I peered out of the cab window squinting to identify the familiar New York skyscrapers that seemed to whip by. My view was contorted by the drops of water that poured from the heavens. The angels seem to weep as I neared my not so favored destination. My whole body shook involuntarily and I feared that the driver would comment on my state, but he remained ignorant to my existence. I looked forward out of the front window as I internally fought myself. Was I making the correct decision?

Of course, I was doing the right thing. There was no other way. My life was consumed with my plans for the future. There was no room in it for another life. My mother had plans for me. I was one of the lucky ones. My family had the money, I was intelligent, I could go to any school I wanted. But a baby would change all of that.

But could I do it? Could I go through withit? I don't think I can. I don't think I can abort this baby.

Yes, yes you can. You have to. There is no other way. My mother would never accept it. This was not part of her plan. I was going to graduate from high school with honors, attend Columbia University, and obtain a successful career where I will be set for the rest of my life. I couldn't put my life on hold for a child who would change the plan.

Why should I put my life on hold for this child I knew nothing about? I am going somewhere. I have plans. I'm not like those other girls who get pregnant and throw the rest of their lives away. It was a mistake, a small mistake, but I have a future. I know what needs to be done. And what will this child ever do for me. All he or she will do is ruin my life. I will not let this ruin my life.

But I got myself pregnant. This child did not choose to be conceived. I made the mistake. I should pay for that mistake. We can't just walk away from our mistakes in life. Life is a cycle of many hardships that we are to work our way through.

Besides, those were my mother's plans, not mine. At one point they were mine, but not any longer. My mother's plans had crept in. I don't quite remember when or how, but they worked their way in and strangled everything I had once cherished and desired. Even now, she was strangling me. I was aborting this baby for her. I was erasing the splotch that was not written in my plan.

But if I have this child things will cease to be the same. And I'm convinced that that change will not be of a positive nature. I'm having this abortion.

As the cab began to slow, I spotted a girl about my age standing on the curb in front of the clinic. She wore jeans and a simple turtle neck with a pink zip up. She looked so innocent. Her life had no unwanted plans, no splotches. She held a homemade sign above her head that read, "Jesus loves you and your baby. Just turn around, you don't have to do this." Why did these people do this? Do they not understand how difficult a situation it is without their protesting? I know she's probably a perfect little Christian girl who has never had sex and would never get pregnant at age seventeen, but we're not all Miss Perfect. I lacked that innocence that she wore on her sleeve.

The cab came to a halt in front of the curb and I slowly reached for the door. I clutched the handle and slowly opened it; I gingerly extracted a twenty dollar bill from my pocket, handed it to the driver and pushed myself from the vehicle. Looking back into the car, I tried to convince myself to get back in. I forced myself to shut the door and turned to enter the clinic. As my hand came in contact with the door, I felt a gentle hand on my back.

"Don't do it. You have other choices." A quiet voice almost whispered from behind me.

I spun around to see the teenage girl who had been holding up the sign. "Oh yeah, and what other choices would those be. To ruin the rest of my life?" I spat back at her.

"Bringing another life into the world will not ruin your life. But killing this life will ruin its life."

"Shut the hell up! You have no idea how hard this is!"

"You're right I don't, but I know you don't want to do what you're doing."

"You don't know crap!"

"Do you really want to kill your baby?" Her voice cut through the cold New York air. I stared into her eyes. There was something there: frustration, anguish, passion, love.

"No!" I cried out. My face had turned a scarlet with rage, but now all color left and tears poured from my bloodshot eyes. My whole body went limp as I fell into the girl's arms. "No, I don't want to kill my baby."