![]() ![]() ![]() I'd been startled to know that she knew the Beatles. ![]() "And everyone knew her as Nancy," I sang. "But she called herself Lil," she sang, warm breath on my collarbones. Lil plumped her head against my shoulder and gave me a butterfly kiss under my jaw. I was more than a century old, but there was still a kind of magic in having my arm around the warm, fine shoulders of a girl by moonlight, hidden from the hustle of the cleaning teams by the turnstiles, breathing the warm, moist air. The Magic Kingdom was all closed up and every last guest had been chased out the gate underneath the Main Street train station, and we were able to breathe a heavy sigh of relief, shuck parts of our costumes, and relax together while the cicadas sang. On a muggy Wednesday, we dangled our feet over the edge of the Liberty Belle's riverboat pier, watching the listless Confederate flag over Fort Langhorn on Tom Sawyer Island by moonlight. Her folks were in canopic jars in Kissimmee, deadheading for a few centuries. ![]() She was neat and efficient in her every little thing, from her shining red hair to her careful accounting of each gear and cog in the animatronics that were in her charge. She was, quite literally, raised in Walt Disney World, and it showed. Her name was Lil, and she was second-generation Disney World, her parents being among the original ad-hocracy that took over the management of Liberty Square and Tom Sawyer Island. My girlfriend was fifteen percent of my age, and I was old-fashioned enough that it bugged me. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |