Some birthday. Cramps had awakened her, and, when she got up, there was blood. She showered, opened the box that had been under the sink ever since The Talk her mother had with her a few weeks earlier, but didn’t feel any more like a woman than yesterday.
In her bathrobe, she entered the kitchen to tell her mother.
“Look at your jar, dear,” her mother said. On an opened cocoon was a tiger swallowtail, its wings still wet.
She took the jar outside, removed its lid and set it down.
“Happy birthday, Tiger. You can leave when you’re ready.”
In her bathrobe, she entered the kitchen to tell her mother.
“Look at your jar, dear,” her mother said. On an opened cocoon was a tiger swallowtail, its wings still wet.
She took the jar outside, removed its lid and set it down.
“Happy birthday, Tiger. You can leave when you’re ready.”
