Matilda Paddington-Jones: Rhino, Dreamer, & Interpreter of Awesomeness

Posted on by under Matilda Paddington-Jones

Matilda Paddington-Jones was in her room, eating nibbles off a wheel of Henning’s Wisconsin cheddar, and rocking out hard to “Kiss Me Deadly” (on loop). She bopped around the room, which shook mightily from her enormous size, lip syncing the lyrics, checking herself out in the mirror, and using an enormous pork shank as an imaginary microphone. She wore a red leather jacket; a black tank top that failed to hide her enormous purple belly; a sexy black leather cuff, bedazzled with the cheap rhinestones she bought at Kim’s Boutique Unique; a tight jean skirt; hot pink fishnets; and a pair of Rebecca Minkoff Seta booties. She felt good. She felt strong. She felt like a temptress—like a sensual female goddess of desire, filled with jungle heat and blonde ambition… even though she had no hair on her head.

Matilda danced in front of her Nelson poster, gazing up with that look of trashy lust mixed with naive innocence that only a 15 year old girl can pull off. Gunnar, I bet you can’t live without my love and affection, she thought as she puckered her lips and gave a big, slurpy kiss to the poster, leaving behind the fragrant residue of blueberry pancake Lip Smacker. She plopped down on her bed, nearly crushing it with her 3,000-pound frame. She opened her diary—a totally bitchin’, 300-page spiral-bound with Poison’s Flesh & Blood album art on the cover—and began to write…

Dear Lita,

I went to a party last Saturday night. I didn’t get laid. I got in a fight. Just kidding. But I did go to a party. It’s late Saturday night and I just got back from the most kick-ass night of my life. I went to Patsy Hildy’s party tonight. Her parents were out of town at a cheese party in Near Nearington. I know I’ve told you that Patsy is an anus plunger, but it was a pretty chill of her to invite me to her party, even after I gave her all the wrong answers to our biology midterm. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know I did that. LOL.

Anyway, why am I wasting time on Patsy? I have HUGE news! I kissed Jag Jagson tonight. Jag Jagson!!! Jag Jagson!!! RIGHT?!?!?!?! I know, I can’t believe it either! So here’s how it happened…

Gina came and picked me up. She just got her license and her parents bought her this janky old black Camero, which is actually really sweet since it has these cool neon pink punket decals on the side. So she picks me up and of course she is blasting Cherry Pie when she pulls into the driveway and Mom totally flips out and starts screaming at me, “Matilda! Paddington! Jones! Tell your friends to stop playing that noise when they are in this neighborhood! What will the neighbors think?” Umm… they’ll probably think we’re fat ass rhinos who can impale them with our noses?

So anyway I go out an get into Gina’s car. “My mom is spazzing out about Warrant. Turn it down,” I tell Gina.

“Eff that! I’m turning it up!” Then she totally cranked the volume up and peeled out of the driveway, which totally made that screechy squealing noise. I know Mom is going to go all thundershit on me about that tomorrow. But who cares?

We got to Patsy’s and she’s all, “So great you came!” Whatever, bitch. I hate you. You hate me (I think) and whatever, I’m here and we don’t need to talk. But she basically commandeered Gina, like she was Jack Sparrow stealing a ship, and off Gina went with a totally sour face with Patsy.

So I was alone! But the party was going pretty strong. All the polar bears were there. God, they are such assholes! They were in the living room, all gathered around this device and shouting something about diamonds. What is it with polar bears and all their tech crap? They are so obsessed with it. Anyway, I guess I was staring at them because Roddy Rufflestuff looked up and lost his fur.

“What the hell are you looking at, fatty? Isn’t there a palette of cheese somewhere for you to shove down your huge nose?” Roddy shouted at me and bared his teeth. He’s such a dick! I guess he kind of scared me a bit, since I tumbled backward into the couch and over the back.

The whole house shook and a bunch of stuff around the room fell—lamps, picture frames, and this really ugly vase too. I was so embarrassed! The polar bears all laughed and soon everyone else in the room—the zebras, the chimps, and even the cows—was laughing at me. It was so awful; I started to cry. I couldn’t really get upright, so I just rolled over and fell on the floor. That just made everyone laugh even more. I was totally mortified, so I just stampeded out of there, out into the front yard, and down to a cul-de-sac at the end of the street.

