Layover

by Amy Andelson

  But then Poppy comes barreling back from the picture board. “Our eyes were closed in all of them!”

  “That’s okay—we’ll get another shot of us later,” Flynn reassures her. And the moment between us has passed. “I don’t know about you guys, but I could use some dry clothes.”

  The sun felt good, but my shirt is still damp. “How about a wardrobe change?” I suggest, and then follow the girls as they race into the Westward Ho Trading Company.

  We pick out a Donald Duck sweatshirt for Amos, Ariel for Poppy, and Simba for me, and Mickey Mouse ears all around. May as well go all out. “Thanks, Neel. You can add it to the tab,” I say, as I hand over his credit card to pay for our souvenirs up at the register.

  We throw on our new gear (mouse ears and all), and Poppy insists on taking a selfie. As we wait for the Polaroid to develop, I’m hit with a pang of sadness. Because this really is all coming to an end—not just our adventure here in LA, but Amos, Poppy, and me. Whatever we are will no longer be. I spent so many nights, when I first got to New York, wishing I were back in California. But now, Woodside doesn’t feel like home anymore.

  I look at the picture as it slowly comes into view—our happy faces crammed together, Poppy in the middle, Amos and me barely in the frame. Poppy and Amos have always looked more like actual siblings—they both have Louisa’s fair skin and wide-set blue eyes. But Poppy and I have the same goofy grin, and somehow I feel better knowing we’ll always share that.

  “What’s next?” Amos asks as I follow him out of the store. And because this is it, because this is the end, I take his hand in mine.

  “You choose.”

  Flynn takes my hand, and it brings an involuntary smile to my face. I feel caught. She has this way of stripping away the façade. It’s nothing calculated on her part. Nothing she’s even aware of. But when she looks at me like that—straight on—she destroys me all over again.

  My choice. “Tomorrowland. It’s the only place we have left to go.” And I smile because it’s true—our family, our lives as we knew them are already a thing of the past. One way or another we’ll have to move forward. We’ll go back home, even though everything will be different. Like Tomorrowland, it will be a future full of nostalgia. I sense myself becoming morose, but I feel an obligation to make the best of what’s left of today. I pocket Poppy’s Polaroid in the wallet Jack got me last Christmas, and put my arm around Flynn.

  “Shall we?” I ask her.

  She wraps her long arm around me, hooking her finger on one of the belt loops of my jeans. It feels intimate, and I like it. The proximity. We let ourselves walk like this—holding each other. Flynn smiles, and I see she’s distracted watching our feet. She’s trying to sync our steps. I try to throw her off. It’s stupid. It’s a thing we used to do. We’re so focused, looking down, that we plow into a group of kids and nearly trip over ourselves.

  I jokingly give her a shove and look back at Poppy. “Psyched for Space Mountain?”

  Only Poppy is not behind me.

  “Poppy?” I call out.

  “What’s wrong?” Flynn asks, turning around.

  “Where is she?” I yell back, not meaning for it to be at her.

  “I don’t know…she was right here.”

  “Well, clearly she’s not.”

  “Poppy!” Flynn shouts frantically.

  Our eyes scan the crowd of khaki shorts and chubby legs, sunburns, sandals, and strollers for any sign of our little sister. I don’t see her anywhere.

  “Shit, Amos! What do we do?” Flynn asks, as if I have any freaking clue.

  “Retrace our steps. She couldn’t have gone far,” I say in a way that I hope masks my anxiety.

  I’m mad. But not at Flynn. I should have known better. I can’t let the world fall apart every time she looks at me. That’s what got us here in the first place.

  Where’s my camera? I need my camera. My eyes search everywhere.

  “Excuse me?” a lady scolds me as we collide, but I don’t have any time to stop and say sorry. I don’t see it anywhere. But it has to be somewhere. My camera! How could I lose it? It’s my most important possession. I swear I had it around my neck a few seconds ago in the gift shop. Did I leave it there? I must have left it there. Maybe it’s by the register? Or over by the sweatshirts? I’ve gotta get my camera.

