I wrote about this briefly on Twitter, and realized it was one of those strange but funny stories that would be perfect for a blog post.
Back in college, I spent a year living with a fun-loving and completely batshit crazy woman we will call A. I had been an RA and A had been one of my residents, and we became fast friends. A liked to live on the wild side, though, and in that regard we really could not be more different. (I merely occasionally dabbled.) By way of example, I went to a Bush concert with A during that year, and she was tripping on acid. She decided during the show that Gavin Rossdale was her soulmate, and proceeded to force me to travel to other Bush shows for the better part of a year until she finally actually met the guy in person and he showed her zero interest. (Even back then he was hooking up with Gwen Stefani as they toured together.)
Anyhow, A was a bit of a hellion. She kept sheets of acid in our freezer, she had a fake ID she'd obtained by stealing a military ID from someone she babysat for in high school and altering the photograph with one of her own, and she was the first friend I ever had who was just unabashedly and unapologetically promiscuous. A had an endless stream of guys in her life, and somewhat famously kept a list on our refrigerator that she called her "Fuck List." In order, it listed every guy she slept with and she updated it religiously. (At the time, she made a Fuck List for me that was blank for most of that year, until I started dating the guy that I would move in with by the end of that year. Yes, I was a late bloomer.)
A wasn't great about birth control, however, since she was still on her father's military health insurance and had to go all the way to Panama City to get her birth control prescriptions filled. She somehow let the prescription lapse for awhile, and then she unexpectedly got pregnant. We panicked together as she peed on stick after stick, and tried to figure out what to do. At the time I was active in the FSU Women's Center and FSU NOW, and my good feminist friends with their knowledge of pre-Roe v. Wade methods of dealing with unwanted pregnancy told us about an old wives' tale that drinking a strong concoction of ginger juice could induce miscarriage.
A and I decided to try this, in the hopes that we could avoid the expensive and painful surgical abortion that she was otherwise going to have. We went to Publix and bought several pounds of raw ginger. I peeled it, cut it up, and boiled it in some water until it reduced down to a few cups. I made her try it, and it was awful. She said she couldn't possibly drink it, so we decided to add it to a jug of Kool-Aid. I mixed half of a large jug of red cherry Kool-Aid, and added the ginger liquid. We let it cool, and then I poured A a big glass. She insisted that I had to try it first, because she was worried she might hurl. I will never EVER forget the terrible flavor of that one sip that I took. I thought it might burn my throat, the spiciness of the ginger was so strong. But I tried to keep a brave face and show A that she could drink this stuff. She managed to suffer through about half a glass before giving up. We put the jug back into the fridge, intending to try again the next day.
We must have either given up on the "abortion juice" or forgotten about it, because a week later it was still in the back of the fridge. Around about this time I had started getting semi-involved with G, and after a party at our place he had slept over on the sofa. (We weren't officially dating at this point.) I woke up early the next day to go to class, and when I returned he was sleeping in my bed. I woke him up, and after we talked for awhile he asked me what the hell kind of alcohol we were brewing in our fridge. I stared at him puzzled for a second, and then realized that he meant the abortion juice. Turns out, G had gotten up in the middle of the night looking for a drink, and had found what looked like a jug of red Kool-Aid in the back of the fridge. He had poured a big glass, taken a swig, and been met with the unholy burn of concentrated ginger. When I told him the story of what he had just drank, I laughed so hard I nearly peed.
Ultimately we abandoned the abortion juice idea, and A went through the usual method of terminating the pregnancy. I was there, holding her hand, through the whole procedure. That entire experience made me hyper-vigilant about my own birth control methods once I had occasion to employ them a couple months later, when I finally wrote a name on my own Fuck List. But, I had completely forgotten about abortion juice until a friend from college blogged today about making homemade ginger beer, and that awful taste memory came flooding back. None for me, thanks.
