Melody (left) & Cathy on the porch of Grandmama's house
We could have chosen either one of two plump, comfy beds to curl up in and sleep when our girlish giggles stopped each night. We always chose the brown tweed sofa hide-a-bed in Grandmama's formal living room. After all, it was the one place where the magic happened. Within that room was the portal through which she arrived in a twinkle of light, and no way were we going to miss it...ever.
"Did you get the pixie dust?"
"Yes, but don't you think Grandmama is going to be mad at us?"
"No. Grandmama never ever gets mad."
"Yeah. You're right."
"Ok then, give me my cup of sugar; I mean pixie dust."
And there we lay flat on our backs with dishes of pixie dust balanced gingerly on our tummies. Two little girls, cousins, silently peering backward over the top of the brown tweed sofa through a window...waiting for Tinker Bell.
Like magic each summer night, same time, same place, the twinkle appeared, and our imaginations blossomed.
Tinker Bell would arrive, and little girl fantasies soared uninhibited as we sprinkled pixie dust about the room, singing, "I can fly. I can fly. I can fly."
And each morning Grandmama would wake us from our crumpled heaps. She would listen to the story of our adventure...as she swept pixie dust from the hardwood floor and smiled.
She never told us about the street light which shone through the living room window between the branches of the old magnolia tree.
She just listened with a smile and swept.
And we never ever doubted the existence of fairies. Ever.