Disney Story

[sandie]

Remember Mice Age was running a Fan Fiction competition? I thought I would post this entry in case anyone missed it over there:

"On California's Shores" by Janet Hunter

Maybe I shouldn't have done this. Am I about to destroy twenty years of longing (well, twenty years off and on, five might be more accurate if I account for all the years I've forgotten about my childhood dream) in one day? Where will it go, that longing, do you think? Will I find some new desire to replace it with or will I become content with my lot, a happy person? In the present circumstances it seems unlikely.

We all have dreams and some of them should be kept as just that, a perfect idea, unsullied by reality. And yet, here I am, standing at the entrance to Disneyland in California. Californians might say they are in Anaheim, but I am from England so the important location to me is the State. The mythical California. Unlike Walt Whitman, I am not facing west from California's shores, this is it for me, I have travelled as far as I wish to, I have reached my destination. I can go no further and from here I must go back, return to what is my own reality.

But not yet, first I have to enter these gates, walk down Main Street, ride Big Thunder Mountain, float in a boat on It's a Small World, be scared in the Haunted Mansion, be part of Disney for the day. This is for my 8 year old self. Here you go, I say internally, this is what you wanted, make sure you enjoy it.

It's also for my sister, two years older than me but with the same dreams at 10. We shared the Mickey Mouse magazine, bought out of our pocket money, half each. We read it together, laying on the carpet, swinging our heels in the air, pointing out the funny bits. We made sure not to argue over it as that would spoil it. We read about Disneyland and Disney World and we did argue over which we wanted to go to most, Disneyland because it was the original or Disney World because it was newer and therefore better. I can't remember who argued for what, but either way it was academic. Both were the other side of an ocean we never expected to be able to cross. My sister never has, and now she never will.

But for me, my horizons have expanded since I was that wide-eyed child. I have skills and a positive personality, I set my heart on doing something and by application and hard work, I get to do it. This seems almost dream-like to me. I smile and people respond to that smile, it comes over when I speak on the phone. In an interview I make people warm to me and the less cynical members of the panel say yes.

That's how I got here, halfway across the world. I applied for an exchange scheme and out of the hundreds that applied I was one of the handful selected. My mum said it was a happy coincidence, but that's the way she thinks. She doesn't see the effort it takes to be the person they say yes to rather than the one who receives the rejection letter. That's why her dreams have gone unrealised, if she ever had any. My sister too, she never looked beyond our back yard. I don't think she even saw London more than a few times.

Meanwhile, I've spent the last 9 months studying in Northern California. I could get up in the morning and look out over the Pacific Ocean on my way to class. I've just travelled to Yosemite. I climbed the granite cliffs and sat on what felt like the top of the world. At that point I wasn't coming here, it was too far and I was too far from my 8 year old self. How can a park of theme rides compete with the high that the real wonder of the natural world can offer? I'm a grown-up now, I don't need cartoon characters to make me feel good.

But then the news came in. I made sure my family had my contact information, just in case, and when I returned to my room there was a note. 'Please phone your mum' it said. Imagine the import of those words. What could be so terrible that she would find the need to send me a message all the way over here? I collected as many quarters as I could find and headed for a phone.

At home it was 6 am. I didn't wake my mum up though, she hadn't been to sleep. It was my sister, she said. She collapsed and died, very suddenly. There was nothing anyone could do. My money ran out before I could break down on the phone. I did that under a tree nearby. Someone in a cabin close to me shut their window to drown me out, who wants their stay in paradise ruined by the upset of a stranger?

I felt empty and disorientated. And so far from home. I needed to get back, but during that long, lonely night I decided there was something I needed to do first. I needed to come here, to Disneyland, to somehow say goodbye to my elder sister who looked after me all the way through childhood, to commemorate the child that she was in some way.


This idea has driven me for the past day or so, but somehow it seems as if it has been a quest that has taken me years. And now it seems silly, the adult in me has once more reduced Disneyland to a collection of thrill rides. I could walk away now, say goodbye to my sister and our dreams here, at the gate.

But I don't. Sometimes you just have to take a leap of faith, let the outcome decide itself. I join the crowds and pass on through to the Town Square. So far, so good. The music calms me and cheers me. I spot characters waving and signing autographs for hoards of children. I can sense the adrenalin of those around me. It's going to be okay, I tell myself. I'm not going to end the day bereft of all hope.

