No Mickey for Mykel
Z.C. Angel
As a child, my heart and soul belonged to one place. The place every child wants to see at least once in their lifetime was four states away from me. I lived in Virginia and my “heaven” was in Florida; Orlando, Florida to be exact.
Heaven to me was Disney World and it still is. I told my parents when I was six years old that I wanted my ashes spread inside Cinderella’s castle in the Magic Kingdom. They told me nothing, since they never listened.
One day, I overheard my parents talking about going on a trip. I was so excited. I ran into my room and packed. I slept that night thinking that in no time I’ll see Disney World and get to buy a Donald Duck souvenir.
My parents woke me up the next day and said, “Mykel, we’re going on a trip to Florida for a week.”
I jumped for joy.
After two minutes, my parents sat me down on the bed and explained that the “we” on the trip only included mommy and daddy. I’d had to stay with my grandparents.
“Why?” I asked. Tears occupied my vision. “Why?”
They never answered. An hour later I was on my grandparent’s sofa feeling numb.
A week had gone by and my parents finally made it back from their trip to Florida. They picked me up and never once asked me how my week was. They did say something that stung for a lifetime.
My mother looked at my father who was driving and she said, “The trip was amazing hon, especially Disney World.”
If this were a movie, this would’ve been the moment where the camera zooms in on the main character’s shock face; the main character being me. Since it wasn’t a movie, all that was heard was a small gasp come out of my heart.
My mother turned around and asked me what was wrong. I told her that I’ll show her when we get home.
The car pulled up into the driveway and I got out of the car even before my dad had a chance to turn it off. I opened the front door with my house key. I ran up the stairs and went to my room. My room looked like serial killer’s dens except the walls were plastered with Disney character pictures.
My parents walk through the front door and all I heard was, “What’s his problem?”
I screamed, “MY PROBLEM IS YOU!”
I put my hands on my mouth once the words had left it. I never screamed or talked back to my parent’s at all.
My dad walked into my room and then my mom came in behind him.
He looked at me and asked, “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I said as I backed towards one of my walls.
“Why are we your problem?” My mom asked with her hands on her hips.
I pointed to the walls in my room.
My mom looked at them and asked, “Disney?”
“Yes! You guys went to Disney without me!” I cried and feel to the floor.
“So,” my dad said.
“Yeah, it was okay,” my mom said.
“You knew that Disney was my dream place to go. You said it was too expensive to go to but you both went without me and now I’ll never see Mickey or his friends!” I got on my bed and went under the covers.
“Get over it, Mykel,” my dad said as he walked out of the room.
My mother pulled the covers off me and I thought she was going to console me. Yeah right.
She basically told me to stop “fucking” crying and to grow up. (I’m only 7.) Disney was for little kids and there was really nothing to do. (Didn’t she just tell my dad that Disney was amazing?) Plus that they spent their life savings on the trip so keep dreaming.
My mom continued, “If you want to see Mickey then get a mouse and write Mickey on it. If you want to get on Splash Mountain then spray yourself in the face with a spray bottle. If you want to get on Thunder Mountain then wait for the next thunder-storm. If you want to get on Space Mountain then let me give you some space.”
She walked out, closed the door, then came back in and slapped me in the face and then left.
Two years later, a car hit me on the way back home from school. I died and my parent’s buried me in the ground instead of spreading my ashes in Cinderella’s castle.
Two things were confirmed that day:
- My parent’s never listened, loved, or wanted me.
- They were next to go, since I sure as hell am not Casper, the friendly ghost.
Z.C. Angel presents 