be only
one door.
And then there were the people: easily fifty to a
hundred of them on the cracked pavement. Some
of them sported lurid orange “Clinic Escort” jackets.
Others were wearing bright yellow vests, though
these were fewer in number. There was one man
standing on a wooden box and quoting Bible verses
in an elevated voice. And there were people lined up
all along the sides of the streets, holding Rosaries.
Liam and I came, hand-in-hand, just as a group of
orange-clad escorts reached the door. They had
formed so tight a ring around one girl that all I could
see of her was her flaming red hair. A man in yellow
was trying to speak to her, but one of the escorts
shoved him out of the way and allowed the girl into
the building. Just before she entered, the ring of
orange broke, and she looked behind herself. Her
large, blue, tearstained eyes came to rest on Liam
and me.
At that moment, something happened which I will
never be able to explain. Our eyes met and, although
I most certainly didn’t know her, I felt that she was
my best friend. For that instant, I felt all the pain
that went with her decision. I felt that I had left her
at this last, crucial moment. . .
She opened her mouth as if to say something but
was pushed inside by an escort.
My knees were shaking. I knew why she had gone in
there. I knew how many people entered — and how
many would return.
I desperately wanted to run into that building. I
desperately wanted to find that girl — speak to her
— listen to her — take her out of there — take them
both out of there. But I couldn’t. I was paralyzed
with fear, and it was only Liam’s strong arms that
kept me on my feet.
“We don’t have to stay,” Liam whispered. “You know
what it is.”
He was right. I didn’t have to see this. I didn’t have
to be here. I couldn’t help her or anyone else who
went through those doors, so what was the point in
14
BAYLEY BULLETIN, MAR-MAY 2016
