We arrived at Walt Disney World approximately at noon on a rather hot day in the middle of the summer. People of all ethnicity wandered around us, arguing with their families about where they should go first. The public carried fanny packs, water bottles, strollers, backpacks, diaper bags, ibuprofen for their backaches, leashes for their children, Mickey Mouse caramel apples, Starbucks coffee plastic cups, while wearing shorts, tank tops, and sneakers. The children, however, wore eager looks upon their faces as they were star-struck by the happiest place on earth: which just so happened to exhibit Cinderella’s castle.

I was part of a family of five, not including my parents. I was the second to youngest but though much needier than my three-year-old sister who just looked at you and laughed all the time. I always needed all eyes on me and if they were not, I made sure that they were. My parents both came from previous marriages and my mother wasn’t my mother but Lauren, Joey, and Cora’s mother. My father was my three-year-old sister and I’s father. Lauren was the oldest out of the five of us and held her head higher than anyone I had ever known because she was finally old enough to have braces on her teeth. I laughed at this perplex and ironic situation because although she carried metal in her mouth, she was restricted from eating Mickey Mouse caramel apples. Joey was next in line and he stood about six foot four and was only a year younger than Lauren. He usually kept to himself and always questioned the structures of music even though he was rather fond of it. Cora, who had a different father than Lauren and Joey, was three years older than I and walked around like she owned the place since her father had taken her there so many times previous.

Once we confirmed that we had all of our essentials, we ventured on our twelve-hour adventure through Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom. We first rode “It’s a Small World” and, of course Joey questioned, “Why of all songs would they choose this one for this ride? The chords and beats are not near as complex as they put them out to be, someone must do something about this. I’ll write a complaint to the park to share my concerns.”
This was not even an hour into the park and he spoke of this nonsense.

The intercoms that welcomed us into the park said: “Welcome to the happiest place on Earth, Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom.”

After all the rides that everyone agreed to go on like “Peter Pan”, “Pirates of the Caribbean”, “Alice’s Tea Cups”, and “the Magic Carpet Ride”, we concluded to go to the Haunted Mansion ride. I was tired of walking but, like usual, no one even took that into consideration unless I pulled the famous tantrum. I kept myself contained as I held onto my mother’s but not my real mother’s hand with a firm grip.

Finally, the mansion was in sight and my goodness it loomed over me like the Grim Reaper himself. The early Gothic style, the griffin gargoyles, the steep ceilings, the dark and hidden concealment of the mansion itself gave me the realization that this ride was not made to welcome me with open arms. The gargoyles created for me a horrifying vision of them, leaving their mounted towers to sweep me from my planted feet on the ground, and capture me into their lairs to eat me for lunch. The vines intertwined amongst the gates and along the edges of the sidewalk, trying to drag me towards this looming ride that my family was about to force me to get on. In the midst of being terrified, I realized that the once comforting firm grip vanished. I turned around in circles and none of my family surrounded me anymore, leaving me in the dust. I couldn’t see them or hear them as I began to wail in fear that I was lost and forgotten.

Who will find me first?

Tears began to pour down my face like waterfalls, my face was red and swollen due to my screaming. A man at the pretzel stand about fifteen feet away from me noticed my deafening cries and asked questions that I had no absolutely desire to answer. The pretzel stand guy had a name: Jarred. Jarred reeked of mustard but remained calm while dealing with my terrified self.  I panicked. Who will find me first? I hoped it would not be this guy.
Jarred said to his radio: “We’ve got a lost girl around six years in age in the Haunted Mansion ride area. Dispatch please respond 10-4.”

“Where are your parents, little girl?”
“What’s your name?”
“When did you last see your family?”
“What were your brother and sisters wearing?”
“Do you remember where they were headed?”

These questions echoed inside my head, but the only ones I was most concerned about were: Who will find me first? Will I be forgotten and put into the void in space where all lost children go? With no parents or siblings, I was alone: lost and forgotten.

The radio said: “10-4, keep the girl calm we are on our way.”

At last, I saw my father running through the crowd with my siblings and stepmother and he picked me up with relief and joy. I immediately ceased to cry and my worries faded. My father kindly thanked the man at the pretzel stand for making sure I was all right and calling for the parents who had lost a little girl who wore a pink and white dress with white sneakers. They scolded me for letting go of stepmother’s hand and said how worried they were for the ten minutes that could not locate me.

I heard the radio in the background: “Cancel units. Family has been located and the girl has been reunited with her family.”

We ate lunch in Cinderella’s castle soon after the almost catastrophe. I was fortunate enough to get Cinderella’s autograph.