John Lawler came out of the unisex hallway bathroom, his wife, Kathy, clutching an elbow to keep him upright. The people who had come to support the cause or the man pushed themselves against the narrow hallway to allow passage. John and Kathy shuffled to the end of the hall, John’s head bowed, and they made their way to the chair Matt had dragged out of an office for him to use. John reached out and grabbed an armrest, steadying himself as best he could, and with great effort and gentle assistance from his son and wife, settled into the chair.
Lawler didn’t know the date or the time. He didn’t know either that at that very moment tens of thousands were gathering eight hundred miles away in Washington DC, readying to march in a show of support for life and rallying to end abortion. He was unaware, too, that thousands of others were gathering in the same nation’s capital, demanding that women’s reproductive rights be protected. Both rallies and marches were expected to draw larger crowds than the annual marches held less than two weeks earlier to mark the anniversary of Roe v. Wade. The spate of abortion violence had increased tensions on both sides of the issue in every part of the country.
Lawler also no longer noticed the dozens of colorful flowers in vases crammed around his chair or the way the walls of the drab, sterile corridor were papered with cards and letters from well-wishers and supporters. When they first trickled in, the staff shared them with Lawler and the family. But now they were flooding in at an overwhelming rate and piling up in a storeroom unopened.
The bottoms of Lawler’s pajamas had ridden up to his emaciated calves, and Kathy bent and pulled them down to his ankles. She covered him with two heavy blankets. The longer he went without food, the more the cold affected him. She stood looking at him, her clear hazel eyes catching and holding his, and she took both his hands in hers and held them. “You know you can stop this if you want to.” Her eyes were watery but still smiling. “I know how stubborn you can be. But nobody will think less of you if you want to go home with a pretty girl like me. Maybe we could stop at Culver’s and grab a butter burger and some cheese curds on the way. How does a turtle sundae sound?” There was more twinkle than moisture in her eyes as she said this.
“Your parents should have named you Eve instead of Kathy, the way you’re trying to tempt me. It wouldn’t be hard to turn my back on an apple, but a Culver’s butter burger and cheese curds? A turtle sundae?” He bowed his head further and kissed her hands. It was hard for him to talk for long, but he whispered, “I can resist any food, but I never could resist the cute girl who’s standing in front of me.”
Kathy turned away so her husband wouldn’t see the tears rolling down her cheeks. She nodded at the followers and the cards. “Looks like you’ve got a lot of admirers. Maybe I should be jealous.”
He chuckled and rasped, “Ha. I don’t think you need to worry about that.” He grew serious again and squeezed her hands feebly. “I do think what I’m doing here has struck a chord with some people; made them stop and consider things.” He looked down and was quiet, then struggled to lift his head and catch her eyes again. He was trembling. “Do you think I’ve made a difference?”
She bent over and put her arms around him, pulling his frail body tight to her own. He was sobbing softly, with little moisture or energy left to expend. Her embrace shielded him from the onlookers as she kissed the top of his head and said, “You’ve made all the difference to me.”