Jennifro

unplanned, accidental 
(an allegory on abortion)

Someday, when Nick has fallen from a rock and is three months in a coma, I will pay someone to kill him.

That’s right.  The clean, white sheets will part and his beating heart will be stabbed into stillness. 

Once dead, I will move forward knowing that I am better off.  That he is better off—that new life devoid of purpose. 

Without his voice, his ideas, his physical participation, our relationship is meaningless.  

When we got married, I wanted something I could count on.  I wanted order.   

We made plans and those plans changed when he fell.   

We were going to raise our children, buy a boat and spend our winters sailing the Caribbean.  We were taking a year off to travel the world. 

When he fell silent, that tormenting beep on the monitor his only sign of life, it suddenly seemed so simple. He’d be gone and I could carry on.  

If Nick could only see it through my eyes, I’m sure he’d understand.  He’d probably do the same if the shoe were on the other foot.

He’d know I never meant to drop him: I could’ve sworn that knot was tight.