Owen, my little baby. Owen, my little baby boy.

[Owen is typing on his typewriter when Momma comes and slams his hands on the keyboard] Momma:
Stop it, damn it! I got a wax ball in my ear. Get it out. [Cut to bathroom. Momma slaps Owen] Owen:
Oh, Momma... Momma:
You're writing to her, aren't you Owen? Owen:
Don't start that again, Momma, and don't hit me anymore! Momma:
You love her. Owen:
There's no "her", Momma. [Momma bends down above the bathtub as Owen brushes her hair back] Momma:
You're writing a letter! Owen:
I'm writing a story for class, Momma. Don't you see? I take a class, I take a nice class. Momma:
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Owen:
And I'm gonna be a writer someday. Momma:
You know how that typing upsets me! Owen:
I'm sorry, Momma. A writer writes. Momma:
You're gonna be nothing. You're gonna be nothing. You'll never get to first base. All you do is type, type, type, type, type, type. You sit there typing all day like a fat little pigeon. [Owen notices a pair of long scissors on a nearby shelf, picks them up and raises them] Owen:
You won't ever hear it again, Momma. I promise. [Owen stabs Momma through the ear with the scissors. Momma stands up screaming] Owen:
[Confused]
Momma... Momma:
[Cleaning her ear]
I think you got it, sonny. [Owen suddenly comes to his senses, realizing he was imagining killing her] Momma:
I don't know what I'd do without you, Owen baby. [Kisses him on the cheek and hugs him] Owen:
I know, Momma. I know. Momma:
Owen, my little baby. Owen, my little baby boy. [Owen still looks confused as to how he cleared Momma's ear]