Sometimes Sorry Ain't Enough
“I’m sorry, momma,” I managed.
“You’ve said that.”
She lowered herself onto the plastic seat opposite me. It creaked under her girth; but momma’s weight’s got nothin’ over the weight on my shoulders. She stared at me, her blue eyes stinging more than her words, “I didn’t raise you to be so stupid.”
“I know, momma.” She’d lost faith in me long ago. This was my chance to win back her trust… but I’d gotten sloppy. I was a failure, as she’d predicted. There’d be no convincing her otherwise.
“Ain’t gonna explain then?” she asked.
I shrugged. How could I? Was she gonna believe me? Was she gonna believe I was selling to save money for her surgery? Was she ever going to believe her estranged son was sitting in prison because he found out his momma was dyin’ and was gonna do somethin’ about it? Hell no, she wasn’t.
“Just stupid, I guess,” I said quietly.
“Guess so,” she said, her voice barely audible. The chair groaned as she stood.
She hovered, but I couldn’t look back in those blue eyes.
The door slammed.