When I was eight years old, I said something awful to my mother. She didn’t deserve it, nor does anyone. I don’t know or remember what brought me to spit such terrible language shoe-stringed together with such absolute absurdity, but I do remember that I tried to apologize. Once you say something so vulgar, though, it’s a ninety degree uphill battle to try and ease whatever doubt, or uncertainty is caused. The pain I caused must have hurt terribly; I remember my mom crying for two hours and not necessarily wanting to speak to me.

When I put such little thought in the words I chose to slither from my vocabulary to nest in her brain, I didn’t think of what she would feel. I only thought of how much I wanted whatever we were talking about to end.

I wonder how that day would’ve gone if I had never said it. Would we have all eaten dinner together with the family and laugh with one another because of the kiddie jokes we would’ve told?

I really want to remember why I said it.