As I looked out the monorail window, I had to remind myself again and again that I wasn't dreaming. Each time I convinced myself that I was, in fact, awake, another wonder outside would send me back to a whimsical stupor. I wasn't in any monorail; it was a Disney monorail, and we had just passed through the Contemporary Resort on our way to the Magic Kingdom. This was a day that I had been craving for years, a day I thought would never come.
My name's Chrissa. It's about time I stopped reminiscing and introduced myself. The full name's Chrissandra, but you can use the nickname. Ever since I was a little girl, I've always been fascinated by adventure. Unfortunately, if you're growing up in a lower-middle class sector of suburban America, adventure isn't always easy to come by. But I made do. I remember cutting up my Mom's old aprons and pretending they were princess gowns. I would romp around the backyard in my royal costume, climbing trees and pretending to be the world's greatest jungle explorer. No one ever had the heart to tell me that princesses don't run around in the Amazon, but I was better for it. No one constrained my imagination, so I let it, quite literally, run wild.
It was around that time that my Uncle Milo first introduced to me to Disney. When my Mom worked long hours, she would drop me off at his house and he would babysit, and by babysit I mean give me the time of my life. We would do everything together. Carnivals. Zoos. Hide-and-go-seek in the park. My uncle was a freelance writer, so he had plenty of time of time for me, time my mother never really had.
It was on rainy days that the magic happened. We would plop down in front of the TV and he would shove a thick black cassette into the VHS. It was always Disney, so naturally it was always incredible. I saw all the classics, all the romances and adventures. From the first film I was obsessed. My aprons were no longer just princess costumes, they were Cinderella's dress and Belle's ball gown. My backyard became Neverland, 100 Acre Woods, Pocahontas' camp, and any other world you could imagine.
Uncle Milo was always privy to my passion. When I turned four, he took me to Disney World for the first time. At first, the trips happened almost twice a year. But as time passed, the gaps between visits grew wider and wider, not because I was getting older, but because he was. Milo's health was fading. By the time I was twelve, he had passed away.
This is my first time at Disney since I lost him. The thought had clouded my morning, because as much as I love the parks, the thought of them without Uncle Milo was sobering at best. But as we passed under the Walt Disney World welcome sign, I realized he would have wanted me to be happy. To juice the day for all it's worth. Live it to the fullest. And if not for myself, I would do it for him. So as we left our car and hustled toward the trams, I made it my goal to have the best day of my life.
Hopefully I wouldn't be the only one. Beside me, my brother Evan was napping, head resting comatose against my side. He and my mother were coming along for the trip, and though there was nothing I could do to guarantee her happiness, my brother was another story. As long as I reacted to everything in the park with excitement, he would too. Early on I had a sense that my brother looked up to me, saw me as a leader, almost a parent. Ever since Evan was a toddler, he's copied me without question. I suspected, no, I knew, that the reason we got along so was well my mother's absence. With her busy at work or shut up in her room, there was no attention to compete for.
Today was no different. My mother sat across from us as her deep brown eyes examined the other passengers. I watched her glance uncomfortably at their cheerful faces, then retreat into her own thoughts. I'm sure she was reminding herself why she was here, why she would tolerate an atmosphere she found so excessive and absurd. The answer was my Uncle. Even though he had passed, I still had Milo to thank for the trip. It's a shame Evan was too young when he died to remember him. Mother never exactly told me why, but I suspected she made the effort to save up for today because she knew he would have wanted me to see the parks again. Or maybe it was because he had asked her to, requested it before he died. Whatever the reason, I was in his debt. I said a silent "Thank you" under my breath before rustling Evan's sandy blonde hair. Nap time was over.
The monorail was slowing to a stop and I needed to get my brother moving. It took a bit nudging to wake him, but after the boy remembered where we were, where we were going, I had to chase him out of the car. I caught up with my brother on the platform, wrapped my arm around his shoulders, and pulled him to my side.
"Hey!" he cried in protest, struggling against me. "We need to go!"
"Believe me, I know," I said with a smile. "But we need to wait for Mom. She'll catch up in a second, don't worry."
A second turned out to be a minute or two before we saw mother weaving her way through the crowd toward us. It was obvious she was in no hurry. That's one thing about my Mom, she lives at her own pace: on the road, at home, on the job. I knew there was no point in hurrying her along, so I waited, trying to mask my impatience for Evan's sake.
