Rating: PG

Summary: Sydney Caplan is a real person-she's a medical ethicist from Pennsylvania, and the dialogue she and her husband have carried on for three decades is one of the more interesting ones in the abortion debate (he's pro, she's con)-and a testament to a very good marriage.

Okay, Martha, you thought it was time for Dad and the little one to have THE talk-and they do. And giz, Dad brought the crackers and milk.

Spoilers: Oh, please! Here? No way!
 

MICHAEL:

January 14, 2001

It's been a loooonnnggg fucking day.

Why I took a non-required 8:00 class, I will never know.

Except that once I'm there, it's a real decent class. It's not like my first writing class. This one is for people who want to be there, and everybody's good in it. It's small, too, there's only like 17 of us. So you get lots of feedback and everybody pushes you hard, but in a good way.

What's really weird is I get respect in that class. It's like I am the writing deity there.

I feel a little bit like a fraud, but also I really like that people don't look at me like a waste case there. I mean, they think I'm good. And they listen to me. And Casey treats us with respect in that class. She figures you're only there because you want to be, and she makes it good, and she doesn't treat us like stupid little kids.

Only problem is, it's not like in the last class where if I needed to kick out an assignment in two hours, I could do it. And the assignments are either so tightly defined that you really don't have much room to wiggle around in, or they're so broad that nailing down what you should be doing is really difficult.

This is one of the real tightly defined ones. The issue is abortion, and you got assigned a position. I got assigned a con position. You have to not only write up what YOU think, but then you got to go and support your argument with five people who've published before you.

Thank God for the Web. Big problem there was narrowing down the references. Fortunately, I hit on Sydney Caplan, who actually makes intelligent arguments. And she's done lots of papers and hit on lots of references, so I take it from there.

And I'm shocked as shit when I find that one of her references is an article by a certain Melvin J. Frohike, published in TMB in 1990.

This article is a huge surprise. I never thought of my dad as taking such a position, but then, I never asked him.

It's definitely an uncomfortable article to read. My dad feels that women ultimately choose, but he's not comfortable with it, and he pretty damn eloquently tells why.

And he ends up doing it without sounding anti-woman, which is really amazing-so much of the stuff that's out there, in the guise of anti-abortion literature, is really just a diatribe against women. Not my dad's stuff. It's like it was painful for him to write it.

And of course, he can't ever totally get rid of the Catholic thing. He never says that he is, but you can tell. The influence is forever in that one.

And the dude is not even religious.

He's a fucking lot more complicated than I ever thought.
 

I'm typing this up in the TMB offices-hey, I actually wrote something for the February issue! I think the last time I contributed, it was October (!)

Poor Langly wants to give me shit. He's really trying. But he's too damn worried right now. His big sis is not in good shape, and he's spending an awful lot of time biting his nails. He's real quiet, too.

This is the part that really gets to us all. Langly being quiet. It's a scary concept.

He went to see her, but she kicked him out after a couple hours. I suspect his nervousness is making her nervous. Or she's real tired, which he says she is.

He's looking pretty dead himself.

If it wasn't so late and we didn't have so damn much to do, I'd ask him if he wants to go shoot some pool. Give me a chance to kick his sorry ass.

Maybe get his mind off stuff for a while.

It's almost 10 when I finish my paper for Casey's class, and I'm so beat. Dad's still doing something, I think Mulder's got him doing some research-guy needs some grad students, dammit!-and he's still clicking away. I tell him I'm gonna catch the 10:25 bus and I'll see him later, but he says wait, he's almost done, go with him.

Whatever. Now I can go say goodnight to Kelly.

I knock on Kelly's door. She's studying o-chem when I come in.

And she looks real nervous.

Can't be about calc. We went over all her problems earlier, it was kind of quick, but she seemed to have gotten it down.

She's kind of nervous about her writing class-understandably so, she's not that good in it. I give her pointers, and her assignment's not due till Friday, so that's probably not it.

No. Tomorrow she's got to relive all the agony of her encounter with that asshole. She's getting a bunch of tests done to see if she's clean.

The thought of this makes me cringe. Not so much the tests-hey, getting tested for the clap is pretty painless-but that she might have something.

She doesn't need me to freak out, though.

I ask her where she's getting it done. She says Dr. Shalad's gonna do it.

"Isn't that sort of weird, your boss doing it, I mean, I think I might feel weird about it."

She shakes her head. "No. She's been very good to me about this, very understanding. And she IS a gynecologist. It's clinical, Michael."

If she's okay with it, I can live with that.

She still looks kind of scared though.

I want to tell her everything will be okay, but that would be such a lie. So I just hug her real hard, and then we share one of those delicious kisses that I always wish would never end.

And then my dad bangs on the door and says he's ready to go.

Right about the time we're playing tonsil tag.

Jesus, he's a pain sometimes.
 

