A Passing — by Aarron Sholar

Artwork by James Keul

The scan shows a sack. No heartbeat. No life. Come back in two weeks. I provide food. Vitamins. Care. For a life. The doctor walks in two weeks later. I’m so sorry guys. He explains the options. Wait. Drugs. Surgery. I choose the drugs. The comfort of home. But not all the tissue passes. My body holds onto the idea. The idea of life. A life to grow. To care for. A woman uses tweezers to pull the rest out. A forceful exit. Yet the tissue remains. My body can’t let go. To the hospital. Person after person comes and goes. An IV. Anesthetic. The doctor comes in. What do you want to do with the remains? Keep. Dispose. Honor. I dispose. I wake up. My body aches. My body heals. Less blood. Less pain. Soon nothing. But the wide hips remain. The dark stretch marks. Its influence. My body cannot accept the loss. Cannot forget. I go to therapy. Maybe you should try to honor the potential life. How do you honor a life that never was?

Aarron Sholar’s essays have been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. His debut memoir, The Body of a Frog: A Memoir on Self-Loathing, Self-Love, and Transgender Pregnancy, is forthcoming from Atmosphere Press. He holds an MFA from MSU, Mankato and a BA from Salisbury University. He serves as the Prose Editor for Beaver Magazine.