#65: The closest things to angels that I’ve experienced.
Reader, I’ll start with this: I don’t believe in angels. At least not in the traditional sense. You know, God-adjacent beings that watch from above and guide us towards righteousness; adorned with a halo atop and blinding light emanating from the empty space slightly behind. Not those angels.
If the word and image of an angel or its equivalents is your interpretation or belief, I do not mean to discourage nor dissuade you. It’s just not mine, and while I do find the angels of religion to be a more human hyperbole, my thirty-eight years on this earth does not preclude me from believing that someone or something is out there nudging.
Nudging in the right direction…
…
My camera bag slung across my shoulder and rested snug between my chest and forearm. Inches from the lens rested a small felt box. A box I’ve been focused on since we left JFK airport almost twenty-four hours earlier.
I meticulously checked my watch. It was eight-thirty-one, and we were just seated at Trader Sam’s Tiki-Bar, a hidden gem of Disney’s Polynesian resort. As the waitress handed us our menus, little molten-painted creatures erupted as certain drinks were served.
“I’ll be right back,” the waitress said as she turned to chat with the table to our right.
To our left, a blue spotlight appeared on the wall behind the bar. Materializing from nowhere was the silhouette of an oblong face. Drums began beating slowly at first and then dramatically picked up speed. Eyes and a mouth formed with each beat until a face made of rock appeared with a circle for its mouth. The animatronics powering it drew in a deep breath before blowing yellow smoke out its mouth.
The waitress returned delivering a blue drink with yellow ice cubes bobbing at the top to the two other guests at our table. The one with the receding hairline took a sip and motioned to the other with the large gut, “Eh, this place has gone downhill.”
Turning to us, the waitress asked, “What can I get you?”
My girlfriend opened the menu, “I didn’t even get a chance to look yet. This place is awesome!”
“It happens every night, dear,” the waitress smirked. “Take your time.” And she twirled around and made her way back to the bar.
“I don’t know what I want,” Meg said while turning back towards the menu. “We should have looked at the menu while we were waiting to get in.”
I smiled and pretended to inspect the menu. As my eyes scanned without comprehension, I kept thinking: I can’t propose in a tiki-bar.
Before flying down, I had everything planned out. For years, Megan would describe a significant memory from her childhood: she remembered watching the fireworks from the Magic Kingdom on the monorail, and it’s something she hasn’t done in a very long time. On this trip, she’d get to experience this again, but this time, I’d make it more memorable than ever before.
Or so I hoped.
We were still in this bar, and it was already eight-forty. We had to have within in the next five minutes to have a chance of seeing the first expolosions light up the sky at nine o’clock sharp.
I looked across the table and grabbed her hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Meg looked confused for a moment. After all, we had just waited over an hour to get into this place. “What?”
I lowered my head, but my eyes were still locked with hers. “Do you trust me?” I asked, knowing she’d say yes.
“Of course,” she smiled.
I put my left hand over our intertwined rights. “Then, let’s go.”
Within seconds we bolted from our seats. Turning and twisting our way through the busy bar; Tetris pieces trying to find an exit. I imagined our waitress’s surprise after she returned, but the long line building at the bar’s entrance contained a plethora of new faces that would quickly replace ours.
“Where are we going?” Meg asked through heavy breaths as we ran.
Running even with her, I looked over to her, “The fireworks are starting soon!” Only minutes had passed between our departure from the bar and our arrival at the monorail.
As we reached the gates, we were instantly met by security. In Disney World, you cannot get on or into any park or transport without having your bags checked. Rightfully so, the company assess there’s too much risk not to. No doubt a symptom of our world.
We approached the turnstiles, and the guard ushered me forward. “Why don’t you go first?” I asked turning towards Meg. She went through, opening her small bag and fanny pack for the gentleman to quickly inspect.
Next, the guard motioned me forward and asked to empty out my camera bag. For nearly twenty-four hours I had been clutching this bag against my body, even as I slept. I looked out at the guard, and I use the word “guard” lightly.
As he looked me over, I did the same to him. His badge read “Mitch,” and it sat pinned to a uniform that blended Polynesian culture with a mall cop. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. His patchy beard covered parts of his baby face, and a hint of marijuana emanated off him.
“Look,” I whispered. “I have a ring at the bottom of this bag, and I can’t let her see it.” I continued, motioning my head towards Meg.
Mitch’s eyes widened and the corners of his lips turned upwards. “Okay sir, can you just step over here?” At his proclamation, Meg looked back with concern. Mitch extended his arm out, palm up, in her direction. “Please just stay over there, mam. This will only take a second.”
He began to go through my bag pulling out each item slowly. “So, how are you going to do it?” Mitch quietly asked.
As he continued, I explained to him my master plan. To his credit, he played the part well. He pretended to go through every compartment of my bag, never revealing the jewels it secretly contained.
“With all due respect,” he said as he placed everything back in my bag. “That’s stupid.”
“What?” I quickly looked up.
He handed me back my bag. “Trust me. You don’t want to be that guy who proposes on the monorail. Besides, it’s packed with guests this time of night.”
Mitch saw the bewildered look on my face, and after a moment said, “Here’s what you do. Take the monorail and get off at the Magic Kingdom.” His hands and arms punctuated his words. “Just outside the park are some benches. Do it there,” he said.
“You’re all good, sir. Move along,” he said winking and handing me back the bag.
A few feet away, I saw Meg motioning me to hurry up. In the distance, I could see the monorail pulling in as the station clock read eight-fifty-one. “What was that all about?” Meg asked after I caught up with her.
“Don’t ask,” I breathlessly chuckled to as the monorail arrived, and the doors quietly opened.
We, along with others, piled into the previously semi-full car heading towards the Magic Kingdom. Our sardine like car didn’t even allow us to stand near each other. I couldn’t help but think: the kid was right.
As the monorail car read eight-fifty-five, I knew I had to get into position. I started to inch my way around the car to stand next to Meg, but there were just too many others here. She smiled at me between two people just as the automated voice informed, “Next stop. Magic Kingdom.”
The doors opened and without thinking abandoned my carefully crafted plans. I grabbed Megan’s hand, saying “Let’s go!” She followed me out of the car as the familiar sounds of “When You Wish Upon a Star” began to play, indicating the start of the show. Hand in hand, we raced down the station steps and found ourselves in front of Disney’s Magic Kingdom.
I looked to my left and, with disbelief, saw two empty benches waiting for us. Choosing the further one, we sat down and looked up at the night sky. The clock in the distance positioned itself exactly at nine. The first fireworks began to illuminate the sky. Megan looked up, and I at her. The colors echoed across her face.
It was then than I released my camera bag and gently excavated its contents. Getting on knee, she looked downed towards me. It was perfect.
I asked the question, and the rest, as they say, is history.
…
Reader, am I trying to suggest that Mitch, the pot-smoking Disney guard, is an angel? Well, no, at least not in the traditional sense. However, I am suggesting that we all have encounters like this, from time to time. Where a complete stranger enters our life and makes an impact. Nudging us in the right direction before quickly leaving.
And those people, whether divine or not, are the closest things to angels that I’ve experienced.
Thanks for reading.