"Wonderland or Bust"
In the beginning, they were two, just two small things in a wild world. They had nothing but dreams.
Roy's dreams returned him to the rocking deck of a navy vessel. He heard the creaking of the hull, the whisper of breaking waves, the shrieks of seagulls. The sea stretched before him, so far to the horizon that he could see the curved edge of the earth, an endless expanse of sparkling blue. Not another ship or a speck of land in sight.
Wouldn't it be nice to jump the rail and dive into the great blue? Or better yet - sprout wings, soar over the mess and gore of the war, chase the horizon.
He strode along the worn wooden planks of the deck toward the rail, hoping for a miracle -and stopped. Glanced down. Found his foot caught in some rigging. He tried to kick it loose.
Wakefulness came like an electric shock. Roy gasped, which sent him into a violent coughing fit. When he could see straight, he found his youngest brother beaming at him.
The moon was still high in the sky and Roy was just one of many sick veterans sleeping in beds arranged in neat rows on a porch. He kicked out at something resting against his foot, finding his brother's white fingers clutching his ankle.
"Walt! What's the matter?"
The stringy kid had only just made the leap from boy to young man. He hopped from foot to foot, his right eyebrow quirked to his hairline, vibrating with excitement. He shoved a slip of paper under Roy's nose.
"Quietly," Roy admonished as Walt galloped into an explanation. "People are sleeping."
Roy rubbed his streaming eyes and read the ugly square letters before him. Even with Walt babbling on in a hissing stage whisper, Roy knew better. The telegram from Miss Winkler was not a screaming acceptance, merely a glimmer of hope. If Walt could make Alice's Wonderland cartoons to her satisfaction, she would pay him for the series. It wasn't much, but it was a way into the animation business.
"I can do the pictures, but I need help." Walt bounced impatiently. "How about it? Let's go, Roy."
Roy sighed. He knew what Walt was asking. If Roy survived, he planned to get a stable job at a bank or in sales, and then he'd buy a ring for his girlfriend, Edna. Maybe they wouldn't set the world on fire, but he would always provide for her. Walt was a loose cannon, but he had an unusual talent with stories. He might sprout wings and fly, but he was just as likely to grow an anchor and crash - taking Roy with him. Two more failed Disneys for the family saga.
Roy found himself speaking anyway, the allure of those wings too strong to resist. "Can you deliver the pictures on time?"
"Sure."
"Can you make a profit?"
"Well, yeah!" Seeing his brother's look, Walt quailed. "This time, I promise." He clutched his hands together under his nose like an altar boy. "Please. How about it, Roy?"
Roy studied the boy's beseeching expression and huge, tear-filled eyes. The renegade world of entertainment would eat him alive. Roy couldn't stomach that. It'd be like taking a bright new daisy and squashing it underfoot.
Roy took solace in possibly dying of tuberculosis before they were ruined, but somehow, he didn't think he'd be so lucky.
"Okay, kid. Let's go."
In the end, after all the lights went down and the last curtain closed, they were two. Just the two of them, still chasing dreams.
When he was well, Walt was a celebrity. Now that he was sick, Walt wanted his wife, his daughters -and his big brother Roy. So Roy woke up two hours before work every morning to visit his brother in the sterile hospital room, so far removed from the colorful studio.
The night Walt sent his wife home to rest, Roy stayed. Roy's rest had never been of any concern to Walt.
"Whassamatter? You mad at me?"
Roy snapped out of a doze and glanced around to find the source of the disembodied voice, only to realize it was just Walt playing ventriloquist again. Though not much else in the wasted face was familiar, his brother's glittering black eyes were the same, alight with mirth and feverish energy.
"Hah!" Walt exclaimed.
Roy snorted.
"Put away the cash registers in your brain for a minute and listen to this." Walt beckoned, his gnarled hand wind-milling in the gloom.
"Gee," Roy said, standing and ambling to Walt's bedside, "Funny you should rag on the guy with the cash registers in his brain -and then ask him for money."
Roy expected Walt to grouse about how that was Roy's job, how he was supposed to come up with the money so Walt could breathe life into the dreams. Instead, Walt flashed a rueful grin, the one that had dismantled every grudge they'd held against each other since he was born.
"Isn't it amazing what a horse's ass a fellow can be sometimes?"
Roy laughed.
"Here. Look!" Walt pointed at the ugly gray tiles on the ceiling, his wayward eyebrow quirking, his voice a breathy stage whisper. "Look at this. It's a grid, see? Like a city plan!" His arm fell and he grimaced.
"Walt! What's the matter?"
"Oh, you know. So damned cold in these hospitals." He poked a stockinged foot from beneath the scratchy blanket and waggled it, his grin under all the sickness still as guileless as a little boy's.
Roy knew Walt's feet were the least of his pains, but he played along as usual, massaging the warmth back into them as he did every day. He half-listened to the fantastic plans for Walt's new city and the rest of the Florida Project as Walt drew them in vivid detail on the ceiling above him. The other half of Roy's mind dwelled on that porch with the other sick veterans forty years ago, his ankle held fast in his brother's white-knuckled grasp. How far they had come.
How about it, Roy?
Morning arrived with a terrible silence. Roy stood motionless in the middle of the familiar hospital room, the memories of the years whirling around him - the indomitable talking mouse, revolutionary films, a fantasy world populated by millions of adoring fans. His was now a household name associated with a brand recognized around the world. He helmed a vast empire with thousands of parts and an army of workers; for the first time, he did it alone.
Roy gazed at his brother's empty body as the relentless light crept across the gray tiles. He sighed. He knew what Walt wanted him to do. Given his own way, Roy planned to retire, give Edna all his time for once in their married life. But now, Walt's last dream was in danger of falling apart. Roy couldn't stomach that.
He rubbed his brother's ankle, tears in his eyes. A gentle grin brightened his face.
He'd just thought up a new name for the Florida Project. He was going to call it Walt Disney World.
He was going to take this last dream and give it wings.
"Okay, kid," he whispered. "Let's go."