Fixin' Things

You know, lately I begin to understand some of the problems my mom had...

I guess she was a little older than I am now. I was a teenager, maybe about 16. It was summer, and damn hot. We lived in an old two-story house, and it had two window air conditioners, one in the living room, which was supposed to cool the main part of the house, and one in my old bedroom, which was supposed to take care of the bedrooms and bathroom. Well, one day I was walking from the bathroom to my room upstairs, and there's no way to the rest of the house from there except through a bedroom. I decided to take the short route through my old room... you know... get a cool breeze on the way up to my oven... I found my mom curled up on the bed, crying her eyes out, the sobs racking her frail, thin body. I asked her what was wrong. Her answer? "I just feel whipped." I sat with her a while and rubbed her back. She didn't say anything more to me, just wept. I never got to the bottom of it then, and I don't know that I even had the capacity to understand then, even if she'd tried to explain it. I was too young, not enough living under my belt, not enough responsibility on my shoulders. I think I understand it now, though, and I wish I could've done something more for her, something to make things a little easier, something more to lighten her load. Yet I know now that there would have been nothing I could've done differently or better. I know there are some things you just can't 'fix', much as you'd like to. Sometimes, all you can do is cry it out.