Crying ain’t going to fix anythin

I paced the small dorm room as all the harsh realities pounded my mind. What should I do? Should I take care of it? Should I just drop out? Can I afford not to end it? What if it cute? What are my parents going to say? How could I be so stupid? I want my mommmy!

The mixture of emotions overwhelmed me. I collapsed onto the futon, curlly up into a ball as the tears started to come. My life was over. I was sure of it. There was nothing left to do. All my dreams had been dashed in one stupid move.

I was so absorbed in my own self wallow to notice my roommate enter. I had left the box sitting on the floor and she instantly knew why I was crying. “Girl, you need to relax! It ain’t the end of the world. Just go to the doctors, and they can take care of it.” My roommate said with an attitude which only comes from growing up in the hood. It was crass like a seargent major, and just as practical.

“What!?” I cried back.

“Crying ain’t going to fix anythin'” she replied.

“Sniff, yea…” I conceeded. Crying wasn’t going to fix anything but it sure distracted from the severity of the problem I faced.

“So get your arse up and go take care of it!” she said rather harshly. The tone sounded familar, though I could not place it. I could not recall my roommate ever using it before, but it sounded familar, and suited her general personality.

“I can’t!” I cried back. “I…sniff…I…sniff…told my mom already.”

“And you’re supposed to be the smart one,” she mumbled, turning towards her desk. “I take it she’s on her way?” I just nodded. “Well you should go get cleaned up. Maybe a shower will help you think straight.”

A shower did sound like a good idea. I had woke up late this morning and hadn’t gotten a chance to shower before Stacey stopped by to run to the store. Maybe a shower would help. It couldn’t hurt.

“Com’ on go,” she pushed my feet off the end of the futon. I slowly got up and grabbed my robe, shower caddy and keys then went off to the floor’s bathroom. It was late in the afternoon, and about a half an hour before dinner so the bathroom was empty. I was glad it was empty, since I didn’t really want to talk to anyone at the moment and My eyes had to be extra red and puffy from crying.

I choose a center shower stall and turned on the hot water. I slowly went through the motions of shedding my clothes and handing them on the hook in the changing space. The hot water felt good, even if it didn’t pull the stress away like I hoped. I leaned my right arm aganist the shower wall and buried my eyes in my elbow.

The hundreds of questions came flooding back. How could this happen to me? What was I going to do? Could I do it? Should I do it? The questions were never ending, like the water pelting my back.

Screeech! The shower curtain flung open, revealing my mom standing there in sweatshirt and blue jeans. As would be expected, by first reaction was short, but earsplitting scream, which I am sure did not help her attitude.

“Get out here now!” Mom growled, taking my wrist and pulling me from the shower stall before I could protest.

“MOM!” I cried out, as a mom performed a nice tango twirl with me then sat down on the little bench all in one fluid motion. It would have been impressive, had I been dressed, or someone else was her dance partner. Neither was true and I ended up staring at the tile floor, sprawled across her demin covered knees.

“What the hell were you thinking! You weren’t thinking, were you!” Mom started lecturing. I could think of only one thing, and immedately reached my hands for the floor. My awkward angle allowed my palms just to contact the tile. I pushed off with my fingers when a firm hand pushed my shoulders forward and down.

“Stay there if you know what’s good for you.” Mom commanded.

“Please! MOM!” I knew what was coming and I would have done anything to prevent it from happening right now. “Not here! Please, not here! My room, home, PLEASE!”

Mom simply answered with a resounding crack of my hairbrush. The intensity of the sting of that first spank shocked me. It was like she took a minute worth of spanks and delieved it in one super swat.

The initial shock wore off very quickly as the second swat landed on my other cheek. It’s sting somehow outdid the first swat’s. I immediately let out a cry and tried to reach back with my right hand. Mom answered my cry with another swat, and then another and another and another. Each swat caused a slight break in my continuous wail.

“HAAA!” SWAT! “AHHH!” SWAT! “AHHH!” SWAT! “AHHH!”

All the emotional pain I had experience earlier was nothing compared to the sting my mom imparted upon my bottom. It was absolute horrible and I tried everything possible to stop it. Kicking, squirming, wiggling, reaching back, nothing could stop that evil hairbrush as it did its job.

Every swat drew out a little more of the fight in me until there was nothing left. All I could do was lay there crying and react to the energy of each new blow. I don’t know how many more I got after the fight was gone, but I doubt it was very many because the next thing I realized was standing before her.

Every nerve in my bottom was telling me to try and rub away the sting while my brain commanded my hands not to go it. Rubbing my bottom without mom’s permission might mean another trip over her knee. I instead tried to keep my hands busy by wipping the tears from my eyes and the snot from my nose.

“Put that robe on and lets get you packed. We are going home,” Mom instructed as she stood up.

I put on my robe and then grabbed my clothes. I turned around and took half a step towards the center of the bathroom and froze. Almost every girl on my floor was standing there, looking at me. “Oh My God! They saw everything!” I thought and immediately ran to my room.

One thought on “Crying ain’t going to fix anythin

  1. Pingback: Crying ain’t going to fix anythin – Conclusion | In Hushed Voices

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s