Host: Aleeza Kazmi

Aleeza: [00:00:05] Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm your host, Aleeza Kazmi. 

Wherever you are in life's path right now, if you turn around, you'll see a string of decisions that led you into where you are today. The choices we make, big or small, give us agency over our bodies and our beings. Today, two storytellers who had to make very difficult and vastly different choices. 

Our first story is from Jill Chenault. Jill told this at a StorySLAM in Ann Arbor, where the theme of the night was The Heat Is On. Here's Jill, live at The Moth.

[cheers and applause] 

Jill: [00:00:54] Richard Nixon resigned on August 9th, 1974. I know this, because a year later, I was lying across the backseat of our station wagon, hot-ass vinyl seats, drenched in sweat, pretending to be asleep so my parents wouldn't talk to me. My father wouldn't turn on the air conditioning, because it bothered my mother's sinuses. She was sitting next to him in the front seat. On the radio, initially, was WJZZ, then Public Radio. No one had spoken for the hour or so that we were in the car, except for when my mother asked me if I was okay. 

As we got off the highway, I heard the theme song for All Things Considered. As we pulled into our driveway, the host said that that was the first anniversary of Nixon's resignation. I didn't care about that. I wished I were riding my bike or playing tennis or just lying in the grass looking at the clouds. But there I was, in that backseat, my face stuck to the seat, sweat running into my eyes, listening to a story about Nixon. 

We were on our way home from the hospital where I'd had an abortion. I was 14 years old. I'd only had sex once, and he was my first boyfriend. We weren't allowed to visit each other, unless at least one parent was home. But he was persistent and I was curious, and so even though I liked sports more than boys, I gave it a try. As soon as I missed my period, I knew. And back then, pregnant girls were sent away. If they came back, it was either with no baby or they suddenly had a baby brother or sister that polite people didn't ask about. 

My parents wouldn't do any of that, but everybody expected me to become a lawyer, like I'd announced in second grade. I couldn't be pregnant. [sighs] I had planned on riding my bike all summer. I was a good kid. I earned honor roll all the time. I was all-city in track and volleyball. I played softball for St. Joe Park. I made nationals in tennis. I played the cello. I couldn't be pregnant. I was going to ride my bike all that summer and just play in the sun until I was blue-black and the sun made my hair red. 

I couldn't start 10th grade with girls whispering and pointing at me. I had to do well at that school. I had to make my parents happy. I couldn't be pregnant. I was going to ice skate at St. Joe Park that summer and I was going to play Crack the Whip. I just couldn't be pregnant. 

In the shower, I tried to will my body to force everything out into the tub. I used a knitting needle to try to pierce my cervix and cause a miscarriage. I'd heard that taking poison, maybe Drano would end it, but it wouldn't quite kill me. One morning, after I'd sneaked to the downstairs bathroom to throw up, my mother met me in the living room. She took me by my shoulders and said, "What's wrong? Are you pregnant?” For the first time, her holding me in her arms didn't help.

She took me to a doctor out of town, a very small, soft-spoken woman, whose beautiful Indian accent carried me to someplace far away. Maybe she'd say I was just sick, but she confirmed what I already knew. Over the next few weeks, I tried to will my heart to stop or have a stroke, like my Aunt Shirley. I cried so hard I threw up, thinking maybe I could convulse the pregnancy away. 

We never talked about whether I would have an abortion. We just knew. My mother told me the date, and then on August 8th, she told me not to eat after 05:00 PM. Nobody talked in the car on the way to the hospital. I gladly escaped into general anesthesia. I tried to stay there, but then we pulled into the driveway.

My mother got out and opened both back doors, so maybe I could catch a breeze. I thought my father had gone in the house with her. But when I finally sat up, he was standing right there, staring out into the yard. I swung my legs out of the car. But instead of helping me up, he knelt in front of me. I prayed that he wouldn't talk. "Do you like sex?" Oh, my God. I gave the only answer to that question from my father. "No." "Don't worry, you will. You're supposed to like it. I love it. But that's because I'm a grown man and I love your mother." Oh, God, please make him stop talking. [audience laughter] Please just make him stop. 

