Free Dear Girls Above Me: Inspired by a True Story by Charles Mcdowell Page A

irritated tone. How were they not as excited as me? The commercial said it was the perfect family vacation. Were we not a perfect family? All I could do was imagine a happy Leave It to Beaver –like family piling into a minivan with the parents calling out, “Hurry up, children! We wanna be the first ones there so we can go on every single ride!” My dad was half-asleep with a line of drool running down his chin.
    After a few agonizing hours, we made it into our Volvo station wagon, finally on our way to Disneyland. “Are we there yet?” my sister asked. Good thing too, because I had been wondering the same thing. We had been driving for at least an hour, so we must’ve been getting close.
    “We’ve only been driving for seven minutes,” my dad barked at us from the driver’s seat. His apathetic attitude toward the most magical place in all the world was beginning to make me lose respect for the guy. Who is this pod person, and what has he done with my real father? I wondered. After another hour went by, I chimed in with, “I think it’s the next exit.”
    “We have been driving for thirty minutes and are nowhere near our insufferable destination.” I could tell my dad’s irritation levelwas reaching its peak. Luckily, I knew just what to do to mellow him out while simultaneously lifting his spirits.…
    “It’s a small world, after all. It’s a small world, after all. It’s a small world, after all. It’s a small, small world.” I nailed it pitch-perfect, a future American Idol winner. My sister soon joined in, effectively turning my solo into a duet. We managed to harmonize on a song that had no harmony.
    My father stared me down in the rearview mirror. His reflection wasn’t even half as intimidating as it would have been had our eyes locked directly. So I continued on, this time a smidgen louder. And Lilly followed my lead. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and sang my little heart out at the top of my reverberating lungs. Eventually, I felt as though the lyrics to “It’s a Small World” had run their course, so I began making up my own verses on the spot:
    “Disneyland is so much fun. I can’t wait to ride the rides. I hope there’s a candy store in the snowy mountain. I’m going to touch Mickey Mouse’s tail.” To this day, I believe I’d achieve great success as an underground battle rapper; my ability to make up lyrics on the spot remains unmatched. I’m talking to you, Eminem.
    I guess our duet was so loud, I couldn’t hear the car phone ring, but my dad violently picked it up and asked who was there. I lowered my voice a little bit but had no intention of stopping until my parents believed in the magical place just as my sister and I did.
    “Wait, so this is Mickey Mouse? Why are you calling me?” my dad asked in a loud voice.
    The singing stopped immediately. Umm, why was Mickey Mouse calling my father?!
    “Give it to me, I wanna talk to him!” My sister desperately reached for the phone, but my father shushed her. Something was seriously wrong. I was so nervous I felt as if I was going to pee my pants,which is the ultimate betrayal of a five-year-old’s body, because at that age, you’ve only just recently stopped using diapers.
    “I understand. Well, I’m sorry, Mickey. Be safe. Take care now.” My dad hung up the phone. All eyes were on him, including my mother’s. She seemed just as shocked as we were. We awaited the verdict.
    “I have an announcement to make.” My dad paused to collect his thoughts, while a little bit of pee ran down my leg. “I hate to be the one to tell you this … but … it’s official. Disneyland has burned down.”
    “Nooooooooooooo!”
    THREE MONTHS LATER …
    I sat at a picnic table under a large oak tree with my best friend, Duncan Winecoff. I was enjoying his peanut butter and jelly sandwich as he scarfed down my ham and cheese. Lunchtime at elementary school is basically the NBA draft of packed brown bags, except much more