Freedom of Choice

On the blocked-off Pennsylvania Avenue, the air trembles with tension. Two demonstrations have clashed across a police cordon and metal barriers.

On one side—"Pro-Choice." The crowd, mostly women, waves bright signs: "My Body, My Choice," "Bans Off Our Bodies," "Keep Your Laws Off My Body." They're not trying to convince the other side: "We don’t speak stupid!"—just to shout them down. They chant in unison, repeating simple mantras until they're hoarse:

"Women’s, Women’s, Women’s rights! Women’s, Women’s, Women’s rights!" "Pro-choice! Pro-choice! Pro-choice! Pro-choice!"

A leader with a megaphone shouts: "If you feel like fucking screaming—fucking scream! Aaaaaaaaah! I’ve been wanting this for the past hour!"

The crowd echoes: "Aaaaaaaaah! That was sooo good!"

Emotional release and unity. Again and again, they yell: "Abortion is healthcare! Abortion is a right! Abortion saves lives! We will not go back! We will not go back! We will not go back!"

On the other side—"Pro-Life." It's calmer here, but no less stubborn: prayers, hymns, chants like: "Pro-choice is a lie—babies never choose to die! Choose life! Choose life!"

From the crowd, fists are thrown toward the opposite side, and shouts ring out: "Baby killers!", "You love baby killers!"

In response: "Fuck you!"

Someone with a megaphone: "Yell over there! Don’t yell over here!"

The general hum builds: both sides shout, trying to outyell each other. The noise merges into a roar—accusations, chants, just screams for release. No one listens to their opponents; everyone speaks for their own. No one tries to persuade—just to outshout, drown out, show strength.

In the front row of "Pro-Choice"—activist Elizabeth Thrashes. She's in the thick of the chanters, with a sign "Trust Women!" in her hands, her voice breaking from shouting.

Opposite, in the front row of "Pro-Life"—Richard Sharp, a volunteer at a crisis center. His sign: "Every Life Matters." He stands calmly, but his eyes burn with quiet indignation.

They notice each other through the barriers and police. Realizing that in the surrounding roar it's impossible to hear an individual person, they simply stare into each other's eyes—angrily and stubbornly.

Pushed back by the friendly crowd after exchanging glances, Elizabeth and Richard nevertheless remember each other well enough that, meeting two years later in the waiting room of H&R Block, they feel mutual dislike and an inner readiness to defend the honor of their uniform to the bitter end.

However, the circumstance that brought them together in this tax preparation office proves more the similarity of their situations and subsequent decisions than the opposition of their civic positions.

It turned out that the president's party pushed through Congress a new law "On Balancing Social Positions." As a result, a new line 14-B appeared on the 1040 tax form:

"Your social position on the issue of reproductive rights":

Elizabeth disdainfully glances at Richard and strikes up a conversation with the woman sitting next to her: "I'm so glad that now all those churchgoers will shut up!"

She speaks deliberately loudly so that Richard and any other potential opponents can hear her. "I always knew their civic position was fake."

The woman she addressed sighs. "I'm basically 'Pro-Choice,' but what they want..."—she shakes her head and raises her eyebrows. "Who can afford that?"

By "they," she meant the government.

Both fall silent.

Then Richard interjects. "Takes one to know one,"—he's clearly addressing Elizabeth—"you're probably here to pick the middle option yourself."

"I don’t speak stupid," Elizabeth turns her head away and shrugs disdainfully.

"There you go. When it comes down to it—your convictions aren't worth a dime. Baby killers!"

"Why are you bothering her?"—a man in his sixties, in a rumpled suit with an expensive but worn briefcase, leans back in his chair.

Richard turns and wants to reply.

"She kills her own kids—not mine or yours. It'll just make it easier for them to get ahead. Less competition for spots in good schools, for scholarships, for jobs."

Richard frowns. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. If we're being honest, people get killed by more than just abortions. Wars, ecology, poverty, drugs, processed foods, cars on the roads... The list is long. Abortion is just the earliest way. And here you are fighting over 'life' and 'choice' as if it'll change anything."

He smirks wider. "I even think: good that they introduced this fee. People have finally started calculating what morality costs. And it turns out—it's expensive. Talk the talk—walk the walk."

Elizabeth feels something inside her grow cold. She looks at Richard.

He says quietly: "You're... a cynic."

The man raises his eyebrows as if hearing a compliment. "A realist. The world, you know, belongs to those who count."

He's called, and he leaves, waving his briefcase.

Richard looks at Elizabeth. He notices her tired appearance and the dark circles under her eyes. He clears his throat, his voice becoming quiet. "Convictions have nothing to do with it. I have a military pension—it's a joke. I volunteer at the crisis center for nothing. Two grandkids, son's divorced, pays alimony. If I give up that much money—I won't have enough for medicine."

Silence hangs in the room. Even the woman nearby stops flipping through her magazine.

Elizabeth turns to him slowly, as if really seeing him for the first time in two years. "Exactly, what do convictions have to do with it? I work as a bartender. I'm raising my daughter on one salary! Barely making ends meet as it is."

Richard sighs.

Somewhere in the corner of the room, the next number is called.

"You know," Richard turns to Elizabeth, "if you'd come to our center just once, talked to the girls who are in panic... Maybe you'd understand."

Elizabeth sighs. "And if you'd sat in my bar just once, listened to what my female customers tell me at night... Maybe you'd understand too."

l silent.

Richard listens to the sound of a police siren. "We won't be seeing those badges, you and I."

"Yeah," Elizabeth replies, and for the first time, there's no hostility in her voice. "Now demonstrations aren't a right, but a privilege."