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Megan and I lived in a small neighborhood in a Canadian town in southern Quebec, where several dozen feet of trees stood between each house on our country road. There were maybe sixteen or seventeen children in our woodsy neighborhood. We all grew up together, playing games like kick-the-can, hide-n-go-seek and all the other silly childhood games. Of course when you spend as many years growing up with the same children in the same neighborhood, you develop very close friendships that last throughout you life. But when you're a little child everything is so different, especially when it comes to relationships. You don't know what sex is, and even if you did you'd either think it was gross or wouldn't care. That's the way we all felt anyway.

In particular my family had grown close to an Irish family who lived down the road, and years after the children grew up our families would still get together on certain occasions, and especially around holidays. We wore our fanciest clothes, cooked large dinners, occasionally broke out bottles of wine, and spent hours and hours catching up on old stories.

Well, one night two Christmases ago something bizarre happened. We were having another family gathering at our house, but, because all the children had been so busy with college, it was the first gathering in four years. Throughout dinner, dessert, and the after-dinner conversations I couldn't help but notice that one of the Irish girls who lived in that family, her name Megan, had, quite simply, grown into ...

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