  “Poppy!” I call out as I sprint back in the direction of the gift shop. Amos runs up to random strangers, asking if they’ve seen our little sister, but no one is of any help. How is this happening? Where could she be? She was right behind us.

  “How do you keep losing her?” Amos yells at me as we scour the herds of people outside the store.

  Seriously? Isn’t it just like him to blame me. I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. I ignore him. Where is she? I need to keep moving.

  “Good, Flynn. Not talking to me is really going to help the situation right now,” Amos rants.

  I can’t take it anymore. I whip around. “How is it possible for you to never take any responsibility for anything?” I yell at him.

  “I’m the irresponsible one?” Amos snaps.

  “Why don’t you just let me deal with this—like everything else?”

  “Like how you dealt with last night?”

  That was low. I charge ahead, calling Poppy’s name and moving so fast through the crowds that Amos can barely keep up.

  “Flynn! Slow down! Stop running!” he calls after me. But I can’t. I don’t slow down, and I don’t turn back. Because we have to find her. We just have to find her.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I finally catch up to Flynn. I grab her arm to try to get her to stop for a minute.

  “Amos, I’m not gonna waste time fighting with you.” She doesn’t look at me, her eyes darting in a million different directions. “Do you think she went to find a bathroom? Or maybe she got ahead of us and she’s already at Space Mountain? What if someone took her?”

  “We’ll look everywhere—we’ll find her,” I say.

  “This place is massive. She could be anywhere. We need to split up.”

  “So that you and I lose each other, too? No way.”

  “We never should have tossed our phones. That was so dumb,” Flynn laments.

  “Well, that’s not really helpful now, is it?” I fire back. “We never should have done a lot of things.”

  She flinches and swallows hard. She looks at the clock on Sleeping Beauty’s castle. “Meet back here in forty-five minutes. At three o’clock.”

  And then we race off, in a desperate search to find our sister.

  My camera isn’t inside the store. I ask the woman at the register if she’s seen it. She says no and tells me to go to Lost and Found. Lost and Found? Come on, lady. She must have spent too long in Fantasyland. If someone finds a camera, they’re going to keep it. It’s gone. My camera is gone forever.

  One…two…I’m trying to count, trying to calm down, but I’m too dizzy and light-headed. One…two…I can’t get to three. There isn’t enough air in here. I have to get outside. I push my way out of the store and look around for Flynn and Amos. But I don’t see them. We were all together. But then…my camera.

  I climb onto a bench and nudge a mother and her toddler out of the way so I can stand up to see better. I look everywhere. It feels like that game you play when you’re little: I spy. I spy with my little eye…you know? But I don’t spy Amos or Flynn anywhere. In fact, nothing here looks familiar, and now I’m wondering if I went out a different exit than before. Maybe I should go back in the store? Or maybe I should wait here in case they come looking for me? Maybe I should go to the Disneyland police, but I don’t want Flynn and Amos to get mad at me for turning us in.

  I decide to keep walking because I don’t know what else to do.

  “Flynn! Amos!” I cry out, but they�
��re not anywhere. I wasn’t in the store for that long. Was I? Did they just forget about me? Maybe they don’t even realize I’m gone. Amos said he wanted to go on Space Mountain next. I bet they’re there. That must be it. I just have to get to Tomorrowland.

  I’m trying to figure out which way to go, but there’s a baby crying its head off, and a group of carolers singing “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town,” so it’s really hard to think. They are smiling at me with these creepy grins, and they’re way too loud. I walk away, but I get trampled by a herd of teenage boys running past me. I fall to the ground. My hands burn from hitting the pavement, and I feel tears streaming down my cheeks. I need Flynn and Amos. Where are they? What if no one finds me? I’ve wanted to come to Disneyland my whole entire life, and now all I want to do is go home. But what if I never get there?

