[For Mrs. Flinger's ring-ding-a-ding ning's Writing Challenge #4.]
It hardly mattered anymore what others thought of her, of them. She had felt the sting of their disdain far too long. She saw how they looked at her that one afternoon a month that she could get to the school to pick up her kids. It figured that the one day off each month that she could swing -- the third Thursday -- coincided with their PTA meetings. She had to walk past the gaggle of geese each time, many of them with their younger kids in tow, and hear their loud discussions taper off as, goose-by-goose, they spotted her.
She had been one of them long ago. While it pained her now to admit it, she had liked being part of the gaggle then. Damn, that was painful to own up to, to own those feelings she'd had in the past. She had liked spending her hours between drop-offs and pick-ups going for coffee or chatting over the park's swings or hiking the trails with the designer dogs. She had liked being a part of the village.
Now she was the outcast, the leper. She'd gone from inner circle to Outer Mongolia in the blink of an eye. Or the snap of a camera. Damn those high-resolution photos of her with Janie's husband.
[What can I say? I'm resolutioned-out.]