Drive home is short, and he's got the radio turned to some soft-rock station that makes me absolutely cringe, but once I get the 'Stang fixed, I can do my own presets.

It was like totally righteous of Langly to give me the 'Stang-I mean, he just gave it to me. Course, I had to pay to tow it back to our place, and I have to fix it, too.

One more thing I can do in my copious free time. Nothing's gonna happen till Saturday. It looks like I've got a hot date with the car, but if I can get it fixed, I can take Kelly out in it, and plus, I can give up commuting with the great unwashed forever.

It's pushing eleven, and I'm amazed that he's not screaming at me to get my sorry ass in bed RIGHT NOW.

No, he says he wants to talk to me.

Oh fuck. What did I do NOW?

It's one thing if I KNOW I've been an asshole. I at least know where he's coming from then.

But right now, I haven't got a clue.

I tell him I'm tired, he says get ready for bed, he'll come in and talk to me.

I pop my lenses out-I'm getting better at this, brush my teeth, throw on my sweats, and pull the covers up over me. It's cold tonight.

He shows up about a minute later, complete with a bowl of milk and crackers.

This usually means bad news. Shit.

"Y'know, Dad, I do have an 8 o'clock."

"I'm aware of that." He takes a bite of his pasty concoction, swallows it, and then starts in. "So Michael...I don't know what you know about sex..."

"Hello! I'm almost 25 years old! I'm not stupid!"

This is unbelievable.

"And where did you pick up your knowledge?"

"On the streets, same place you did! You don't seriously think MOM would tell me anything, do you?"

"I was rather hoping she had, being a nurse and all."

"Well, she didn't." And I wouldn't have listened to her if she tried.

"Well, I have no idea what your experience consists of..."

Not nearly enough, dude. I mean, I am your kid.

"And I'm not going to ask."

Good thing, because I am not telling you, no way.

"And I have no idea what is going on between you and your young lady...although your performance tonight suggests that both of your intentions are less than totally innocent-"

I don't believe this! He SPIED on us!

I'm going to choke the bastard.

"Has she been tested for any possible...residuals from her...experience?"

I am really getting pissed off here. And I'm tired and I want to go to sleep.

I need to get him out of here, fast.

"For your info, Dad, she's getting tested for a bunch of stuff tomorrow, and no, she's not pregnant! There, you happy now?" I pull the covers over my head, but he gently lifts them down.

"I just don't think...you should get into things you're not ready for."

I'm almost ready to crack up here. I mean, what does he think Kelly and me are doing, anyway?

I could stand a lot more action than I'm getting, but Kelly...

"Kelly says she's not ready."

"Sensible of her. And you?"

"I don't think that's any of your business."

"Maybe not. But you do live under my roof, and I do worry about you."

Worry less, Dad. Live longer. I almost say it, but that's too cold even though I'm totally pissed off now.

He takes a couple more spoonfuls of milk and crackers. "What are you going to do if she's not...clean, Michael?"

"Huh?"

"What if she's been infected with something?"

I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, I had, but it's like, I just keep hoping everything'll be okay...

"Have you thought about how that will impact the two of you?"

Now that I haven't really thought about. I just figured, even if she had something, she'd be cured pretty soon. I mean, ten days of penicillin and I didn't have the clap anymore.

"Not everything is easily treatable."

Oh, man, I hadn't even contemplated certain possibilities.

Like HIV. Fuck. Oh God.

Troy better pray hard she doesn't have anything. Because he won't live another day if she does.

God, what the hell would I do? What would she do?

"I'm just saying, you should consider what may have happened."

"And what if she's okay?" I keep hoping.

"Then count yourselves lucky. And don't do anything stupid."

Excuse me, Dad, but I already got the reward once for unprotected sex, and it wasn't much fun. He doesn't know this, and I don't feel like telling him.

I don't think Kelly would even agree to have sex without protection. She's done her time at Planned Parenthood...and dealt with her little sister...no way.

"I'm just saying, hormones are powerful, and you're both in the time of life where they seem to create the greatest sense of urgency."

"Dad, I don't think it's just hormones here!"

"I didn't say it was. I'm just saying, they're there. And don't tell me they're not, Michael. You look constantly like you're in the middle of a rush."

Oh God. I am so fucking transparent. If I was a blusher, I'd be about the color of Ally's hair right now.

"She is really pretty, Dad. Even you have to admit that."

"She's very pretty. A bit thin, though. She could use some meat on those bones of hers."

Funny, I was thinking the same thing. I could imagine Kelly with some more padding on her hips and her ass and her breasts...she would look positively...

Edible.

Not that she isn't now. She's delicious. But I think she could stand to gain some weight.

I mean, I'm not religious about tits and asses like Dad is. Dad definitely likes his women well-endowed. He thinks Kate Moss is deformed.

