LJ Idol Week 13: Abandon hope, all ye who enter here

[flipflop_diva]

It’s a game we all play, my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather and me. My grandfather is in the front passenger seat this time, my mother is driving. My grandmother sits between my sister and me in the back. My sister is three, too young to play.

We all stare out the windows, searching desperately through the trees (except my mom, who is supposed to be watching the road, but she checks occasionally too), past the buildings, until finally, finally, we can see it — that little white point sticking up above everything else.

The Matterhorn. That little beacon that signals we’re getting close.

We point and squeal (or at least I do. The others play along, pretend they are just as excited). And then we watch it grow bigger as we get closer, the grin on my face never fading, the excitement ever increasing.

(This is a long time ago, before the buildings get too tall and the cities get too congested, and the Matterhorn gets lost in the clutter and you can’t see it till you’re there. This is way before now, when you could see it for miles, when it was still the tallest thing around.)

•••

We start at Pirates. We always do. Just as we always play our Matterhorn spotting game, we always start at Pirates. Then it’s Haunted Mansion. Then Thunder Mountain. (That’s my favorite. When I was three and my mother was pregnant, my grandparents took me on it with them. It was in beta testing then, so the rules were a little lax. I slipped under the bars, too small for them to safely hold me. My grandparents each held one of my arms till we made it safely back. They probably were scared to death. I don’t remember it, but Thunder Mountain has been my favorite ride as long as I can remember. It definitely didn’t traumatize me, that’s for sure.)

The line at Pirates this chilly day in April is short. It’s gray out, the skies cloudy. There’s a chance of rain later, but I don’t know that. I just know it’s spring break, and this is the best day of the week.

I’m just old enough to be learning how to read, and I read all the signs out loud to my mother, sounding out the words, so proud of what I know.

There’s a sign in Pirates, right before you plunge into the dark, right before the drop (my favorite part of that ride). “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here” it says. I think it’s silly. This is the happiest place on earth after all! Who would ever abandon hope?

•••

It’s getting colder by lunch time. Cold enough that I need to put on a jacket. We’re in Tomorrowland by now. My grandmother really likes the Skyway — my mom doesn’t like heights so she never really loves this ride. She wants to go on It’s a Small World instead, but it’s getting windy out and she thinks maybe it would be better to do this first if my grandmother is going to insist (and my grandmother does insist). So we get in line, all five of us, my mother resigned to her fate in the sky.

(This is long ago, when the Skyway is a thing. A gondola-like ride with little cars — buckets, they call them — that drift above the park between Fantasyland and Tomorrowland.)

The first segment of the ride, the one to Fantasyland, is smooth. A little windy, but I like how it makes our little bucket swing slightly in the air. The second segment of our ride, the one back to Tomorrowland, is not so smooth.

We’re approaching the opening of the Matterhorn, maybe ten feet away, when it happens. Our bucket stops.

We look around, see all the other swinging buckets, and settle back into our seats. This happens a lot. Someone has trouble getting on or off so they stop all the buckets from going. But this time our bucket doesn’t start back up. This time we sit there. For five minutes, for ten minutes, for twenty minutes.

We look down below, craning our necks. We can see the park beginning to empty out. We see the bucket in front of us, the one that stopped in the center of the Matterhorn, being opened by a Disney employee.

“Help is on the way!” one of them shouts to us.

My mom is definitely not pleased with this development. The skies are growing darker, angrier. The wind is picking up. In the distance, there is a crack of thunder. We hear an announcement that Disneyland is closing, that everyone must exit.

We watch the rides we can see from up above come to a halt. We see more people head to the exit.

My grandmother passes out mints to me and my sister like they are candy. My mom holds my sister in her lap. I huddle between my grandparents.

The adults all seem nervous. I think this is exciting, except I really don’t like it when the wind causes our bucket to swing a bit violently. I really, really don’t want to fall.

The fire department shows up. Big red trucks driving down the streets of Disneyland. I peer over the edge of our bucket as my grandmother holds me tight. We watch the firefighters raise the cherry picker — I have never seen one before — inching it up to all the other buckets on our side of the Matterhorn, the firefighters riding it helping people off one by one and lowering them back to the ground.

Our bucket can’t be reached by the cherry picker, an employee tells us. It’s over a ledge of the Matterhorn.