But as I head into Main Street, I spot it. Sleeping Beauty's castle. The pastel pink castle that represented everything my sister and I understood to be Disneyland. Neither of us were girly girls. We didn't dress up in tiaras and shiny dresses. But we did draw pictures of the castle. At first we copied them from the magazine and then we drew our own designs, adding turrets, gardens, animals. But we always coloured them pastel pink with blue roofs, they were always Disneyland castles after all. Seeing it here in real life for the first time, I know it is going to make me cry. I try to distract myself. I look in the shop windows, and up at the names written on the windows above. I watch the family groups and listen to their conversations. Two young girls in mouse ears dance about in front of me, no doubt excited about what the day has in store. Suddenly I feel conspicuous being on my own. No one seems to be on their own except me. My loneliness grows and on a bench in front of the castle - our castle - I collapse and the tears pour down my cheeks.

I know I am attracting attention. I try to hide myself by putting my head in my hands. I sense someone sit down beside me, their weight causes me to lift a little.

A voice says:

'This is probably a silly question, but are you okay?'

No, I'm not okay, I wanted to say. I am not okay and I will never be okay again. But I don't. I've temporarily lost the ability to speak. I look up and nod. The person sat beside me on the bench is a middle-aged man, dressed in white with a legionnaire's style hat on. He is holding a dust pan on a stick and a brush.

Very gently he touches my arm with his free hand. It's been a long time since I had any physical human contact, that's what happens when you travel about, you develop a shield to keep you safe but it also keeps people at bay.

'You know, I see a lot of emotions here, but it's not often I see someone cry. Is there anyone with you?'

This man is so gentle, I feel he really cares. So I tell him:

'I just lost my sister, she died, we wanted to come here when we were kids so I've come here for us both.' It takes me a long time to say it but the man just sits and waits for me to finish.

The crowds have gone now. A few people glance at the red-eyed girl and the cleaner on the bench but with not enough curiosity to cause them to stop. I look at the man's badge. It tells me his name is Ray and he comes from somewhere in Pennsylvania. That's a long way to come to clean streets, maybe Disneyland was his dream too.

'What was she like, your sister?'

At that moment I realise I have probably never described my sister to anyone. At first it is hard, I have to think what she is, no, what she was like. I begin to tell Ray about her nature, her quietness but also her strength, her ability to listen to people and rarely to judge them. I tell him about the work she did with disabled children and suddenly realise that there will be a lot more people missing her than just me and my mum and dad.

Slowly I draw to close. You can't really describe someone in five minutes, it should take days to cover everything about who they were, but you can make a start. I realise what Ray has done for me.

'Thank you,' I say. And then, 'You won't get in to trouble will you, spending time with me rather than doing your work?'

'No,' he replies, 'sitting here with you is my work. That's what Walt would have said anyway.' He nodded to the statue in front of me. I saw it for the first time, a man and a mouse, incongruous really but somehow it explained the nature of life exactly.

Sometimes it takes a cartoon mouse to reach out to people. My 8 year old self understood that and my adult self was glad that that child had kept the dream going within me.

Ray spoke again:

'If I can give you a piece of advice,' he began. I nodded. 'Go to Space Mountain. And when you're in there, in the dark, scream as loudly as you can. Scream for the fear of it if you like, but also scream for your sister, scream for your loss, scream for whatever. I promise you, you'll come out more prepared to face the future than when you went in.'

So that is what I do. And it wasn't a happy ending as such but at least it held the promise of a new beginning. It is time to go back home.

[churros]

Well I needed a tissue for that one!

[ajp]

Well I needed a tissue for that one!

I have to agree there! I read this last night - and yesterday a long time colleague and friend buried her 23 yo son after a battle with cancer that started with melanoma. So to read this was just another very sobering moment.

I will say that this is much better than the story that was selected as the winner. I thought the winner's story while being imaginitive was a little too over the top. But I suppose it would have been difficult to select this over a feel good type story.

[Mel]

Well I needed a tissue for that one!

I'm halfway through a box. I'll have to pop over and read the winner, but this one will take some beating.