Lita, it was so awful! What the hell is wrong with me? I’m such a klutz, but it’s not my fault! Roddy Rufflestuff is such a cum dumpster. I wish I could get back at him and his whole gang of bears. They follow him around like sheep and call him “Commander.” Seriously. One day, when I’m singing on tour, I’ll come back to this crap town and those polar bears are going to wish they hadn’t been such assholes to me. It’s going to happen, I know it will.

But you are probably wondering how all of this is connected to me kissing Jag Jagson. So I’ll tell you.

I was crying. Sobbing my freaking brains out. I was sitting on the curb, facing out to the street. The Passily Woods were behind me. Obviously I didn’t realize I was sitting right outside the Passily Woods, or I would have been terrified—

OMG, before I forget, I have to write this down: I saw Pavel Codirose’s weird green hat with the red feather in the Passily Woods. TELL THIS TO MR. KELLY AT SCHOOL ON MONDAY!!!!!

—but I was sitting there and totally didn’t know it, and I was bawling like Tonya Harding when I heard a noise behind me. I jumped up and spun around and fell right on my ass. God, I am such a klutz!

I see these two yellow eyes peering out of the bramble right in front of me. That’s when it hit me—OH CRAP, THIS IS THE PASSILY WOODS AND THOSE ARE CAT EYES—and I nearly crapped my pants. I was trying desperately to get up. I must have looked like such an obese garbage barge, rolling around on my ass. There was a big ass cat in those woods and he was looking for dinner. I was only half correct.

“Hey,” came the soft voice out of the woods. “Tilly? S’that you? You need help?”

Of course, I knew right then that it was Jag!

“Fuck nuggets. Jag?” I was even more embarrassed. Why did Jag have to see me on my ass like that?

“Here, I’ll help you up.” And he came out, on all fours (I nearly fainted. How hot is that?), and did that sexy cat thing where he sort of slinked around behind me. He used his head to prop me up. He is so strong. GAH! He’s so hot! So he is able to help prop me up and he was so cool about it. Like he didn’t even break a sweat.

I mumbled a thank you. Honestly, I just wanted him to go away. I was so embarrassed that he saw me crying, and then saw me rolling around, not able to get up. But then he was so sweet; he asked if I was okay.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just fat ass rhino problems.”

“You’re not fat. You’re a rhino. Rhinos are big.”

“Whatever. It’s cool. I don’t mind my size. Like at home, everything is super big and our house is built solid so nothing falls over. It’s just other people that have a problem with me. Like those asshole polar bears.” I probably sounded like I was whining. God, I’m such a spaz.

“I hate those polar bears. They are always trying to get me in on their shit. They just assume that since I’m a cat, I want to be a misfit or something. Don’t pay attention to those paper weights. They’re jerks. I think you’re kick-ass.”

I think I blushed when he said that. No, seriously! My cheeks felt like they were violet. “You do?” I asked him.

“Totally! First off, you’re purple, which makes you unique. I have never met a purple rhinoceros in my life other than you. Well, your parents, but you know—your family. And your style is kick. I mean, hardcore kick. You’re so punk. I wish I could dress like that, but it’s already hard enough for people to see me as more than a cat, so I have to dress like a quadrilateral all the time. Plus, you always have those cool notebooks with all those vintage album covers. That’s so kick. I love those.”

DYING. “You like my notebooks? I didn’t know anybody but me liked Night Ranger!”

“Night Ranger’s kick! I love them.”

Then we both got quiet, but I thought Matilda, you are a Goonie and you’re down there. It’s your time. Work with this fucking moment. Work it hard. So I said, “Do you want to hang out sometime, cause I’ve got all these bitchin’ vinyls at home and we could listen to them? Plus, I make my mom by BagelBites, even though they violate my rule to never eat foods that are registered trademarks. So we could have pizza on a bagel, listen to Styxx, and just chill.”

And Jag just… looked at me. I mean not that looking at me like ‘oh, I’m just looking at you,’ but, like, looking. Like I was some piece of lead that his x-ray vision couldn’t penetrate. I guess it’s the way you look at someone when that someone is someone to you.

