“Hey, it’s Moe.” Moe was one of my friends from the first day of grade nine. She was also labeled untouchable by association with me and the others in our group, even though her folks weren’t welfare bums and had good jobs; she still didn’t mind slumming as she hated the snobbery around the school.
“Hey, yourself. What’s up?”
“Did you get it?”
“The invitation? Yeah, it came today.”
“You going?”
“Thinking about it.”
“You nuts?”
“Matter of fact, yes, but that’s beside the point.”
“They’re going to fillet you and serve you up for dinner.”
I have the optimistic hope that some of my former classmates may have grown up. “I am done running from them, Moe. They Don’t scare me. After years of therapy, I am finally comfortable in my own skin.”
“Well they still scare the shit out of me and I am forty-eight years old.”
“No reason…
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Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 