So we wait. And wait some more. It’s raining now. And it’s cold. The thunder is a lot more frequent. We can see the lightning.

The Disney employees use a long poll and manage to hand us windbreakers. My mom is really not happy. I’m tired, and a little scared, but also still amazed watching everything happen.

Our firefighters finally come. They put their ladder up against our bucket. We can’t open the door to the car, so my grandfather hands me over the side, to one of the firemen. He carries me down as I try to peer around me.

He deposits me into the center of the Matterhorn while they go to get my sister and my mother and my grandparents. The other firefighers and two Disney employees stay with me, but I just stare around at everything in awe.

When everyone is off safely, the Disney employee leads us to an elevator that stops at the bottom of the Matterhorn. We exit the elevator. There are machines everywhere. Wires and levers and things I don’t understand.

I look at my mother in glee. “We’re inside the Matterhorn!” I whisper excitedly.

They put all of us into a little golf cart, drive us to some building backstage. I’ve never been so excited. There’s so much back there — little roads and buildings and racks and racks of costumes.

There are other people in the little building they take us to. The other people from the Skyway and a few of the other rides where rescuing was needed. There is a medical station and blankets and a hot chocolate station. I like that the best. I drink three giant mugs of it, while my mother goes off somewhere.

(She gets interviewed for the news. Later that night, we watch her on it. I’ll find out when I’m older that there was a tornado that day. That’s what shut down the park.)

She comes back with sweatshirts for all of us and ten free tickets. I slip my blue Mickey sweatshirt over my head and tell my mom, “We should get stuck every time!”

We get one more trip through the backstage alleys, this time in a fancy black car that takes us back to our own car so we can head home.

“I am going to have the best story for Show and Tell!” I say, and I wave goodbye to the Matterhorn as we head home.

•••

We go back a few months later, in summer this time. We play our Matterhorn game in the car and we head straight to Pirates first thing. I read the sign — “Abandon hope, all ye who enter here” — and I smile.

It’s good to be back.

(We never, ever go on the Skyway again, though. It closes a few years later.)





Thank you for reading! This was written for therealljidol Week 13. I know this is not the most obvious interpretation for this prompt, but it will always and forever remind me of Disneyland. I am nothing if not a Disney fangirl, and I have been my whole life. If you would like to read other takes on the prompt, please go here. Voting will be up Tuesday night.

Comments

[brightflower]

I love this! You capture your childhood excitement so well, ahaha. I'd be as terrified as your mom was though, if that happened to me. XD

[shadowwolf13]

This is a wonderful story!! Thank you so much for sharing!

[kehlen.livejournal.com]

*giggle* the poor adults.

I have never had anything quite as exciting happen to me when I was little, but I remember well the excited feeling of the danger you do not quite understand on a few similar occasions.

Thank you for sharing this memory.

[d0gs.livejournal.com]

This is such a lovely memory, and I could picture it all so vividly ♥

[mamas-minion.livejournal.com]

Thank you for sharing this story, I remember the skyway my mom hated it too.

[dmousey.livejournal.com]

How long ago did they close the skyway? I remember my children and I, plus their Aunt riding it. But that was over twenty yrs. Ago. Unless your talking about the one in Cali. I laughed when you said you never rode it again! Gee,I wonder why? Hehehehe. Hugs and peace~~~

[rayaso.livejournal.com]

What a great story, and such a wonderful adventure for a little child! You tell this extremely well. If I remember the story correctly (highly likely), halfshellvenus was once stuck on a Disneyland ride as well, but it was Small World, and she had to listen to "It's a Small World After All" over and over and over again. I think she would have preferred firetrucks.

[eternal-ot.livejournal.com]

This was an amazing story! And thanks for sharing it, for a kid it sure was an adventure to remember :)

[sinnamongirl.livejournal.com]

Good work! I do like it as an individual take on the prompt :)

[penpusher.livejournal.com]

It's always fun to take a peek behind the scenes, even if the experience could shock you!

[fodschwazzle.livejournal.com]

I can imagine being pretty scared by incoming thunder while stranded in a bucket high above the ground. As an adult, that would sort of break Disney's magic for me--it's cool to see that this little kid is unfazed and just takes it as it is.