"There you are! How many times have I told you to not rush ahead? Maybe Evan's young enough to go running around but you have no excuse."
My mother stood by us now, oozing disapproval.
"But Mom," I said tiredly, "Evan rushed out and I had to-"
"I don't need to listen to this. Come on, let's move; we're blocking the way."
I was tempted to remind her, as we walked down from the platform, why we weren't moving, but decided to grab Evan's hand instead. His warm palm grounded my thoughts, and with my thoughts, my temper. I'll admit, my fuse is a bit on the short side, but there was no way I would allow anything to set it off today. Evan needed me to optimistic, and Uncle Milo required it. This was Disney, the Happiest Place on Earth. My mother could decide to be unhappy here, but I could decide not to be.
As we rounded the bend by the docks and headed for the turnstiles, I lifted my head to the sight before me and realized the alternative was impossible. There was no way on Earth I was going to be unhappy, even if I tried. The colorful gardens in the shape of Mickey crowned by a grand brick train station shining in the sun wouldn't allow it. Neither would I.
Our small party passed through the turnstiles, through security, and through the tunnels below the train tracks. As we walked through the latter, my Mother made a beeline to the park maps and grabbed not one, but three, back-up in case the first two ended up wet or lost. It was a smart move, but unnecessary. Even though I had only been the Magic Kingdom a handful of times, the park made a powerful impression on me and I knew it by heart. And before I was an expert, my Uncle was, so not once had I walked through a Disney park with maps. The thought of needing them was so ridiculous, I failed to stifle a laugh. Mom turned toward me with a furrowed brow, frowning at a joke she didn't see or understand. For her sake, I wish my mother had kept staring at me, started to lecture me, do anything but return her gaze to a map. So caught up in studying its maze of details, she missed the most brilliant moment of the day.
At the end of the tunnel, shade gave way to a flood of white light that blinded, just for a moment, before sinking back into the pastels and pavement of Main Street U.S.A. A colorful confection of buildings, decked out in turn-of-the-century moldings, framed a center courtyard where Donald Duck and Goofy had attracted a long line of fans. Evan was dying to join them. He tugged at my hand the moment we entered the park and let out an unintelligible stream of pleading. I reined him in until my mother made clear her desire to find a moment's reprieve in the restrooms. For once, I was almost thankful for her bad attitude. The minute she disappeared, Evan and I made a beeline for Goofy. We made our way past balloon vendors and tourists to his queue and waited, somewhat impatiently, only to have a Disney Cast Member inform us Goofy was taking a break. A break! We couldn't afford a break. My face fell with Evan's not because we had missed Goofy this once, but because we'd missed the chance to escape Mom and see him. Goofy might reappear later in the day, but the chances of him doing so when our mother was gone were slim. She never had a tolerance for character signings and had once gone on a fifteen-minute rant about how it was a waste of time to see a kid in a costume. Thankfully Evan hadn't been there.
Evan! In my thinking I'd briefly forgotten his existence. My brother was still holding my hand, but weakly, his head bent down towards the concrete. He didn't notice as I released his hand and knelled down beside him.
"Hey you," I whispered. Nothing. The boy wasn't in the mood for conversation. I tilted up his chin with my finger and stared into small green eyes that darted to avoid mine.
"It stinks. I know," I said, and as I held his head between my hands, his face compelled me to make a promise I had no guarantee of keeping.
"Listen, you're going to meet him." Evan hadn't been crying, but he wiped his eyes where tears would have been and stared.
"You're going to meet him. I'll make sure of it."
As soon as the words left me, I regretted them. I had no way of making sure my brother would meet his hero. But there was something about his dejected features, the way expectation had faded from his eyes that demanded I say something. As a sister.
Evan let loose a gaping smile and the incident was forgotten. Disappointment, my mother, and my Uncle's absence couldn't compete with the day ahead of us.
Even though time was short, our family managed to go everywhere. We scoured Main Street U.S.A. for the best candy and sidewalk surprises. Adventureland brought us to the depth of the jungle and heart of a pirate's raid. We ventured through Frontierland, singing with Brier Rabbit and the Bear Jamboree. With Liberty Square came a life's (or afterlife's) supply of Presidents and ghosts. In Fantasy Land, we flew with Dumbo, Peter Pan, and Donald Duck in Mickey's Philharmagic, souring above my mother's cynicism. By the time we reached Tomorrowland, Evan was tiring, but rides through space and a speedway were more than enough to jolt him back to life. As we returned to Cinderella's castle, the Sun was setting. I paused, as we crossed the bridge from Tomorrowland, to admire the ribbons of orange and pink in the sky. They were perfect, illuminating the statue of Mickey and Walt as if they were imagineered to be there. Every moment of our walk to the exit is fresh and crisp in my mind. I remember marveling at the sky, watching Evan look over his shoulder at the castle again and again, as if to make sure it hadn't disappeared. I remember walking down Main Street U.S.A. as the windows of the shops glowed with light in the dusk.
