 |
Hate.
Pregnant?
Pregnant.
Jesus.
Yeah.
Is it Jack’s?
Well, it’s not the Immaculate Conception.
Jesus.
Stop saying that.
I’m sorry. This—This is pretty fucked up.
Tell me about it.
 |
Did you tell his family?
No.
I’d tell his family.
What am I suppose to say to them?
“Hi, I’m sorry that your son is dead, but I’m having his baby.”
Yeah. Well. Only half of that is true.
…
What?
That’s harsh.
It’s my life.
You’ve got a bit of Jack growing in you. The last bit. The last living bit. When you flush that out, there’s nothing left but waste.
There’s already nothing but waste.
That’s why we’re here.
I know that. I was at the funeral yesterday.
I know.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but I stood there and listened to you speak and cry, right?
I loved him. I love him.
But you don’t love that bit left of him that’s growing inside you?
It’s a little dot in my stomach. A piece of sperm that latched onto an ovary. There’s nothing in that but the promise to fuck up my life more.
What?
I have this thing in me and my life is over. I can say goodbye to everything I’ve planned. I’ll never see Spain and a bull fight unless it’s on television.
Having a kid doesn’t end your life.
Having a kid ended yours.
…
Don’t look like that. It’s true.
It is fucking not true!
I love my kids! Where the fuck do you get off saying that?
I love my kids! Where the fuck do you get off saying that?
It’s the truth.
Fuck you!
Hey, it’s the truth. Not my fault if you don’t like it.
You’re a selfish fucking bitch.
Fuck you.
No.
Fuck you.
Fucking bitch.
How dare you say that. Fucking love my kids.
Fuck you.
Fucking bitch.
How dare you say that. Fucking love my kids.
What you done with your life since you had them?
Fuck you.
No. Come on. What you done?
…
Yeah. Nothing. When we were in school, you were all set to travel. Going to see the World, right? That was our lunch conversation. The others were all going to go to Uni, but we were going to get jobs, get money, and see the World.
Things change.
Things change when you have kids. You don’t even have a job any more.
Who’s going to look after my kids while I work? You? You hate kids so much you’re flushing out your boyfriend’s last piece of life.
It’s not like that.
It’s not? Maybe you’d like me to sugarcoat it a bit more?
You don’t know shit.
I know whose funeral I was at.
I know who died here.
If it was me, I’d be thinking it was one hell of a blessing I had.
I know who died here.
If it was me, I’d be thinking it was one hell of a blessing I had.
Yeah, well I guess I’m just selfish. Me and Jack both.
Spare me.
No.
According to you, I’m selfish because I don’t see the blessing here. Some fucking blessing. Maybe Jesus could have told Jack not to drive drunk? That would’ve been some sort of miracle I think, and it would’ve saved three lives.
But no, the blessing is that a condom broke and the pill fucked up. Well, fuck that shit. I used both because I didn’t want a kid and I still don’t want a kid.
Which, on any other day, would be just fine with you. But because it’s his kid, I’m suddenly a selfish bitch.
This is all about you. You know how fucked up that is?
It’s all about me because I’m the one who has to live with it!
We’re standing here where Jack slammed his car into someone else’s and killed two girls and injured a third, and you’re not saying, What a selfish dick. What an asshole. He should have thought about other people and not driven.
But you’re not saying that.
 |
How is this comparable?
I am not fucking up my life because of a mistake.
Having kids isn’t fucking your life up!
Sure it is. It fucks you up just like it fucked up my parents.
You’re just trying to convince yourself.
I don’t need convincing. I know it. Look at you, you’re just like my folks. Once you had a kid, you were living their life and it’s all about shit jobs, shit options, and a shit fucking future.
You don’t know what you’re talking about.
You’re twenty-one and you’ve never left the State.
I can’t stand here and listen to this shit.
Fine. Don’t.
Fuck you.
Fuck off!
It’s my choice.
Get the fuck out of here if you don’t respect that! Go on!
It’s going to fuck you up!
Like I’m not fucked up already!
 |
(Street Conversations is an eight week project. Photography and Prose. This is Week Five. Previous Weeks include Wires, Jesus, Old Men, and Love. Three more weeks to go.)
