By Vince L.
We were a few months short of two years into our relationship when my world imploded. My ex-was beautiful. She stood about 5’8 inches tall and was often mistaken for a Latina, but she wasn’t. She was a mix of Caribbean spices from her father’s side and southern militant black love from her mother’s side. Somehow the good Lord caused her parents to cross paths in the year of ‘82. Fast-forward twenty-six years, she and I met through a mutual friend on Facebook.
Things started off smooth between the two of us. Back then, I was an associate designer for a young men’s clothing brand. She worked for the city. Our work schedules were opposite of one another, but we made it work. I worked during the day and she worked the night shift. She would stay at my place three to four times out the week. I enjoyed that. When I came home after the gym in the evenings, I would cook dinner. I made sure I cooked enough for her to eat and for her to have for lunch at work. I did my best for her to feel comfortable around me. Even down to her head wraps to bed. I didn’t have any issue with her. She had my best interest at heart. When a man knows a woman has his back no matter what (excluding his mother) it changes him for the better. He finds himself looking forward to doing activities with this woman. In short, building a future with this woman.
These thoughts started to come at me rapidly. So, when she told me she was “late” one evening after a workout, I was dumbfounded. Of course, my stupid ass said, “It’s only 10 pm. You got plenty of time to get to work.” That was followed by a smack to the back of my head. “No jackass! Late with my period….El Feelio!” she said. At that point, I turned numb, but I wasn’t surprised. The way we were sexing….ssshhhiiii…Anyway, the deed was done and the seed was planted. The question was…now what?
The days to come had me extremely excited. I did my best to make her as comfortable as possible. Whatever she needed me to do to make this process the best for the both of us, I did. We became closer. She practically moved in with me. We didn’t speak much about her being pregnant. Every time we spoke about it she would shy away from the conversation. I found it frustrating at times, but figured it was her being emotional. I went with the flow of things.
She was scared. She would say little things in regards to her future. Her future, not our future. This was the first of a few jewels she dropped on me as days turned into weeks with her being pregnant.
8 weeks later
We finally had a heart to heart talk about the pregnancy. I told her that I’m here to support whatever decision she chooses to make. She told me about her fears, like not wanting to end up a single mother like her sister. Or go through the hardship her mother went through raising her and her siblings; mostly on her own. Everyday, I did my best to try to assure her that our situation would be different.
Eight weeks turned into twelve weeks so fast! And that’s when she hit me with it. She wanted an abortion. I didn’t know what to say. As much as I didn’t agree with her choice, I had to respect it and be supportive. Right? After all, I did tell her I would be supportive of her choice from the beginning.
She set the date for the abortion. The tension between us leading up to the appointment was tighter than African hair braids. I tried my best to convince her that this wasn’t the right decision. Then it hit me, why do I need to convince the woman I love, the woman who claims to love me, the woman who claims to love us, to have our child?! This epiphany was the first layer of questions from the mental onion that instantly grew in my head from her decision.
Why wait to have an abortion three months into being pregnant?
Why didn’t she want to have my/our child?
Why didn’t she see the future for us as I did?
Did she trust me?
Did she think I couldn’t be a provider?
Did she think I couldn’t be a father?
Her choice also created self-doubt within me too. After we left Planned Parenthood, it was the start of the end. But I think she knew it, though it was never said. I honestly tried but I didn’t have it in me. Eventually, she confronted me, and I told her how I felt. She pleaded with me, telling me we could work through this. But I knew I couldn’t get past her choice. To add to the list, I felt she took a piece of my life away. When I see my close friends (my brothers) with their children, I can’t help but think about my own. Or should I say how old mine would have been. My son/daughter would have been seven years old this year.
What do you think? Can a relationship last if both don’t agree to an abortion?
Renaissance man from The Bronx, NY, Vincent “VJ” Lake creative career
started in fashion, and expand through fitness and the military. Vincent
is also an entrepreneur with his own active-wear lifestyle apparel
brand; “PURESPORT ATHLETIC aka PSA”. Currently, he is finishing up his
first non-fiction book of short stories titled,”I’ve Had My Share”. The
book is scheduled for release in early 2018.