Knight, his wife and I were sitting on the couch watching a movie. My husband was working out of the country so, as usual, I was hanging out at their house. I was grumbling about a backache. She volunteered Knight to rub my back, so I settled on the floor in front of him. Have you ever heard the song about the magic man? Knight was one of those. His hands just knew where to find the trigger points, and before long I was purring inside. The movie was good, so was the rubbing, and he kept at it until the end of the movie. All pain was forgotten, I was warm inside and happy. No one had ever generously given me a real massage without expecting repayment. And it was just my back with clothes on. 

Knight was a “Jim Dandy” to the rescue, if you remember that song. His wife must have known that about him, and maybe she gifted him to me.  She was looking elsewhere at the time, and I was hungry to be loved. It was just a backrub.

While my husband had a flying contract in Africa, our families communicated. Knight was the letter writer, and I always responded eagerly. Starting the slippery slope of a connection emotionally. It morphed into friendship and deep sharing, as such things do. Knight was so easy to talk to. Once we crossed the line it seemed we could not get enough of each other. Knight treated me like a goddess. 

Crazy now when I look back. I was willing to sacrifice myself and everything I believed in to be loved. Knight was a different kind of man from the abusive insecure man I married. Someone who listened and gave instead of taking. Soon we were sleeping together. We tried to stop, tried to make it work with our partners, and wait for God.  One day we crossed the line again and I became pregnant. 

At first he was happy. We were both separated from our partners, but I wasn't ready to have him in the house yet, so he got an apartment close by. Suddenly he stopped talking with me. No response to my phone calls, and I heard from a friend he was back with his wife. One rainy morning I heard the doorbell. I put on my robe and opened the door. Knight was standing outside. I could see his wife in the driver's seat staring and waiting. I could tell it was over by his face. Struck dumb, I stood stupidly in my door not inviting him in. I must have also been deaf because I have no memory of what he said. 

“What about the baby?” Nothing more than a squeak. 

“That is your problem.”  His response was obviously rehearsed. He re-joined his wife in the car and she drove off.

In shock, I remember very little of the next week. I called my estranged husband and he made plans to return. A friend suggested abortion. I made the appointment, feeling there was no option. When my husband returned, I told him about the appointment. Shortly afterwards I developed a fever and petechiae (tiny bruises) all over my legs, and a bad smell. I knew something was wrong.

The morning of the appointment he took me. The waiting room was full of women, some had men with them but all looked scared. I wasn’t really frightened. Being a medical person I knew what to expect as far as the procedure. They would do an ultrasound to be sure there was a viable fetus, then spend time counseling to be sure the decision was firm before signing a consent. It was a lonely decision. No one went  back with any of the women behind the doors of the waiting room.

When my name was called I left my plastic chair, and made the long journey down the hall. They did the counseling first. I told the lady; “No, if I have a viable fetus I am not going to go through with it”.  I don’t think that happened very often, as she was very concerned about my refusal. They took me back to the ultrasound room after changing into my surgical gown. I did not have a viable fetus and quickly signed the form for a dilation and curettage to remove the products of conception. That is a medical way to say abortion. They call it “therapeutic”. At that point I was reconciled. There were no other options if the baby was dead than to scrape or suck it out of there. Valium makes things fuzzy around the edges. I watched versed and fentanyl go in my IV. I heard the suction machine start. Then I was in the recovery room. It was over. I left by wheelchair and was driven home, never to speak of it again.