"One day when you're older and more mature, you'll want to have sex again. But that's my point. You're too young to make that decision." I still wanted him to stop, but I settled down. "When you're ready, just tell us and we'll get you some birth control. You got that?" I nodded. "And don't you believe all these little boys talking about they love you and you so pretty. Don't you fall for that. [audience laughter] And don't start thinking that you're cute. Smart beats the hell out of cute every time. And you're very bright. We love you. You're going to be okay." 

I don't agonize over having had an abortion. Sometimes I wonder how my life would have been if I'd had a kid when I was a kid. But then, I think about what a good life I've had. I wasn't capable of raising a child, and I wouldn't ask my parents to do it for me. At times, I think about laying in that back seat in a puddle of sweat and tears, trying to wish everything away. And even though I hated the choices that I had, I'm thankful that I had them. Thank you.

[cheers and applause] 

Aleeza: [00:07:06] That was Jill Chenault. Jill comes from a family of storytellers. She's lived in a lot of places and has worked as a criminal defense attorney, actor, writer and dog walker. Her adventures have provided plenty of material for her stories. 

Jill's father passed away recently. She told us that one of the things she loved about him was that he always said what needed to be said, even when it was hard or uncomfortable. And he had a strong opinion about pretty much everything. 

She said that a lot of his choices for his family were difficult to understand, like moving the family to Germany for a year or taking them to Haiti during a time of unrest, but that they were all made in the name of education and growth. When it came time for Jill to make a choice about her pregnancy, she said, "My father fully supported my decision. He understood that it was mine and mine alone to make." To see some photos of Jill and her father, head to our website, themoth.org. 

Up next, Harjeet Kapoor. Harjeet told this story at a StorySLAM in Seattle, where the theme of the night was Love Hurts. Here's Harjeet, live at The Moth.

[cheers and applause] 

Harjeet: [00:08:24] I am an expert at long distance relationships. [audience laughter] I've been in one with my parents for nine years now. [audience laughter and holler]

Male Audience: [00:08:36] That's a good way to have it. [audience laughter] 

Harjeet: [00:08:38] So, I call up my dad. Usually, I talk to my parents one at a time but on this day, I call my dad. He's on the balcony. It's morning, he's in India, he's having his morning tea and I tell him, "Call Mom, I need to talk to you, guys." My dad says, "Is everything okay? What's going on?" 

At the time, I was searching for a new job. So, my parents' first thought was that I was calling to tell them about a job offer. Then my mom comes running in and she says, "What happened? Did you get a job?" And I said, "No, Mom, I need to tell you something. I've met someone that I like. Her name's Tejal. She's Hindu." Like most young people hiding from the existential dread of talking to strangers, we met online. [chuckles] [audience laughter] Not on Hinge or Tinder, but on Reddit. [audience laughter] [audience cheers] 

And unlike most single-serving conversations, just like one of our themes here ghosted that happen online, our conversation turned into a beautiful friendship, like a seed that grows into a tree. In fact, our first conversation went so well that by the end of it, I'd offered her a partner stake in my imaginary potato-based food truck, Sputnik. [audience laughter] 

We'd spoken the first time in September, but by New Year's Eve, we were comfortable enough to spend four hours on the phone together discussing The New York Times' 36 Questions That Make You Fall in Love. [audience laughter] And on the question of "What role does love and affection play in your life?" we talked about our past relationships. I told her I'd never been in one. I told her my parents expect me to marry someone who's Sikh, someone from my own faith. And she said, "It won't matter. When you find the right person, the rules won't matter." 

At the time, I didn't know that she would be the person worth breaking the rules for. She was. She was kind, she was generous, she was giving, she was beautiful inside and out. She studied psychology. She worked with children with autism. Some days, she would come back bruised by the children that she was working with, but with a smile on her face because she loved what she did. I'm sorry I'm flanking. She would remain calm in the face of adversity and she'd remind me to stay calm as well, particularly when things didn't work out, like finding a dog sitter in Seattle when our old dog sitter had to cancel, [audience laughter] or sending me voice notes before every interview when I was searching for a new job. If I was Marie Kondo, I'd say she sparks joy, ting. [audience laughter] And love blossomed like a flower on that tree. 

