All Carmella Lukin wanted was to get the doctor to check her for the spot that had showed up on her last X-Ray. That was it. Just check and make sure it had not grown, and if it had, to assure her it was not cancerous.
She was not a radical. She was not a leftist liberal. She was just a girl going to a free clinic to try and protect her health. She wasn’t promiscuous. She had a boy friend, but they didn’t fool around. They were waiting. They knew too many kids like them who had gotten pregnant and they didn’t want that responsibility at seventeen years of age. They could wait.
They would wait.
All Carmella Lukin wanted was to be told she was healthy. Or if she wasn’t, what it would take to get back to 100% – tip top shape. Carmella had started exercising and eating right. Okay, she was slightly overweight, but she wasn’t fat. Just a bit too round in certain places. Marcos didn’t mind. He loved her. He even joined her most days after school in jogging around the track at the football field. She was up to three miles. It gave her a sense of accomplishment. She felt a spirit of pride.
He drove her that day to the clinic. He got concerned when he saw all the protestors lined up with their hateful signs. “Maybe we should schedule for another day,” he said. But she was adamant to finish what she had started. Besides, Dr. Planter would be there that day. Carmella didn’t know if she would be there on other days. Anyway, the protestors didn’t bother her. They were mostly loudmouth Catholic and Baptist kids she knew from school. None of them were very bright.
She even knew the men who were egging them on. One was Father Gonzales a priest at St. Ann’s parish. There were rumors about his own private life, but nothing was ever proven, even tough he was moved between three parishes in less than four years. There were whispers about young boys. The other was a local state representative up for re-election from her district. He ran loud, obnoxious TV commercials calling everybody communists and even saying the President of the United States was a liar.
They didn’t concern her either.
“Let’s just go and find out how I’m doing. Hopefully it will be good news and we can go to the Dairy Queen and celebrate. I haven’t had a hamburger in weeks.” He laughed with her then kissed her on the cheek. He placed the Mustang in park and got out stretching. She exited her side and walked around the dark blue Ford to join him. Hand-in-hand they crossed the street.
People shouted angrily at them. All Carmella wanted to do is tell them she was there to take care of a problem the doctors thought might be cancer, but none of the loud mouths would listen. They were full of hate and vile comments, and they were full of Jesus, too, if you believed their yelling and their misspelled signs.
A woman jumped onto the sidewalk in front of them, pleading for them to save the child. Carmella said she wasn’t pregnant. The woman immediately shouted, “It’s too late for this one. She’s already aborted.” People started booing and things were thrown at the couple, who hurried into the clinic.
The crowd grew more and more violent outside. The police were called to control the troublemakers. Soon the protesters were gone. It was dinnertime and they were hungry. Their voice had been heard. A TV station had recorded their most vocal moment. That counted for something. They had been victorious for their Lord.
In the background a young man lingered. No one paid any attention to him. He was nondescript. A drifter. A loner. He waited until the crowd had complete thinned before coming close to the clinic. He walked beside the sandstone building into the alley behind. He crept to the edge of the shadows and waited. He had been there earlier placing the barrels close to where he needed them. They looked like ordinary trash barrels.
Inside, all Carmella Lukin wanted was for the tests to be finished and for Dr. Planter to giver some good news. “Nothing to be concerned about, Carmella. The spot has all cleared up. It is gone. Go home and live a good life.” That is all Carmella wanted to hear.
Twice Dr. Planter came in and ran more tests. There were more ultrasounds and more X-Rays. And more waiting. Nurses came and went in a constant parade. All Carmella Lukin wanted was to go home. Go home with Marcos and have something to eat. She was famished. She was also beginning to worry. Marcos held her hand and kissed her on top of her head. “It’ll be okay, pumpkin. God will see us through this.”
They never heard the bomb go off.
It was instant and huge. A ball of flame ten stories tall. The sandstone building was leveled along with everyone inside. Then there was silence. Windows four miles away were shattered. Children in a park across the street from a school two blocks away were knocked to the ground.
They never found all of Carmella Lukin or Marcos or Dr. Planter. Even the nurses went missing. Just pieces of them. Torn from their body and thrown violently into the air as if they were part of a last offering to an angry God– angry at the taking of innocent life. That God was angry. And this sacrifice was to calm him down.
And eye for an eye. A life for a life. Even the score. Us versus them.
And all Carmella Lukin wanted was to be told she was going to be okay. That was all she wanted.
That was all.
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