My Mother

Every time I was sick, my mother would tell me, "Oh it is the weather," regardless of what it was. "Ma, I have a sore throat," I would whimper to her. "It's 'cause of your allergies, the clouds are comin' in thick this time o' year." For the longest time I thought that the clouds were these omniscient and omnipotent beings that controlled my fate. And every moment they got bored with how the world was going, they would change the weather to make people sick. It did not make much sense to me as to why they would do this, but at the same time, it did not make much sense why they would not abuse their powers. So I would take the same medicine every time, to clear up my sinuses, my sore throat, my rash, my headache, my stomach ache, my athlete's foot and my broken arm. "Allergies are bad this time o' year," she repeated in April, June, July, August, and November. I shrugged it off because sometimes the medicine worked... okay seldom the medicine worked. But it was this hope I had that the sickness was actually one that could be cured by allergy medicines that I held on to for my entire childhood. In reality there was no reason I kept taking the same thing, it did not taste good, people knew me as "Dyin' Bryan" because I was always sick, and most of all, it never helped me. I was constantly in the nurse's office. They would always suggest I take this pain reliever or headache curing mumbo jumbo, but I refused. My friend's parents would try the same thing, and try to give me some different medicine but I insisted, "My momma always tells me that all I need is love and allergy medicine." They always shook their head... I never really understood why.

And I suppose none of this really changed, because now as my wiser and older self, I see myself resorting to the same tactics that I used to. I still look at the skies praying to the clouds that they do not leave me and my battered down immune system to cry another night into my pillow. And whenever I try to help, my friends always shake their heads and walk away. Once my friend told me he had cancer, and I pulled out my allergy medicine and said, "take two." My coworker told me he was gay, so I pulled out the medicine and said, "take two." My girlfriend told me I do not make her happy anymore and that when she needs me the most, I am no where to be found... so I said, "take two of these." But I still take that same medicine every day, hoping that I have an illness that can be cured by it. I still tell my friends that I do not need their help, and I know how to take care of myself. And yet, I still am in the hospital every Thursday to Saturday, and occasionally Tuesday. I do not understand what is wrong with me.