We were grown folk in New Orleans, drinking brown liquor with jazz from the source as the soundtrack, and as we rode east we anticipated Disney World and started to drive back into childhood. Sweetie engaged one of her longtime friends, who is a master-level Disney World aficionado as well as a chef, and during the first hours on the road she booked a stay and began assembling a list of must-dos—but, more importantly to me, must-eats—while reserving space for them. I pointed out how many alligators had to be in every pond, ditch, or otherwise wet surface, and we flowed east.
I had been on this road, I-10, before. It’s what my family used to visit our family in Mobile. I remember going through once when the land was recovering from Hurricane Camille, and I remember coming through another time in a van, fighting a dog for the air conditioner. This time I made the journey through the green tunnel of the South with my Sweetie by my side and Moon behaving like a vehicle designed to transport people in luxury over long distances.
I started buying pins back when we were in Area 51, and the first of my collection was an alien’s head. In Colorado I picked up a couple in the mountain towns we visited, and by Taos I had picked up a habit. My belt played out in Colorado, and Sweetie secured a pair of suspenders fitting the Grampy belly I had developed—and my desire to get in and out of the low-slung Moon without showing any cracks in my armor.
The suspenders were a perfect place to display my small haul. As I came to understand, Disney World has an epic pin-trading culture. But my suspenders became an invitation the farther I got from Altadena, and when we got to Buc-ee’s for that part of the pilgrimage, people began expressing their curiosity. I began to make friends on the road with the story of the pins.
When we pulled into Disney World at around three that afternoon, I knew a couple of things. There were most assuredly alligators in that water, and I had had enough of continent-level jumps. Truckers make sitting still while crossing the continent look way more fun than it is, but we were there.
I celebrated by walking into the lobby of Gran Destino Tower at Coronado Springs, where we stayed for the next five days, singing “It’s a Small World.” The staff of Disney World was ready for me like I had written ahead, and every cast member within earshot joined in. Welcome to Disney World. I’m twelve years old, and this is the best time of my life.
We then began a perfectly curated stay with Walt. We’re from Southern California; we went to Disneyland every time a relative used us as the destination. But. Disneylandis a Disney block. Disney World is a Disney. county. Idon’t enjoy rides like I. used to, butI do enjoy eating and drinking, and our guide specified in great detail what to. do, so wedid it.
We met people in lines. whom weloved and still follow on social media. I met a lady from Australia who cursed the fire in such an entertaining way—without using one piece of profanity, but with every piece of empathy—and a Kangaroo Jane accent that made the trip west worth it.
Then we had a meal.
It was at EPCOT, in the France pavilion, at Monsieur Paul.
It was the finest eating experience I have yet experienced. First, our waitress—the young lady who curated our meal—was new and excited to participate in our experience, both willing. and able to explain whatwe were having and what to be sure to savor. We started with caviar and had all the courses of a once-in-a-lifetime French meal. We. took our time, a. such a mealrequires, and theestablishment provided nothing less.
Dessert was served with fireworks going off outside the. window. After it all, I asked if Icould tell the chef how much I had enjoyed his meal. Chef Bruno Vrignon, the chef de cuisine at Monsieur Paul, came out to meet us. He had helped lead therestaurant for years, carrying forward the legacy of Paul Bocuse, and he received my gratitude with the graciousness of. a man wh. understood exactly what the eveninghad meant.By the. time the last glass was empty, the meal hadcost about $3,000. It remains one of the finest uses of money I can remember.
We spent days in Disney World, and we had driven from sea to shining sea. We had also driven past two of Sweetie’s sisters. Although I’m an only child, I have multiple siblings, and as Disney World came to an end—and we both decided to be grown again—the desire to spend time on their porches in Georgia began to swell. I don’t remember which of us decided to go by and see them, but we decided we would.
So we went.
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