  She isn’t in the store, or in line again at Splash Mountain. She isn’t back by the churro stand. Or at Space Mountain. I run frantically through the park, suddenly glad for all the training I’ve been doing. I’m trying to be fast, but also alert enough to not miss her. I feel like I’m in one of those Where’s Waldo? books. Everybody looks like Poppy but isn’t Poppy. All the while I know that this search is probably futile. She’s probably looking for us, too. We’re bound to run in circles—destined to keep missing each other.

  We’re so dumb. Poppy has the tendency to run off. We know this. We should have made a plan—if one of us gets lost, we meet back at X. Defeated, I start to make my way to Sleeping Beauty’s castle. The big hand on the giant clock creeps toward the twelve, and I’m full of dread.

  I let myself believe for a second that Amos found her. That she’s safe and sound. I anticipate how it will feel to see them in the periphery and then watch them round the corner together and walk toward me. I imagine throwing my arms around Poppy. I would apologize to her. For everything. And I would tell her that she’s my sister—my whole sister—and that I will love her for always. The thought makes me giddy, but then I spot Amos in the distance…and he’s alone.

  I crumple down to the curb. Amos hovers over me. And now I’m angry. At Poppy for wandering off. At Amos for everything. But mostly I’m angry at myself. This was my idea. All of it. I look up at Amos and squint into the sun as I say to him, “We really fucked up.”

  “Come on,” Amos says, taking my hand and pulling me up.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “To get help.”

  Flynn and I run up to a portly dude barely older than I am, a little too eager to wear his Disneyland security badge, if you know what I mean. Not so surprisingly, he tells us that kids get lost here all the time. He takes us to the Baby Center, basically the park’s Lost and Found for kids. But there is no sign of her. Then we follow the guy to City Hall, where he asks us to explain exactly how we lost our little sister. He asks to see a picture of Poppy, and we have to tell them that we don’t have one.

  “You don’t have a picture of your sister anywhere on your phone?” he inquires dubiously.

  “I don’t have my phone on me,” I reply.

  “And what about you?” He turns his questioning toward Flynn. “You must have a picture of your sister somewhere on yours. Facebook? Instagram? Anything?”

  “I don’t have my phone, either,” Flynn answers sheepishly.

  And now Tweedledum is downright suspicious.

  “So you’re telling me that neither of you two teenagers have a cell phone on your person?”

  Flynn and I shake our heads, looking undoubtedly suspect. Part of me feels like we should just come clean and tell him everything. Especially when he starts asking about our parents. Of course he wants to talk to Jack and Louisa, but they’re not supposed to land in LA for a few hours. They were mad enough when I spoke to them this morning—I can’t even imagine how they will react to this. Not like we don’t deserve it.

  “Oh, wait!” I say, remembering the Polaroid in my wallet. “It’s blurry, but that’s her in the middle.” The guy takes the photo from me.

  “All right, sit tight. Any information we get is going to come through here first. If it’s any consolation, we’ve never not found a child. In the meantime, is there an adult you kids can call?” he asks, although it sounds more like an accusation.

  I’m this close to breaking down, to just pouring my heart out and explaining to him that, no, there really isn’t anyone else for us to call. We’re all we’ve got. But there’s something tugging inside me, because I know, of course, that there is one call I could make.

  It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears. It’s a world of hope and a world of fears. The song won’t stop playing in my head on repeat as I try to make my way through the crowds in search of my older siblings. But I’m only fifty-four inches tall, and I feel like I’m being tossed around in a sea of grown-ups, and toddlers and backpacks, and strollers. There’s a holiday parade passing, with nutcrackers marching and women dressed as snowflakes roller-skating by. Mickey and Minnie wave from a float as it starts to snow from I don’t know where. I try to ride the wave, but now I can’t tell if I’m going backward or forward, or just around and around in circles. Like when I had an anxiety attack on the Central Park Carousel. Round and round and round. I have to get off. It has to stop. Make it stop. Where are Flynn and Amos? It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears. It’s a world of hope and a world of fears. Someone make it stop.