When I told her that I was going to tell my parents about us, she said, "You know how much that scares me, right?" I said jokingly to her, "You know, if my parents say no, we'll just wait it out 10 years, everybody's going to calm down, then we can do whatever we want." [audience laughter] And then, we get to the phone call with my parents. "Mom, I found someone that I like. Her name's Tejal. She's Hindu." Silence.

And then, my dad asks, "Who is she? What does she do? What do her parents do?" My mom still hasn't said a word. And he says, "Well, you know, it's too soon right now. You guys have just met, or you have just been talking. Let's see how this plays out." My mom still hasn't said anything. So, I say, "Mom, say something." And she said, "What do you expect me to say?" "Just anything. What are you thinking?" And she says, "There's nothing to say right now. Your dad said it. You know, let's just wait it out." We cut the call. 

What I didn't know after this was that there was a storm brewing 8,000 miles away. And for my mother, who'd made so many sacrifices to see her son succeed, she had plans for us. And me marrying someone outside of my faith was not one of them. I called my mom the next day, and she told me that after we'd spoken, she couldn't sleep the night before. She tried and tried to reconcile with the fact that this might be happening, but she just couldn't let it go. And I asked her, "Just because she's Hindu? Something she didn't have any control over?" And she said, "It's logical and irrational, but emotionally, my heart just can't accept it, and I just can't do this." 

Tej was always better at seeing the future than I was. She always liked to think of contingencies. She'd asked me, "What if you talk to your parents and it doesn't work out? What if this is the last time we're speaking?" I'd promised her that it wasn't, but this next time was going to be. "Tej, I spoke to my parents. They said they can't accept it. They said that even if they did, it would be incredibly difficult for us, that the rest of the family might not accept it, our relationship would be under a microscope and everybody would just be waiting for us to fuck up. 

Even with all of that, with the change that it would require and the sacrifices that it would demand, I don't want acceptance to come at the cost of changing you. I'm sorry, Tej." "Is this over then? Say it, Harj. Is it over?" "Tej, I can’t." "Bye, Harj." She cut the call. At this point in time, it's probably easy to think of my parents as the villains. But imagine it from their perspective. Imagine you've built this beautiful house that represents everything that you believe in, your identity, all the tenets, everything. And someone you love and trust unconditionally holds a stone in their hand, threatening to destroy everything it represents. And then, there's Tej. 

I can't imagine what it must have felt like for her to be told that you as you are not enough, when I knew that for me, she was. And then, there's me, having to choose between the love that made me who I am today and a love that I chose. Nothing hurts more than choosing between the two loves. Tej and I haven't spoken in a year, but I still think about her. There are days when I wish for her to just be happy and that she does whatever she wants to do, but then there's days when I think about the fact that what we said to each other. We said, "If our parents say no, we'll just wait it out 10 years." It's been one year now. Nine more to go.

[cheers and applause]

Aleeza: [00:14:48] That was Harjeet Kapoor. Harjeet lives in New York, and works in technology, but says he's a storyteller at heart. When not working or telling stories, he likes to spend his time walking his dog, hoping he doesn't bark at every UPS truck that passes by.

When our listening team first heard this story, we needed to hear more from Harjeet. He wrote us to say that although he and Tej still haven't spoken, he still thinks of her often. He said, "Tej and I were both very aware that there was a chance that things might not work out. We agreed we'd prioritize our parents over each other, even though it meant we couldn't be together. Life works in funny ways, so who knows what will happen? But right now, I view our time together as cherished memories that will last a lifetime."

Before we end today's episode, I want to take a moment to thank Jill and Harj for trusting us with their stories. Not all stories have a happy ending or tie up neatly in a bow. It takes a special kind of courage to share them with the world. Their stories remind us that even though we may not agree with the choices of others, we better ourselves each time we try to understand them. 

That's all for this week. If you're looking for more Moth, you can check us out on Facebook and Twitter, @themoth. And Instagram, @mothstories. From all of us here at The Moth, have a story-worthy week.

Julia: [00:16:13] Aleeza Kazmi is a former Moth assistant producer, an alumna of The Moth Education Program. She began telling stories with The Moth in 2015. And her story, Pastels and Crayons has been heard on The Moth Radio Hour and published in Teen Vogue and The Moth’s third book, Occasional Magic.

Aleeza: [00:16:32] Podcast production is by Julia Purcell. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx.org.