I agree.

Of course, with Kelly, it's not like she doesn't eat-she ate more than I did the other night. Then again, I don't see her eat all the time, so maybe she's not eating much in between...

Got to encourage that girl.

Of course, the result of this will be that I absolutely won't be able to keep my hands off her, or appear in public...

"I love her." I tell him this as a fact, like telling him I've got green eyes.

"I figured as much." He doesn't seem surprised. "Does she love you?"

"Think so." I hope so.

"Just be careful, Michael. Please. I'd hate to see you be hurt. In any way." He ruffles my hair.

"I know, I know...can I go to sleep now?"

"Yeah, you can go to sleep now. Just please...don't put me through what Langly and Allison did...I don't think I could deal with that..."

"Dad, we're not gonna make you a grandfather, okay?"

"Well, not yet anyway." He gives me a quick hug. "Get some sleep, dear boy."

I guess I'm not that pissed off at him.

But God, he is such a worrywart!

I'm beginning to think the milk and crackers are what he eats because he's got an ulcer or something.

The guy definitely needs to lighten up.
 

ALLY:

January 15, 2001

It's going to be a long fucking day.

It's barely past five, but Langly's awake already, sitting at the kitchen table with me, still in his sweats and his hair flying everywhere. He looks totally miserable.

Not surprising when one considers that he barely slept last night, or the night before. He can barely relax enough for a catnap.

If I thought it would do any good, I'd encourage him to go back to bed.

He won't, and even if he did, he probably couldn't sleep, anyway.

If he wasn't so much bigger than me, I'd drag him over to the recliner, put him on my lap, and rock him. Unfortunately, my size is not going to help me with this scenario.

So I go over to him and crawl in his lap. He wraps his arms around me and just about breaks my ribs, he's squeezing me so hard. I swear at times he doesn't realize how strong he is.

"I'm scared," I hear a plaintive, muffled small voice, buried in my shoulder.

He's not the only one. I tell him I am, too.

"I can't lose her again."

Oh God, I would give anything to reassure him that she'll be all right, that he'll have her with him for many years to come.

But that would be a lie, and we both know it.

So I just hold him, stroking that wildly messy hair. We're silent.

Finally he looks at me again, eyes more red than blue, but the gaze clear and direct.

"Tell me about what it was like when you lost your mom."

He's got to be kidding. It's not even 6 a.m. I've had almost no sleep.

"Langly, I do NOT want to go there."

The gaze intensifies, crystallizes. "Go there."

I shake my head. "No."

He's not backing down. "Yes."

"It's not going to do any good for anybody. Particularly right now." I start to unwind myself from him, but he takes hold of my hands, and he's a lot stronger than I am.

"Tell me."

"Look, she's gone. I can't bring her back. I can't bring anyone back from the dead. This isn't going to help either of us, babe." I'm pleading now.

I think the answer is obvious whom I'm trying to protect here.

It's myself.

I don't want to go anywhere near all the grief, and guilt, and regret, and anger...how I feel about my mother is still complicated. Even with her shrouded and in the ground, all the emotion that surrounds my life with her is very much alive and breathing...

I need a cigarette.

Hell, I need a drink. I think this is a new record, even for me.

I reach for the pack of Marlboros, which are just a little over an arm's length away, but Langly stops me.

"Later."

I don't like being badgered. Now I'm really pissed at him...before we even normally get slammed by the alarm. I jerk myself free of him, grab my cigarettes, and pull one from the pack, but I don't light it yet...

"What do you want me to tell you? That I'm sorry I misunderstood her? That I'm sorry she misunderstood me? That I think she was way harsh a lot of times? That she could be really hurtful? That I could never set it right with her? That I was never comfortable with her? That I'm not sure I loved her? That I think she loved me anyway and it makes me feel like shit because there's no way I could ever figure her out? That I think we both tried and failed? Is that what you wanted to hear, Langly? Because that's what it's about, babe! It's not very pretty, and I don't like talking about it, okay!" I'm about to lose it, and I find myself drawing deep, hard breaths, fighting not to fall over into the pit of emotions swirling underneath me...

"I miss her." I hear a sob creep into my voice. "I'm sorry. Sorry for everything." I'm trying to push the sobs back into my throat.

It's not working. The harder I push down on them, the more they fight back, screaming for release.

"I miss her. I feel...alone..."

I can't talk anymore. It's like being plunged into a rushing waterfall, and the sensation is making me dizzy and sick...

Goddamn him for pushing on me this way. I hate it when he does this.

I've made a lifestyle out of avoiding this kind of crap. I've always found that denial is a wonderful thing. You pretend it's not there, maybe eventually it will go away...

And I never get the chance with this guy.

I hate it when he does it, because I feel so totally, utterly alone when he does...

Just as he does now.

It's going to be a really long fucking day.

END OF PART 48