My
aunt would slap her thighs and spring up. The table would suddenly be
cleared, the dishes hastily stacked by the sink, and we’d all be
ushered through the sliding door, into the paneled den. A folding
screen would come out of a closet, the slide projector produced, like
a magician’s rabbit, from a suitcase-sized box. A carousel of
slides would be plucked from a stack of identical boxes.
I
sat on the floor, in the dark, soaking in gorgeous Kodachrome, as my
aunt extolled the pleasures of their latest (seventh?) visit to
Disneyland. As an eleven year-old who had never been to Disneyland, I
was carried aloft in a swirling hormonal storm of envy, longing,
anger, curiosity, and awe. I wanted to get up and leave, but I didn’t
want to might miss anything.
More
than fifteen years elapsed before I was able to find my own way to
Disneyland. Of course many things had changed, but much was the same.
I vividly remembered my aunt’s photos of Main Street USA, and Small
World, and Frontierland. I strolled around the park, waited in lines,
rode the rides, and marveled at the animatronics. Everything was
exactly what I expected but so much better. I was a pilgrim finally
visiting holy ground.
I
was riding the small gauge steam train that circles the park,
reveling in the intoxicating incense of bunker oil and creosote, the
rhythm of steel wheels on rails, when I understood why my aunt
implored us to sit in her darkened family room and submit to her
photography. I had always suspected that the trays of slides were a
boastful artifice, collected and curated to elicit precisely the
jealousy and humility I had felt. As that powerless eleven year-old,
I had never expected that I might travel the 1200 miles to
Disneyland. Yet, there I was.
I
ached to freeze that perfect blissful instant, aboard that clacking
little steam train, that I might later relive, savor, and share it.
Kodachrome might have come close. All I have from that day are
memories. They are excellent memories, but I wonder if a thousand
words can match the pictures in my head.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for the input!