Perfect Gifts

Scary things of girlhood -- bugs, spiders, ghosts, sci-fi shows on TV -- no longer fill me with fear.  I can watch anything on television without lacing my fingers over my eyes, and books don't keep me awake at night, listening for the telltale whoosh of bat wings at my window.  Had I come home to this praying mantis in childhood, I would have frozen and waited for an adult to take care of it.  Instead, today, I threw my things on the porch, pulled out my camera, and started snapping.  I felt welcomed by a perfect gift.

Welcome, too, is the special thrill of giving someone the thing she most wants for her birthday, knowing that she will tremble and gasp at the Dementors, hold the covers tight during Black Arts, and widen her eyes at the Shreiking Shack.  Her stomach will drop and skin goosepimple.  She may even cry just a little or whimper.  But E already knows that bugs are beautiful and words live only in imagination. 

The world as it is has already brought her grandmother's death, and the world as it is imagined will also bring the loss of fictional loved ones, but E lives in and loves both worlds, perfect gifts as they are.