The bench was set in the main plaza beside the most important statue. Tourists, cast members and children filled the plaza with sound, bustling, happy, busy, frantic noise of people. But through all this commotion, Walt and Mickey stood sentinel, overseeing all the activity.
On the bench, staring up into the cast faces of Walt and Mickey, I spent many hours, listening to the people around me, the park guests, the characters, the Parade of Dreams that passed by twice, and yet ignoring it as I watched the sunlight illuminate the two who would dare to shape my past, my present, my future. This man and this mouse, presiding over their eternal home with several friends—another mouse, two ducks, an elephant, two dogs, a rabbit, two chipmunks—protecting all those who enter in.
The White Rabbit statue is at my side, his eyes forever fixed upon his Unbirthday present, an oversized pocket watch. His friend, Alice Pleasance Liddell, sat down beside me on the bench and looked up at Walt. "He was a great mean," she said, her voice soft, dreamy, her hands running through her long blonde hair. "A very great man."
Reginald L. Theophilus III, the park guests know him as the Mad Hatter, appeared behind us, behind the bench. "Mickey is great mouse," he said.
One by one, the other characters appeared, gathering in the plaza, by Walt and Mickey, a great cacophony of colour, patterns, fabric and realities, all stemming from my venture to Main Street from the Island.