5 to find

She wasn't hesitant in her reply. The way she looked at me was as if she had all the answers in the world.

"The short answer is to start from the top." She spoke with an authority that only she could bring to the table. "If you start from square one, it'll be much easier to work your way up."

Sincerely, I understood what she was saying, but I had no idea how to apply that in my own situation.

"How do I apply that to myself?" I asked, hoping for a deeper understanding.

My inquiring brought delight to her eyes. "It doesn't necessarily apply to you. But it can help you figure out where to begin. Sometimes you need to fix things that are closest to you before you can move on to bigger and better things."

She slowly started walking away, with the patience of a saint. Once I noticed, I soon followed her.

I was a few feet behind her thoughtful and pensive pace. "I see. So I should start small? That makes sense. I just don't know how to."

She abruptly stopped and I almost bumped into her body with her sudden halt. She pinched her chin with her fingers in thought. "You'll know it when you see it."

At this point, she went on her own way. She waved at me from behind.

I yelled out, "Thank you!"

For once she wasn't being pretentious and testing my knowledge. Poems and quotes are great and all, but her advice actually made me think. Perhaps this time, she had a point.

She was pretty far from me when I realized I didn't even know who she was. "Hey!" She didn't budge. "What's your name?!" I know I was loud enough for her to hear me, but she deflected my question with another wave. I guess there will always be next time.

I arrived back at home and threw my old shoes in the shoe holder. I sat down on my couch, with the words given to me by the mysterious poem lady running through my mind.

I heard steps come from one of the rooms. When I looked, I saw my mom rub her morning eyes with her fists to clear out the sand in her eyes. She was wearing her usual purple pajamas with little cartoon cats on it.

"Oh, hey Sander. Good morning." She yawned as she covered her mouth. "Whatcha doing up so early?"

"I went out for breakfast. I was craving Waffle house."

Mom took a seat next to me. I scooted over to give her space and avoid her morning breath.

"Okay. Sounds good." She flicked the tv on with the remote control and scrolled down the endless amounts of channels on the TV.

She left it on a morning show where the host was trying some recipes with a recent winner of a cooking competition that I recognized. The sizzling food in the picture looked appetizing.

The host asked the chef "It's amazing how you know all these recipes with all these ingredients, how did you get to this point."

The chef, in the middle of seasoning his food and sauteing the mixed vegetables, replied "Like every one else. I started from the beginning with small recipes and easy dishes. Then gradually took a more keen interest in cooking as a career. That was when-"

It hit me right there. I felt my eyes open widely. An idea or revelation struck my head.

"Mom." I said, still looking at the tv program. "What do you want to eat for breakfast?"

She opened her eyes even wider than my own. She muted the TV to hear me easier. "Are you offering to cook for me?"

"Yes. It's the least I can do, after all." In this way I was being helpful and useful. I came to the conclusion that I might not have all the answers and I might not know exactly what I want. But I did know that if I started small, like with my mother for example, then maybe I could find the drive or missing link to my problems.

"That's right mom. Let me cook you something. Anything." Then I thought to myself "Well, within reason if course."

She shifted her eyes and relaxed her brows. "Scrambled eggs and toast?"

I joked back at her. "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"No, that's what I want. Scrambled eggs and toast."

"Good, that's what I'll do then." I set up the table with a fork and butter on the side for her bread. I cooked her breakfast to more or less how she would do it for me.

I remembered mom liked her eggs well done and the toast to be toasted to where it's almost burned, but not quite.

After, I put it on a plate and put it on the table mat right in front of her. She took a bite of the eggs and slathered butter on her toast, then took a bite of that as well.

I looked at her, wondering what she thought of the food. Before I even said or asked her thoughts, she thanked me.

"Thank you, Jackson. It's great."

"I know it's not much."

She shook her head. "It is though." She sealed another bite. "It means a lot."

For the first time in a long time, my mom looked happy. Genuinely happy. Not the fake smile she wore with dread and pain. It wasn't the given up face she usually had. She seemed to be pleased.

It was then that I realized, maybe I should be a better son. Not just for mom, but also for myself.

That whole week, I set up a menu for my mom. One day was pancakes, the next was omelettes. The day after that was grilled cheese. And so on.

Each and every time I cooked, she was happy.

I took it upon myself to take the trash out regularly. Something I should have done forever ago, but I let my mind slip and my own self pity take over me. No more.

If I could do one thing, at least for right now, was be a good, responsible son.