Wishing on the Moon – by Judy Penz Sheluk…

I was about twelve when I first met Virginia, the daughter of a friend of my parents. We were the same age, give or take a few months, but Virginia had this cool factor about her that I couldn’t begin to emulate. Where my hair was a wavy mass of frizz, Virginia’s locks were long and sleek, and while the time would come when I’d stand a good four inches above her petite five-foot-two frame, the time hadn’t come yet. Last, but certainly not least, Virginia was a Funkenmariechen at the Toronto German Club, a fact my mother lorded over me after I’d given up both ballet and tap for lack of talent and desire. I may have been a lot of things at twelve, but a masochist wasn’t one of them. The last thing I wanted to do was watch Virginia strut her stuff in a red velvet minidress and white lace-up boots to an adoring audience.

Anyway, it was at my parent’s cottage late one night, the adults playing cards at a nearby neighbor’s, when Virginia insisted that we go out and make a wish on the full moon. I remember it being hot and muggy, the air thick with mosquitoes, but the idea of making a wish overrode any thoughts of discomfort. Besides, you didn’t say no to Virginia. Or at least, I couldn’t.

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