seven | safety | 302 words
Updated: 8/18/2018
"It's a problem, I don't know how to fix it."
"You'll figure it out, I know you will."
A momentary pause and a flash of disbelief crossed his ragged features as he dropped the somewhat empty Pepsi bottle onto the table. It rolled unceremoniously across the table before falling onto the floor. She knew well enough not to get angry at him, not to show her dismay as the sticky sweet beverage spread out across her floor.
"Why do you do that?"
Lora rose from the table, dishrag in hand, as she kneeled on the floor. "Do what?" She asked.
"Why do you always assume I'll figure it out? That I'll be okay?" He asked. "Why not be like everybody else?"
There was a reason behind this question, the underlying frustration and relief in his words combated against each other. He wanted to be grateful for the fact that she didn't scold him, but at the same time, he wanted her to doubt him, he wanted something to fight about. She was his mother after all, it was only reasonable that she'd expect the worse from him these days. Everyone else did.
"Jethro, I'm not sure what you want me to say," She stood behind his chair, her shadow loomed over the table like a Jungian figure. "You made a mistake, it happens."
"Dad-"
"Jethro, I love your father, but sometimes he let's his temper get the better of his otherwise level-head," Lora sighed. "He wasn't exactly Mr. responsibility when he was a teenager either. You should hear what he did to his father's car."
"Yeah, but-"
"I'll admit, I wasn't happy about it either, but then you're only sixteen. I expected it. I prayed it wouldn't happen, but, it's only a car." She placed a hand atop of his head, a patronizing move to be sure, but something Jet welcomed nonetheless.
"Our insurance will cover the damages, I'm just glad you're safe."