Mother's Patience

There are no words for the small battles a mother must fight

Marjorie shook her head as she looked at the room. It looked like Michael's school locker had exploded. Papers and laundry were everywhere, a textbook stuck out from between the mattress and boxspring, and a dish caked with spaghetti sauce perched precariously on the corner of the desk. She sighed, bewildered as to how one boy could destroy a room in just one week.

"Michael!" she hollered.

Michael slouched up the steps full of teenage angst and petulance. "What, Ma? I was gaming with Darren and Gee!"

"Young man, your game is on hold until you clean this room. It was all but spotless last Saturday, and now it looks like a pigsty!"

"Aw come on, do I have to?"

"You want the wireless turned off again?"

Michael blanched; Marjorie knew it was about the worst thing Michael or his sister could be subjected to. Michael went in and started moving the mess around.

"Spotless, Michael."

She continued down the hall, peeking in Heather's room. Messy, but not destroyed. Heather was sitting on her bed. "I know, Mom. I heard. But do I have to? I mean, if I clean it, can I go to LaShawnda's tonight?"

"We'll see."

She went downstairs, still bemused by the whirling dervishes of children she was raising. She went in the living room to ask her husband what he wanted for dinner, but he wasn't there. She checked the kitchen, then walked out to the garage. Her mouth dropped in not-very-surprised shock. Tom was up to his elbows in grease. Tools and wads of stained shop rags were scattered everywhere.

"Tom, I'm starting dinner soon. Could you get this cleaned up?"

A tool clanged to the floor and he peeked out at her from under the bumper.

"Come on, Marj, do I have to?"

NOTES: ▼

Word Count: 300
Submitted for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 
Prompt: Use the phrase "Do I have to"