Got the second needle yesterday, and Mom announced today in complete euphoria that it’s Open Season next month.
We’re going to visit Nana. We’ll hit every restaurant along the way. Go to the movies. Sit in our old seats behind home plate.
Sure, I’ll go, but the mask stays where it is: perfectly positioned over the scars, acne roadmap, and dental affliction we can never afford to fix.
Continuing compliments on the hairstyle will make up for the eye rolls and head shakes, and I can take the ‘delusional coward’ and ‘paranoid sheep’ slurs. I’ve been called a lot worse.