“We’re following the leader, the leader, the leader!” Singing at the top of her lungs, Rosey marched gleefully down the middle of the crowded Disney path. Her family was on a vacation dreamed about for months, a time filled with Disneyland and distant relatives native to her hometown of Los Angeles. She had moved when she was five, two whole years ago. That was forever in a seven-year-old mind. Now she was in her favorite place to be: Disneyland.
She was leading her family towards the rafts for Tom Sawyer’s island, having immediately taken up the position of leader. Now she was marching, a general in her own mind. Like General Hathi in Jungle Book, she strode with no thought to who was behind her, or where they went. Something told her to check for them.
As she turned around, she realized she had no idea where they had gone. Her entire family was gone, simply vanished from the crowded park. The noises faded all around her as her heart raced, flying with Peter Pan to Neverland, as terror finally sunk in. She was alone. Alone in Disneyland.
One man stood still among the bustling families jostling around, rushing for lines that were way too full. He had wispy white hair, a kind face, and a ramrod straight back. He smiled at Rosey, putting her at ease immediately. Then his eyes widened as he looked behind her. Without moving his mouth or anything, she heard a voice that was his. Run. She whirled around again. Men were moving in from both sides. She looked at the old man. Run, Rosalind.
Run. She sprinted down the street, too young to wonder who the strange old man was, or why she was being chased. When her father found her at the docks of the Tom Sawyer rafts, she was surprised that he dismissed her story.
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“Who were the men after you, Rosey? What did they look like?” Asked a man across the desk. He was in a grey fitted suit, with rumpled up hair and her daddy’s glasses. He was sitting in a worn-out chair that had stuffing coming out of the arms and holding a notepad and pen, poised to scribble. He scribbled a lot, especially at the randomest times during a meeting. The desk had smudges on the glasstop, her fingers drawing maps and squares in the oily residue. She came in here once a week to talk to the man, and he asked her the same questions each time. She memorized the room, the spot on the ceiling tile that looked like Mickey Mouse, the stain on the wall that looked like Tigger. She didn’t like the striped thing on the wall, the one that was supposed to “put her at ease.” It looked stupid to her, too plain and boring.
“They were bad guys. They looked at me like Shere Khan looked at Mowgli. I think they were pirates.” She said again—always the same answer. She used different villains to make it interesting, but nothing could tell her they weren’t pirates. Hadn’t anybody watched Peter Pan? Pirates take little kids!
Her answer obviously disappointed the man in the suit. He sighed and started picking at the end of the armrest, wearing what little thread was left beyond what it could handle. Little hairs sprouted from them, a few more each visit. Eventually one thread would have more hairs than thread and snap, it would go.
“Okay… And this old man. What did he look like?” He smiled that fake smile adults get when you don’t say what they wanted you to say, like smiling makes a kid more cooperative. Rosey picked at her fingernails; they were far too dirty and grubby for a princess.
“Tall, old, white hair, kind eyes, and I told you his name is Oswald.” She had, of course, seen him since Disneyland. As it turns out, magic isn’t just in California or even in a theme park. Magic is anywhere you believe it, and Rosalind believed more than any other little girl. She was sure she heard Tinker Bell in the night, and Oswald had told her when she got back to Maryland that no one would believe in him. He took her by the hand and led her through recess, explained deeper meanings and life lessons to her, and kept her company during her lonely hours. The other kids denied he existed—they made fun of her. That’s why no one came to her aid that day.
“Oswald… yes… I see…” The grey-suited man scribbled with his over-runny pen with his ink-stained fingers. “So, why do you think these men and… Oswald… Showed up at the same time?” It was her turn to sigh. Twisting her charm bracelet that her father had given her last Christmas with Tinker Bell and Ariel and Belle on it—all the important ones, really—she looked up at him with dull eyes.
“I told you—they’re pirates, so they take kids.” Seriously, no one paid attention during Peter Pan. The man scratched his head and scribbled some more, and continued to pick at the arms of his chair. “Besides, since then there’s been a tiger in my back yard and a pink cat in my tree. I know you won’t believe me—Oswald said you wouldn’t.” The man rubbed his temples, then his eyebrows, then his eyes, and finally drew his hand down his face, which drooped in defeat. The clock ticked too loudly, and he adjusted his tie tighter and matched his fingers up in that reserved adult way that says “I’m about to say something profound.”
“So, does Oswald visit you a lot?”
“Yes. He plays with me and we take walks.” She nodded to herself, bobbing her pigtails and bouncing her feet as she fingered the Aurora charm. “But you don’t believe me, so it don’t matter.” She looked up at him with her blue eyes dulled with boredom.
“Doesn’t,” her mother would say. “It doesn’t matter.” This man never corrected her grammar, but that made it worse. Rosey could hear her mom anyway, correcting her grammar, telling her to get her head out of the clouds, berating her to do her homework. Oswald said that some adults forgot magic long ago. Those adults don’t see the point of dreams. He also said that other adults remember magic, but outgrew it. These adults are worse—they make the dreams seem shallow, like a pretty black and white dress with flowers all around it and a flouncy skirt that one day can’t get over your head and disappears from your closet. You wish you had the dress, you remember it fondly, but as you get older you think to yourself how tight it was and how itchy it could be, and say oh well I don’t care anymore when you really do. At least, that’s how Oswald explained it. It made her smile—her dress was getting rather tight when it disappeared. Maybe Mother had some sense after all. Rosey did know one thing. She knew she never would outgrow magic—it was so wonderful!
“Rosey, you’re getting older. Soon you’ll have to let go of Oswald and the pirates.” He said it. He finally said it. Rosey sighed and kicked her feet. How could you let go of a friend? The stuffy man looked at the clock and his face relaxed. “Our time is up for the week, I’m afraid.” He stood up with a Ken doll smile and opened the door for her. She skipped out of the office, her dress and curls bouncing with her and her little shoes clicking on the tile floor. She hurried to recess, her weekly meeting over at last.
You know he means well. They are trying to explain why Reggie did what he did. Yes, Reggie had shoved her, and yes, something snarled at him. He had screamed that she bit him, but she would remember that, wouldn’t she? No kid in the yard was going to defend her. They didn’t like her.
Sometimes there were whispered conversations in her house. “No friends” “worried” “long enough.” Her parents would argue these statements repeatedly. They obviously had conversations with the suited man. They talked the same way.
The school wanted to make sure she was “safe.” She squirmed at the thought. She was safe—and she wasn’t just a dumb kid!
No, she wasn’t about to tell the school that the tiger in the bushes was her friend, or that Reggie was a mean kid who shoved everybody and deserved to go to the principal’s office crying about how Rosey was a menace. Anyone with common sense knows that Tigger couldn’t hurt anyone.
I want to show you something. Oswald was standing at the edge of the playground. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat. It’s almost time to say goodbye. No, I won’t, she wanted to say. I will never say goodbye. You’re growing up. I will never grow up! I said soon. We still have time. Let’s go exploring, Rosalind. Rosey took Oswald’s strong, weathered hand and walked into the woods once more, wondering what new sights were in store this week. She knew he would always be there. He was going to be her true friend. No one believed her, of course. No one ever would.