Most of all, I remember wishing that I never had to leave. I began to prepare myself for an exit when my mother stopped by the Emporium and turned to me.
"I just remembered. Your grandmother wanted us to bring something back to her, and I'm thinking of getting a snack to keep Evan awake on the ride home."
He needed it. My brother's adrenaline rush from Tomorrowland was wearing off fast and I could tell by his glazed expression that he was only minutes away from hyperactivity and half an hour away from exhaustion. I should have thought of a snack. Sometimes it was embarrassing the way I constantly provided for my brother emotionally, but could forget his most basic needs. My mother was distant and cold, yes, but she got things done.
"So," she continued, "you have two options. You come or wait outside somewhere."
I surprised myself with my answer. "Outside. I'd rather wait out here. Why don't you meet me in the square by the train station…where the characters were earlier? I'll be on one of the benches."
"Fine," she said with a sigh. "Just don't go trying to find us if you get impatient. We'll be out when we're out." With that, my mother took Evan's hand and herded him into the store. I was alone.
I took advantage of the time and space to think things through. Walking toward our planned meeting spot, I wondered why I had rejected the stores so easily. I always loved walking through Main Street U.S.A. and checking out every nook and cranny of the shops. I still did. But something, something strong, had drawn me away from them tonight. When I reached a bench and sat down facing the street and Cinderella's Castle, I realized exactly what that something was. It was longing.
The fact of the matter was, I had been to the Main Street shops that morning and countless times before. Disney never lost its charm for me, but as much I loved them, the stores were nothing new. What was new was the sickening sensation that I would never visit them again. I was eighteen years old and this was the summer between my high school graduation and my first semester of college. If my mother hadn't tolerated my "childish" passion before, she certainly wouldn't entertain my love for Disney as the parent of a college student. To her, I had been too old for the magic for years. She had tolerated my interest for Milo's sake, but it would ignorant to believe that toleration would continue into college. College, in my mother's eyes, was the place for becoming an adult and leaving your childhood behind. Childhood only distracted from securing a job, getting paychecks, and keeping food on the table. According to my mother's philosophy, financial stability and childish interests were incompatible. She had lectured me about how I needed to grow up, how I needed to focus on more "serious pursuits", how this trip to Disney would be my last.
I had decided to wait outside because I wanted to savor the Magic Kingdom. I wanted to drink in this beautiful, breathtaking view of the park at night before I was forced to abandon it. The demand seemed unnecessary to me. I loved Disney and I loved to daydream, but I was far from immature. Because of my efforts, I had the scholarships that made college possible and Evan had a companion to raise and love him. There was no debating that I knew my responsibilities. Besides being unfair, my mother's pressure felt cruel. But there was little I could do about it. Even in college and away from my her house and authority, I knew going to Disney would be a pipe dream. I would never be able to afford a trip without family contributions, and as an adult, it would take years for me to pay back student loans and make enough money for a Disney trip to be possible.
So staring at the castle was my way of saying goodbye. The thought was threatening to depress me before I remembered Uncle Milo, remembered my goal. I was here to have the best day of my life. Now was no exception. With that in mind I made every effort to savor the castle, the street, the buildings and the windows and the square. I tried to take in everything with as much joy as I could muster. It was then, as I clung desperately to Disney and all it meant to me, that I saw the hand.
It was in the window of the firehouse. When I was younger, the firehouse was used as a gift store, but now it was vacant. Rather, it was supposed to be vacant. But there it was, waving down at me, the silhouette of person in the window. At first I thought it was my pathetically desperate imagination. I ignored the figure and attempted to look at something, anything else. But the image was irresistible. After some resistance, my head whipped back toward it and found no one. The figure was gone but the window was still light, as if the person had retreated into the room. I had almost convinced myself that the window had been lit all along and the figure existed only in my imagination, when my eyes reached the firehouse door and all traces of denial shattered.
It was open.