The statement, of course, is prefaced with rationalization: twenty-one is a big birthday; you’re working so hard in school; we’re so proud of you. It’s a good thing they said this first, since my brain stopped working all together after:
“We’re thinking of sending you to Harry Potter World.” My grandma keeps talking, grandfather sitting stoic by her side, but I’ve had one of those The-Bicycle-You’re-On-Has-Stopped-Suddenly-And-Your-Body-Can’t-Stop-It’s-Momentum-So-You-Fly-Over-The-Handles,-Hit-The-Ground-And-The-Wind-Gets-Knocked-From-Your-Lungs-So-Now-You-Can’t-Breathe moments.
She talks and talks but I’m still, staring at the glass table in front of me, hearing nothing but the rhythm of her voice.
My grandpa breaks the spell, “Why do you look so sad?”
I try speaking, but getting myself to process his statement is about the extent to which my brain can function. Talking back isn’t a viable option. Not at the moment.
Fortunately, my mom comes to the rescue, “Dad she’s not sad, I think she’s overwhelmed.”
I nod. After all, I can do that (thankfully).
“Well if I had known something like this is all it would take to make you stop talking...” Grandpa says, it’s one of those rare statements he utters where we all laugh with him.
My laugh is a little weak and dies quickly. My mind is stuck in an incessant loop of shock and disbelief.
It takes several days to wear off. I’m still sort of shocked, but I have random moments of extreme excitement and my already speedy way of speaking blurs into incoherent words with varying pitches.
Yeah, I’m a little ecstatic. I couldn’t even write about anything else (my minds been on a one-track road lately) and didn’t want to write about this until everything was booked. And as of today, it is!
My only problem now? How am I supposed to wait three months for this vacation? Okay, I lied, I have two problems. The second: how can I ever express my gratitude?
You see, this is so much more than a vacation for being in school and working hard or my twenty first birthday. My grandparents are making a dream come true for me.
I grew up with Harry Potter; I started the series when I was nine years old. Every fibre of my being believed the world was real, and there was nothing I wanted more than to be a part of it.
On my eleventh birthday I waited all day for an owl.
The letter never came. I cried myself to sleep that night.
I can’t express how wretched my eleven year old self felt. I was devastated, crushed and, internally, inconsolable. For a very long time.
I never told my mom, or anyone else, how upset I was (back then I was very against showing any sort of weakness). But that didn’t make the hurt any less poignant.
Obviously, I moved on.
I realized the Wizarding World really was fiction (I mean if it wouldn’t take me, there’s no way it can be real.).
When I found out they were building a theme park like eight years ago, I begged my mom to take me to the opening. I periodically brought it up, desperately wanting to go. I thought I would have to wait years (being a student seriously affects the amount of available cash I have)....
My grandparents are making my dream of going to Hogwarts come true. Exactly ten years later.
And how can you ever thank someone for something like that?
In sake of avoiding a rhetorical question (for once), you can’t. You can’t adequately thank someone for making your dreams come true. It just isn’t possible.
But I may squeeze them to death on occasion to try an even the score. Grandparents are suckers for things like that.Word Of The Day: Rhapsody - an ecstatic expression of feeling or enthusiasm.
PS. Bloody nougats and puking pastilles are only in skiving snackboxes....and I'm going to buy twenty. Well, not really, but I'm going to buy some, at least.