NO LIGHT TOO HARSH - Part Three

Mike and I love Disney World. We’ve been making an annual pilgrimage for thirty-five years. The first trip was on our honeymoon; and we enjoyed ourselves so much that we returned for our first wedding anniversary. Two years later, we had eight-month old Michael on our hips, and two years after that Jessica joined us. Along with thousands of other Mickey Mouse fans, Mike and I stood at the gates to the Magic Kingdom intoning, "Miska, Mooska, Mouseketeer," much to the questioning looks in our children’s eyes.

Now that we live only three hours from Orlando, we are able to revisit those wonderful memories on a regular basis but since Michael and Jessica were now adults, who no longer consider the park a viable vacation destination, we go alone.

During a recent visit we decided to forgo breakfast and head over to Epcot. World Showcase is our favorite place to wander while sampling ethnic cuisine and drink, especially the frozen margarita cart in front of the Mexico pavilion. Although most of the countries were still closed, the friendly senorita behind the poster of three fruit frozen alcoholic slush was doing a brisk business. It was, maybe, ten a.m., but Mike and I were already anticipating that first sip of Ambrosia.

My hands eagerly encircled a cup that was the equivalent of a 7-11 Big Gulp; I took my first sip. For most people this would not be a problem, but I am not a drinker, and I had no food in my stomach. With Mike keeping step, I began walking around the Epcot Lake. I drank so quickly that soon I was complaining of brain freeze. Mike warned me to slow down, but I was in tequila heaven.

So, we kept walking.... past Norway and China and the area that was to be Africa but never got developed. On to Italy and Morocco, where, finally, I had to go to the bathroom. Although still well maintained, Disney World is no longer new and the bathrooms leave a lot to be desired in most locations. This ladies room was a little dark with overhead fluorescent lights casting shadows on mirrors that had long ago lost most of their silver backing.

I used the facilities and approached the wall of sinks to wash my hands. I raised my eyes to look at myself in the mirror, but all I saw was an old woman wearing my clothes.

“Who the hell are you?” I sputtered aloud.

Cautiously, I turned to look behind me but no one was there. I squinted and bobbed my head from left to right, but the woman just wouldn’t go away. I started to cry.

Panicked, I ran outside to where Mike, ever the knight in shining armor, was waiting. Alarmed, he immediately prepared to defend me against the forces of evil. Unfortunately, time was one enemy he couldn't vanquish.

Choking and sobbing, I told him, "There's a woman...in there...in the mirror...she looks...like me, but...she's...not young ...anymore. I want...my babies...back. I want...to be mommy….again.”

The look on Mike's face, while at first confused, suddenly shone with understanding.

"It's okay, honey. You've just had a little too much to drink. Food will make everything all right. I know just the place to put the twenty-five year old back in your step."

And he did.

You see, as much as I like tequila, I like chocolate a whole lot more. In France, Mike bought the most divine little chocolate mousse desserts. Two or three of those (to absorb the alcohol), and I perked right up.

For the rest of the trip, both of us avoided anything stronger than Diet Coke. With each park we visited, I smiled brighter and laughed harder. The memory of the old lady in the mirror seemed to have been forgotten. Or, at least, that’s what we thought.

When we got home, I insisted that all the bulbs in the house be changed to LEDs.  I even considered covering all the lamps with scarves to soften the room lighting, but Mike said the only thing soft was my brain.

“Sweetheart, I love how you look. You know what they say, age is……,”

I cut him off. “Yeah, I know. Age is just a state of mind...and the onset of macular degeneration!”

Twenty years of living in Florida have passed with barely a notice. Mike and I consider ourselves Floridians in every way. Recently, we decided to reorganize the garage and throw away a lot of the junk we have accumulated, including broken appliances and plywood. High up on one of the shelves was a box, unmarked except for the moving company logo. Sealed and stored when the we bought our house, the dust covering the lid gave testimony to how little we need so much of what had been keep 

Not knowing what to expect, I ripped off the tape and lifted the top. Sneezing to disburse the particles of time that floated in the air, I saw two young faces gazing back at me.

"Oh my god," I called to Mike. "I remember this day."

As I picked up the photograph for a closer look, tears welled in my eyes. Instantly, I was transported back to that summer morning, a morning awash with sunlight made even more blinding by the sweet innocence of youth. Michael, age 7, and Jessica, age 5, wearing their Mickey Mouse ears and the brightest of bright, happy smiles stood between two of the Disney characters from Peter Pan. To either side of them stood Smee and Captain Hook with their plastic facial features frozen into place but nonetheless appearing harmless and friendly.

“If only we could have stopped the clock that day,” I whispered to Mike, who stood behind me with his arms encircling my waist.

“Now, why would you want to do that?” he asked. “Think how many memories we would have missed.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “So many memories we would have missed.”

I gave Mike a quick kiss on the lips and hurried into the house. When he entered our bedroom a few hours later, the pictures had been framed and stood on our dresser as a reminder that boxes covered in dust can hold great treasures.

Interestingly, I had placed the pictures under the brightest lamp in the room – and there wasn’t a scarf in sight.

THE END