my mother and i

Tonight, my mom and I sat side by side.

She didn't look at me, not directly at least. We weren't sitting face to face either, with a glass wall between us and cops monitoring every breath we took in that monotone room while our shuffling feet spoke for us.

No, not today at least.

Instead, we were sitting in a subway, in a crowded car with our arms pressed together. She stared at our shoes and I stared at my phone.

She looked deep in thought, her frown too prominent than usual. Something, or someone, worried her, I couldn't tell.

I don't like not being able to read her, not being able to do what she wanted me to do, so I hugged my office bag tighter and closer to my chest in hopes I make it alive to my stop.

The question still lingered.

Why was she so worried? Am I not what she supposed I'd become? Did she have high expectations of me? Was it the book she'd written? Does she finally regret it?

Above all: Why did it matter to me, who faced all sorts of repercussions to her oversharing?

Now that she was out of prison, with her husband dead and son grown, she had a new chance at life.

'new chance at life'

What a bitter, positive sentence. You'd think it came from a suicide hotline instead of a son, for his mother.

None of this made sense actually.

I promised I'd recieve her at the gates, yes, but I never planned to accompany her through the ride. I didn't expect to take a day off either, instead of just going back to my 9-to-5 - a courtesy to society and paying taxes.

I almost couldn't tell how I even got here. Everything happened and went by in a haze, so it felt like a miracle when I found mine and Han Sooyoung's text from this afternoon and read of our plans - to meet up at the convenience store for a drink.

'what a bother...'

I'll have to find an excuse to leave early, later. But for now, I could only sigh. To kill time I tried looking at my mom without turning much, again.

Suddenly, I was as aware of her aging body and mind as I'd been aware of her anxiety back home. I never realized her age as I did today - she was sitting slumped against the cold plastic. She'd hated lazy posture before. Her once healthy hair had lost all life and were pulled into a tight bun, even though it used to give her a headache. The black eye now replaced with heavy eye bags and the curve of her lips had never hung so low before.

It wasn't always like this, right?

I can't believe it...

She changed and grew alone. Was I left alone in our damp kitchen on purpose? How come in all my years of visiting, I had never seen her like so?

Had i caught onto her neglect too?

A passing thought made me wonder: if she died now, how would that affect me?

Would that make me cry? Would I hold her instead and call for help or would I watch life leave her eyes, her pulse slowing until there is nothing left of it?

Will I have her blood pooling in my arms as well?

I didn't want to know. I promised Han Sooyoung I wouldn't talk to her. I hadn't, I've kept my promise. I won't know and I'll keep my promise but-

"Dokja?"

It didn't stay that way.

It was too late to turn away now. Too late, too chilly to down play it as sweat. My mom was already looking at me, already dabbing away my tears, already frowning harder, already asking what's wrong.

Too congested in that subway car to run away, to hide my bobbing leg, no excuse for my prickly eyes and the tears soaking into my collar and I'd just dropped my phone.

I can't do anything. I've messed up again.

Among everything - all my rushed thoughts, our ugly crying, broken promises and weird glances - I was worried for my broken screen too, which I had the fortune of stepping onto, and I worried for the tragedy of my mother I didn't want to see in the same line of thought.

I'll give it all up for my mother, I'll make it all up to Han Sooyoyng. For now, maybe for just another minute or two, I'll cherish her like a kid.

For another minute or two, I think it's alright to let the terrible mother comfort her terrible son.