“Chill,” he asked, but sort of more like a statement? “Yeah. Yeah, that would be cool.”

“You seem unsure.”

“Nobody’s ever asked me to chill at their house. Ever.”

“You’re the coolest guy in school. That can’t be true.”

“I don’t think anybody’s parents will let them have a cat in their house.”

“Oh,” I said. It was a bit awkward. That’s really sad, you know? That people are so prejudiced and shit. But when I thought about in that second and like, now, as I’m writing, I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad wouldn’t (won’t) be cool with having a jaguar over for dinner, or even just BagelBites. “Well, other people are Spam juice. Purple rhinos are cool as hell. We won’t have any problem having you over our house. Seriously, any day after school is cool. Maybe Tuesday?”

He smiled at me and said, “Definitely. I can’t wait.” And then he kissed me. No, I mean seriously! It was so fast. Like he was sitting next to me and then his lips were on mine and then his tongue was in my mouth. It took me like 4 hours to respond before I started kissing him back and then, in my mind, I was like C’mon, pretty baby, kiss me! C’mon, pretty baby, kiss me! C’mon, pretty baby, kiss me deadly!!! And it felt like it went on forever and ever, and that it would never end, but that’s a good thing because it was like biting into a warm roll with melting butter on it or climbing into a freshly-made bed with sheets that smell like fabric softener. It was like something that felt comfortable and special that you don’t get too often, so when you do it makes an impression. I think that maybe this is what winning feels like.

We stopped kissing and he smiled and I could see his fangs—so hot—and he just sort of slyly slinked back into the the woods and said, “Talk to you soon, Tilly.”

I think I was stunned because I didn’t say anything back, but I should have! Why was he going into the Passily Woods? He can probably take care of himself, being a cat and all, but there are things in there. I don’t want to think about it because I’m going to bed soon and it’ll give me nightmares. And I don’t want nightmares. I want to climb into my bed and dream about Jag Jagson being here in my room with me on Tuesday.

For real, I have to go and think about how I’m going to tell Mom that there’s going to be a jaguar in our house in 3 days. She’s going to flip her shit. Anyway, I gotta go, Lita.

Live like a runaway and keep your curves dangerous,

Matilda Paddington-Jones
Rhino, Dreamer, and Interpreter of Awesomeness

Matilda closed her journal and bounded down to the kitchen. She opened the freezer and took out a box of BagelBites. She tossed a dozen onto a plate and put them in the microwave. She hummed a verse of “Unskinny Bop” while she waited for them to cook, swinging her head from side to side, thinking about tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that, until she’d get to see Jag again.

“Unskinny bop, nothin’ more to say,” she sang as she opened the microwave door, popped a BagelBite into her mouth, and ran back upstairs to lay awake and dream of jaguars and rock and roll.

Fibro, My Imaginary Pet Raccoon

Posted on by under Fibro

I live in a really nice part of Queens called Astoria. It’s made up of long boulevards filled with Greek restaurants, sushi restaurants, home goods stores, dentist offices, and hair and nail salons. It also has some of the worst pizza joints in New York. The side streets are tree-lined with large apartment buildings interspersed with World War II-era houses, mainly filled with young professionals who haven’t yet attained the salary needed to live in Manhattan. There are a lot of Broadway chorus boys, aspiring middle managers, and non-profit professionals out here.

I live on one of these tree-lined side streets at the end of a very long boulevard. Ditmars Boulevard, to be precise, which leads far away from the subway, down a hill, toward LaGuardia airport. On my walks home I can often see the planes landing off in the horizon. Sometimes they wobble when the wind is particularly fierce, which does little to calm the apprehension I feel about flying. I like being close to LaGuardia, though, because it’s easy to tell cab drivers how to get to my house; they all know where LaGuardia is.

Being so close to the airport means that I don’t actually live in Astoria. Instead I live in the much less desirable neighborhood of East Elmhurst. But since nobody knows where East Elmhurst is, whenever anybody asks me where I live I simply reply, “Astoria.” This is fairly common for the residents of East Elmhurst. In fact, it’s so common that most people would actually reply “the East Elmhurst section of Astoria” when asked where they live.