  I put my hands over my ears, but the song continues in my head anyway. It’s a world of laughter, a world of tears. It’s a world of hope and a world of fears. I realize that I’m sobbing, and when I do, it scares me. I want to scream, but I don’t even think anyone would hear me. I need to get away from this parade. The tears are pouring out so fast, it’s hard to see. Like that time we had to pull over on the Long Island Expressway because the rain was coming down faster than the windshield wipers could wipe. I can’t see where I’m going. But then suddenly, through the blur, I see a flash of color. And then I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Flynn! Finally. But as the face comes into view, I see it’s not Flynn at all. It’s Snow White.

  “We’re going to find her,” I say, attempting to reassure Amos.

  “I know,” he says, sounding anything but certain.

  And we go back to sitting in silence on the steps outside City Hall. Both, I’m sure, imagining the worst. I pick at something purplish and sticky on my jeans. I wish we’d never run. I wasn’t thinking. I was being reckless. And now we’re sitting here without our little sister. How could I have been so careless?

  I pick harder at the purplish gunk as I try to fight back the tears that are starting to feel unavoidable. But the only thing it accomplishes is that I now have the suspicious substance stuck under my fingernails, too. No wonder Louisa hates amusement parks. Despite the incessant blasting of cheery music, glisten of fresh paint, and perfectly trimmed topiaries, this place is absolutely filthy. And just like that, I can’t keep it in any longer. A single tear escapes, and I try to surreptitiously wipe it away, so I don’t alarm Amos any more.

  “We’re going to find her,” Amos says, taking his turn to try to calm us.

  I’m afraid I’ll sob if I try to speak, and anyway, I’m not sure I agree with him, so instead I simply keep my head down, and nod.

  Every second that we wait feels elongated with all the inevitabilities. This is it, I think. This is how you end up on the morning news. I imagine us on the Today show, making a tear-filled plea to Savannah as she feigns sympathy for our lost little sister. We’ll show a picture of Poppy—but which one? Then, out of nowhere, I laugh out loud. Amos looks at me questioningly.

  “Remember that time we lost Poppy at Aunt Mimi’s wedding?” I say to him.

  “How could I forget?”

  Poppy was only about two at the time. We were all in Miami for Louisa’s crazy younger sister’s first wedding. “Halfway through the trip, the nanny quit with n
o notice. What was her name again?” I ask Amos.

  “Stella?”

  “Della!” It’s all coming back to me now.

  “Of course. Good ol’ Della—that poor woman. Smarter than she seemed. She got out when she could.”

  “She always ate that vile spread.”

  “Vegemite! I used to have nightmares about that shit.”

  “Ugh, if I close my eyes I can still smell it. Disgusting.”

  Anyway, Della up and abandoned us (and really, who could blame her). So, naturally, Jack and Louisa had a panic attack at the prospect of being stuck on vacation alone with their three small children, and they immediately employed the hotel to find some local lady to look after us.

  We were all part of the bridal party. Amos and I already felt like old pros on the wedding circuit, having attended Jack and Louisa’s a few years back. After the ceremony we were allowed to linger at cocktail hour. But as soon as the doors opened, and the guests were escorted into the grand ballroom, we kids were whisked away—it was always the intent that we’d disappear during the dinner and dancing that followed. So here’s this poor local babysitter, stuck shuttling three unwilling kids up to bed in the elevator. She hit the button for the top floor, and Amos and I continued to complain about missing all the fun. The elevator stopped to let some other passengers off on a lower floor. They made their exit, relieved to be free of the whiny children, no doubt. And just as the doors were nearly closed, with an opening only big enough for a two-year-old to sneak through, Poppy made her escape!

  The problem was, of course, that none of us were paying close enough attention to know which floor we had just stopped on. Amos and I were in knots—uncontrollably giggling at the audacity of our littlest sibling. It was, as far as we were concerned, Poppy’s first act of independence. I think unconsciously we were both a bit inspired by the defiant little personality that was emerging. But needless to say, this poor babysitter was beside herself. Though she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, even she must have foreseen the disappearance of her big payday with the disappearance of her smallest charge. She had an immediate meltdown and started praying to Jesus.