Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL (don't write about the song) (04/02/15)
- TITLE: Spa Treatment
By Gary Ritter
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In the car I slipped on my sunglasses and headed to my destination. The block around the building had no parking and I had to find a place some distance away. No problem. I liked to walk.
I made my way up the sidewalk and saw the sign beckoning above the front door: “PP Beautiful You Spa,” and headed toward it. I couldn’t wait.
I approached the entry walk and my heart sank. There was something about the two women who noticed me and immediately cut off my access. I’d heard about these types and had no desire to speak with them. To say their reputation preceded them was an understatement. I guess it was to be expected; it’s just that I wanted the day to be perfect.
The older one, a brunette with wisps of gray, introduced herself and her partner, an attractive blonde probably in her early thirties, ancient from my perspective. Marge and Carly both smiled, asked my name, and if I’d like to talk a bit.
“It’s Lindsey, and I have no need to talk.”
“Can we pray for you, Lindsey?”
No one had ever asked me that before. I scrunched up my face – which I didn’t want to do because of wrinkles, darn it! – and hurried past them into the spa. I heard them call out as the door slammed behind me, “We will pray!”
Shaking off the encounter with those awful women I immersed myself in the spa treatment. It was lovely, one of the most luxurious experiences of my life. I went for the whole enchilada: manicure, pedicure, facial, overall massage, body wrap with aromatherapy. It made me tingle all over.
Finally my attendant asked, “Would you like us to get rid of that ugly mass of fetal tissue?”
“Of course.” That was what would keep me fit and trim. The fact that Planned Parenthood had created a spa experience was simply a bonus.
They prepped me and took me into the withdrawal room where I waited for the doctor to finish the girl ahead of me. My thoughts turned to those women outside. What kind of prayers would they say? Really, what were prayers in the first place?
I placed my hand on my stomach. My pregnancy wasn’t far along. It was a mistake. Aren’t they all? I thought back to my childhood, playing with dolls, imagining being a real mommy, caring for my actual little girl. I even saw the image I’d had then of what that precious baby would look like: innocent blue eyes, wispy golden hair.
Why was I thinking these things? A strange feeling came over me, a repulsion of having my insides vacuumed out, a sense of loss. Tears began streaming down my face. I started sobbing. What was happening?
The doctor came in all cheery. “Well, Lindsey, looks like you’ve had a great day. Ready to finish it off and be on to your party?”
I raised my eyes to see his face. Mine must have exhibited my horror. An expression of impatience came over him. I hadn’t taken any drugs for a month, but right then his face melted as though I’d swallowed a hit of bad acid. His head became a skull of death, his eyes fiery and demonic. I screamed.
It took me only a moment to throw on my clothes and race from that place. On the sidewalk I almost ran down Marge and Carly, and threw myself into their arms. They held me, told me Jesus loves me. I didn’t know who Jesus was, but His name gave me great comfort.
They took me to one of their homes and we talked. About what I’d experienced, their prayers, and Jesus. By the end of that day I felt a great burden lift from within me. It was as though Jesus really had taken it upon Himself. I had peace.
Eight months later that beautiful little girl was placed in my loving, outstretched arms.
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