I don’t want to give you any ideas that I’m living in some destitute hovel of humanity. East Elmhurst is quite nice, actually. In fact, to the naked eye, East Elmhurst looks just like Astoria: the landlords are mean immigrants who speak little English and seem to always be yelling at you even if they are just saying hello, the streets are quiet and pleasant and lined with trees, the rents are affordable, and there is a place serving awful pizza on every corner.

But there is one major difference between the two Queens enclaves—the animals. There are all sorts of animals here in my town and some of them can do amazing things, and some of them are very well known. I would be shocked if you had never heard of Larissa Figby, the famous purple elephant who hunts down car thieves for a bounty. Or Madame Lucy Bouvier, the red panda who runs the house of ill repute on the road to Riker’s Island. These are the sort of creatures that inhabit East Elmhurst, so you have to be careful around them. Some of them will swindle the shirt right off your back if you’re not careful. Mainly, though, they are simply vagrants who you might find rummaging through your trash cans or just hanging out and taking up space.

I thought that was the sort of creature sitting on my stoop last Wednesday. I was coming home on a sun-splashed early fall evening with some groceries I’d picked up at the Union Square farmer’s market. It had been a pretty long day, and I had taken a muscle relaxer to deal with some pain in my lower back. I have a herniated disc that is pinching a nerve, so my doctor has prescribed some pretty powerful stuff to help with that. I guess what I’m trying to get around saying is that I was pretty stoned the night I came home and found a raccoon sitting on my stoop, smoking a joint, and reading my latest issue of National Geographic.

I was wary of this raccoon, since one does not generally find an animal smoking a joint on your front stoop. Or if one does, there is fairly good chance that he of ill-repute or looking to commit some act that will eventually make his repute ill. So I warily sidestepped him as I went up the stairs to the mailbox. Typically, it was a bunch of bills and a few more MagicBands from Walt Disney World. While heading back down off the stoop and around to the door of my apartment, which is in the driveway of a two-story house, I dropped some of the packages that had the bands from Disney World. The raccoon looked up from the magazine (my magazine) and said, “Hey buddy, you dropped something.”

I mumbled something under my breath to him, gathered my packages and unlocked my door. The raccoon had irritated me, so I went outside to get my magazine.

Fibro, My Imaginary Pet Raccoon

Fibro, My Imaginary Pet Raccoon

“Hey duuude, is that my copy of National Geographic you are reading?”

“Uh, maybe. It was in that little box next to the door.”

“You mean the mailbox?”

“Oh is that what you call it? Yeah then, I guess. It was in the mailbox.”

“Well just so you know, Mr. Raccoon, stealing other people’s mail is a federal offense.”

He smirked, and said in a very condescending way, “Is it really? I wonder if I’ll get life in prison for reading somebody else’s magazine.”

“Well I don’t know about that, but it’s rude, don’t you think, to just take another person’s magazine without asking?”

“Chill out. Seriously, dude, you need to fucking unwind.” And with that he extended his hand and offered me his joint.

“I don’t smoke pot, thank you very much.”

“You probably should. You seem kind of high strung.”

“I am not high strung. I’ve just had a really long day, and my back is hurting me. And I didn’t expect to come home to find a stoned raccoon reading my National Geographic,” I said.

“You think you’ve had a long day? I’ve had a long three days. My owner kicked me out of the house and told me to fend for myself. You try that sometime! Do you know how hard it is out here? What do I know about fending for myself? I’m a talking raccoon. I’m a novelty pet. How can I fend for myself? Who’s going to give me a job?” He looked ahead, shoulders slumped, with his beady black eyes filled with worry and sadness.

I felt sort of bad for the raccoon. After all, he just wanted to read a National Geographic and smoke some pot. “Well, I’m sorry you have had a bad day. You can keep the magazine I guess.”

“Thanks, man. Here, try some pot. It may turn out to be the best moment of your life,” he said, again offering me the joint.

“Nah, I really shouldn’t. I’ve been taking muscle relaxers for the pain in my back. I’m not sure that I should throw some pot on top of that.”

The raccoon’s ears perked right up. “Whoa, dude. You’ve got muscle relaxers? Can I get some? I fucking love muscle relaxers!”

“No way, dude. I need those for my back. And, in any case, I’m not a drug dealer.”

