The End of an Era

I think it was first grade. One of mom's students showed her this really cool book called "Harry Potter". He let her borrow it. I read it. My first memory of reading it was our reading group in first grade. We buddied up with someone from the other class. We read short picture books, but I was reading a massive tome (compared to the ones around me). Mrs. Walker told me it was too advanced for me. Screw her, I read it anyway. Maybe I couldn't sound out "Diagon" or "Wingardium leviosa" and so what if I pronounced Hermione "Hurr-moyn", I loved those books.

Then, one warm July day, it hit me we'd be attending the final Harry Potter movie that night. The final act of a decade long play. It started where the last one left off. I watched it, rapt, my eyes only leaving the screen to inspect the color of my Sour Patch Kid. Then the final credits rolled. It was amazing. I loved it. All of it. From that day in first grade when  I disobeyed the teacher to the final moments of the film saga. I insisted on staying through the credits so that "the crowd would thin out". In reality, I just wanted to believe there'd be a sneak peak of the next film at the end. I knew there wouldn't be, but that little first grader in me refused to believe that a part of him had ended. It was impossible. I'd grown up with those characters. Surely they weren't leaving me. They couldn't. I sat through hours of credits, but there was nothing. We left. It was over. I went home and dug through my box of old stuffed animals. Towards the bottom was an old stuffed owl toy to promote the first movie. I pulled it out and went to bed, arms curled around it like a teddy bear. Then, I cried like a baby.