you know how sometimes you gotta do stuff even when it makes your stomach kinda twist up? like, you just GOTTA. and it ain't even a choice really. it's just how things are. like, every saturday. every single one. i go over to my mom's place. it’s this little house, you know? smells like dust and those air fresheners she buys from the dollar store. the kinda smell that sticks to your clothes even after you leave. you try to scrub it off later but it’s still there, like a shadow. i don't even know why i go anymore. habit maybe? or just... that feeling, like if you don't, something bad will happen. like the world will kinda tilt off its axis. you walk in, right? and it's always the same. first thing she says, not a "hey how are ya" or anything. it’s always about my clothes. "you wearin' that *again*?" or "good lord, son, you look like you slept in that shirt." and it's like, what am i supposed to say? these are my clothes. these are the only clothes i got that aren't for work. i just kinda nod and go put the kettle on. 'cause that's my job. tea for her. and then it starts. the whole afternoon. it's like a leaky faucet, just drip, drip, drip. "you still workin' at that grocery store?" like it's a crime. like it's a choice i made to just hang out there forever. like i haven't applied for a million other things. like i haven't worked my butt off to even get that. you try to explain, you know? "it's good for now, ma. it pays the bills." and she just waves her hand, like you’re saying something stupid. "bills, bills, always bills. you need to THINK BIGGER." and then it gets to my face. always my face. "you look tired, you look pale. are you eatin' enough?" but it’s not like she’s worried. it’s more like... she's pointing out a flaw. like i'm a painting she doesn't like. "you really should get more sun. you're gonna end up lookin' like your uncle jimmy, all pasty." and you just wanna shrink into the couch cushions, you know? like you wanna disappear. the worst part is when she brings up my dad. always. "your father always had a good head on his shoulders. knew what he wanted." and it’s like, she’s talking about a ghost. a perfect ghost. and then she looks at me, like she’s comparing me. and i always come up short. i can just feel it. the air gets thin and heavy all at once. like a blanket made of concrete. by the time i leave, it's dark. the streetlights are blurry. and my head feels like there’s a swarm of bees buzzing around in there. i drive home and my hands are tight on the wheel. and it’s not even over. it hangs over me. the words she said. the way she looked. it kinda sticks to your skin for days. like that dollar store air freshener. you try to wash it off but you can still smell it. and then it's friday again. and you know what's coming. and the dread starts building up in your gut. like a knot you can’t untie. and you just... do it. because what else are you gonna do? it's your mom. it's what you do. and you just gotta. even when it makes your whole body feel like it’s vibrating with wrongness.