“Oh come on! I’ve had a shit day and I’m hungry and I could really use a nice, relaxing night,” the raccoon pleaded.

“You’re hungry?” I felt really bad for the raccoon now. “I’ve got some apples. Would you like some apples?”

The raccoon nodded and I could see now that he was desperate with hunger. I went inside and put together a plate with three honeycrisp apples, some cheddar cheese, a glass of water, and one of my muscle relaxers. I came outside and the raccoon was staring longingly at the apples on the plate.

“Here,” I said. “This is for you. Have some dinner.”

The raccoon tore into the apples, taking one in each hand, and eating them simultaneously, alternating bites from each.

“Whoa slow down! You’re going to choke on that shit. I guess you haven’t eaten in a long time?”

The raccoon took a big swallow and a deep breath and said “I haven’t eaten in three days.”

My heart broke for the little guy. I sat down next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. “It’s ok. Eat as much as you want. I have more apples inside if you’re still hungry.”

The racoon went back to his apples, eating at top speed. He was in a bit of trance as he chowed down for a couple of minutes, then saw the cheese and wolfed that down too. “Thanks, man. You are a lifesaver.”

“No problem. You want more?”

“No, thanks, I’m good,” he said as he got up, chugged down the rest of the water and picked up the magazine.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“I gotta find a place to crash for the night. I saw an empty trash can a couple blocks from here. It should be warm enough.”

“Dude, that’s crazy. Don’t sleep in a trash can. Here, I brought you one of my pills. You can stay here tonight. I’ve got a couch you can crash on.”

“For real? Whoa, that’s so nice of you. I really appreciate that. My old owner would never have given me apples and a couch. She gave me dog food. Dog food. And a cardboard box with a fucking Dora the Explorer baby blanket in it.”

“That sucks. What happened?”

“She got a new girlfriend who was allergic to me. That chick was allergic to everything—raccoons, pot, gluten, you name it. Pretty much everything that I’m even about, you know what I mean? And so LaTonya, that was her name, LaTonya was like ‘You’ve got to go, Fibro. Michelle is more important to me than you.’ She said that! She fucking said that! She said that her girlfriend of two weeks was more important to her than me—her pet raccoon of four goddamn fucking years. And those four years were my prime cuteness years. Those years are HUGE for a novelty pet! And I was cute, too. Cute, goddammit! I had the kind of tiny, wet nose that you humans go shit yourselves over. And I would do funny stuff, make funny voices and shit. I stayed up on current Internet memes. LaTonya would come home and I would say ‘I can haz dinnerz, pleaze, LaTonya?’ and that bitch ate that shit up. Then she’d reward me with fucking Kibbles’n’Bits. Do I look like fucking Snoopy to you, LaTonya?!?!”

I could tell that the raccoon was hurt, so I patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, dude.”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Well, let me tell you: if I ever see LaTonya Jatson ever again I’m gonna scratch her fucking eyes out.” With that he tossed down the muscle relaxer.

“Your name is Fibro?” I asked.

“Huh? Oh yeah. Fibro. Nice to meet you.” he stuck out his paw.

“I’m Jeff. Turkey Leg Jeff,” I said as I shook his hand. “C’mon inside. I’m pretty stoned off the muscle relaxer so I think I’m just gonna pop in an old movie and do some needle point tonight.”

“Getting stoned and doing needlepoint is like my favorite thing ever!” Fibro shouted out excitedly, springing up from the stoop, scooping up the plate, the glass, and the magazine and darting over to the door.

“Oh, sweet!” I said, thinking that this raccoon was cool as shit. “Are you cool with watching All About Eve?”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. That is my favorite movie.” Fibro was in awe. “Are we like the same person, but different?”

“I’m not really sure what that means, but… maybe?” I said as I opened the door and let Fibro into my apartment.

“Dude, we are gonna be awesome friends. It’s gonna be sweet. Oooh, look! You’ve got a poster of Derek Jeter! I love baseball. Jeter’s my fucking spirit animal, bro!” Fibro exclaimed as he made his way into the apartment that would become his new home.

