Thunder Mountain Like Sand Castle
They stepped through the gates. He held her hand. She laughed as the wind blew the brim of her hat. Couples and children stared at them. He took her waist and turned her. It felt good to be in that place. People passing looked at them. Children argued. A mouse waved. He held her closer as they cut in line to the Golden Zypher.
Sometimes being someplace with someone was the best feeling in the world, though sometimes it was not.
“Doesn’t Big Thunder Mountain look like a sand castle?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“You know the kind you dribble? Water and sand?” Her lips pouted.
The afternoon sun was hot. A couple asked for a picture. He stood with the couple as she took the picture. She handed back the camera. The couple smiled. “Let’s not talk about sand castles,” he said. “Not now. Not here.”
Another couple wanted a picture. Everyone wanted pictures that day.
Their guide escorted them to the front of another line. She held his hand. “Is it wrong for us to go to the front of the line?” she asked.
“How would I know? How would I know what is wrong?”
Her fingers squeezed his fingers. She turned away. She squinted in the glint of the monorail. “If I don’t mention sand castles, then?”
She looked back.
“Yes then,” he said.
“Will we be cute, then?”
“I said so didn’t I? Didn’t I say that?”
“Yes,” she said. “I heard you. I heard you say that.”
The attendant waved them through.