toothboy2k1
Earning My Ears
- Joined
- May 24, 2005
- Messages
- 30
It is hot, sun beating down, people everywhere. The line for Indiana Jones clogs the already-too-crowded strip of pavement that winds through Adventureland. Stop. Push to the side to get around a stroller. Bumping and jostling, mumbled "Excuse me"s. Then a standstill, sunlight on the back of the neck burning to the next layer of skin.
Suddenly a movement out of the corner of the eye. Something breaks through this thick mist of humanity. A clearing.
A wheelchair passes to the right, pushed easily by a woman wending her way carefully along the path.
In the chair sits a man. No, he is not sitting. He is kneeling, facing backward, his tiny body strapped in tightly. Small withered arms reach to the backrest where hands grip tightly. Upon his head, which is of usual adult size and impossibly large for his frame, sits a white foam helmet that cradles the back of his misshapen skull.
Two seconds later his face comes into view. Upon it is a dazzling smile, so bright it outshines the people, the heat, the noise. It is magical, casting a spell lifting the heart into the clouds, offering a view of what truly matters in this place.
And then he is gone, the curtain of people closing again, leaving behind an image that, if one is truly lucky, will never fade over the years.
Addendum: In the airport the next day, a woman speaking on her cell phone describes her trip in a voice that knows no etiquette. "Oh man, two days in Disneyland, the wind is out of my sails after so much time in that god-forsaken place."
Images of the smile surface, as do thoughts of how someone could be so self-absorbed as to miss the utter joy found in that "god-forsaken place"
You need only to look.
Suddenly a movement out of the corner of the eye. Something breaks through this thick mist of humanity. A clearing.
A wheelchair passes to the right, pushed easily by a woman wending her way carefully along the path.
In the chair sits a man. No, he is not sitting. He is kneeling, facing backward, his tiny body strapped in tightly. Small withered arms reach to the backrest where hands grip tightly. Upon his head, which is of usual adult size and impossibly large for his frame, sits a white foam helmet that cradles the back of his misshapen skull.
Two seconds later his face comes into view. Upon it is a dazzling smile, so bright it outshines the people, the heat, the noise. It is magical, casting a spell lifting the heart into the clouds, offering a view of what truly matters in this place.
And then he is gone, the curtain of people closing again, leaving behind an image that, if one is truly lucky, will never fade over the years.
Addendum: In the airport the next day, a woman speaking on her cell phone describes her trip in a voice that knows no etiquette. "Oh man, two days in Disneyland, the wind is out of my sails after so much time in that god-forsaken place."
Images of the smile surface, as do thoughts of how someone could be so self-absorbed as to miss the utter joy found in that "god-forsaken place"
You need only to look.
