Short Stop: Questions

L.C. Hill

When I was little, I asked my mom a lot of questions:

“Why do you wash the dishes in hot water?”
“Do you have to use the turn signal when no one else is around?”
“Can I lick the bowl?”

I remember going to her doctor’s office. I was probably four years old.
I would ask her to drive down the street that had the big dips in it.
It felt like riding a roller coaster when she drove close to the sidewalk.
She didn’t drive close to sidewalks except on those days.
I would sit alone in the waiting room.
There were magazines, but I couldn’t read without her yet.
She would tell me I was a good girl.

I never asked her:

“Why did you go to the doctor so much?”
“How did you survive losing a child?”
“What did you do when you missed your mom?”

Now, there are no answers to questions I really need the answers to.