Consuelo Rides the Tea Cups

Posted on by under Consuelo

It was the day Consuelo longed for—the entire family was going to Walt Disney World. Mother had joked that she would make sure to leave Consuelo behind, that they would “Home Alone” her. Consuelo wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. One time mother had promised her that she could come along on the family trip to IKEA and pick out her very own spegel for her room. But when the time came to leave, Mother told Consuelo that she left her purse in the attic and told Consuelo to go get it for her. After looking for over an hour in the dark and dirty attic, Consuelo gave up. When she came downstairs the family was gone. When they returned eight hours later, Mother told Consuelo that she left her behind for her own good.

“If you had a spegel in your room, Consuelo, you would see your own reflection and then you would dislike yourself as much as we all do,” said Mother.

Consuelo was confused by this logic, since she looked in the mirror in the bathroom every morning to brush her teeth and comb her hair, but decided not to press the matter in case Mother became angry and did something mean to her.

So Consuelo, determined not to be left behind again, decided to sleep in the bathroom the night before the trip so that the family couldn’t forget about her.

Consuelo awoke to hear Mother whispering, “Just leave her. We’ll shower when we get there. We can freshen up in the airport baño.” She jumped up, immediately alert, and shouted, “I’m awake, everybody! I’m awake! Is it time to go?” The family groaned.

Father placed Consuelo on the scale in the bathroom. “Dammit, Maria, she’s more than 50 lbs. We can’t check her with the luggage!” Consuelo couldn’t believe her luck. She was going to Disney World and got to ride in a seat on the plane? Maybe they would even fly JetBlue! She began to dream of Terra Blue chips and her own little television with 36 channels of free DirecTV.

The flight was Delta.

No matter—Consuelo‘s excitement continued to build. She wondered if Merida would hug her like in the commercials. She had seen this on television: happy heteronormative families being embraced by dewy-eyed Caucasian girls dressed as princesses. Consuelo couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful.

“You know Merida won’t hug you like in the commercials, right? Nobody likes you, Consuelo.” said her brother Juan as the family prepared to board the plane.

The family took their first class seats, and Consuelo managed to get a seat in the last row via standby. Consuelo put on her headphones, cranked “Slow Ride” to full blast, and imagined herself in the warm, Scottish embrace of Merida, princess archer extraordinaire. When the plane landed at MCO, Consuelo asked people to please let her pass, since she knew the family would leave her behind. Consuelo sprinted with all her might to the Magical Express desk to catch up with her family. She had to pee real bad but ignored the pain.

Consuelo spotted her family just as they were boarding the Disney Magical Express to the Polynesian Resort. She hopped on the bus just as the doors were closing. The family groaned. “Our vacation is ruined!” said Mother. Consuelo didn’t care. She was going to Disney World.

As the bus pulled into the Polynesian, Consuelo gasped. It was a tropical wonderland. Consuelo smiled for the first time in forever. Will I finally know the pleasure of a virgin pineapple daiquiri served to me by a sexy pool boy? Consuelo dared to let herself hope.

“Isn’t there a broom closet or something you can put her in?” Mother asked, jerking her thumb in Consuelo‘s direction when they arrived at the check-in desk.

“I’m sorry,” said the cast member. “Everyone in your party must stay in a guest room. Are you ready to set up your MagicBand, Consuelo?”

Four hours later, Consuelo’s MagicBand was activated and the family headed to their rooms. Consuelo looked across the Seven Seas Lagoon toward her destiny. Consuelo was going to the Magic Kingdom and Merida was going to hug her and Consuelo was going to be happy.

The family decided to take a nap because they are the kind of annoying, horrible people who take a nap as soon as they get to Disney World. Consuelo did not want to sleep though. Instead she went out to the balcony and watched as happy families played on the beach. She wondered if she would ever get to be happy like them.

When the family awoke, Father decided that they would start their vacation at Disney’s Hollywood Studios, “Disney’s best park!” Consuelo’s dad sucks. So the family went, begrudgingly towing Consuelo along. They arrived and rode the handful of rides there—Tower of Terror, Rock & Roller Coaster, Star Tours.

Consuelo smiled briefly during the Beauty & the Beast show as she realized that Belle was wearing her dead mother-in-law’s dress to dinner. The day ended with dinner and Consuelo’s aunt allowed her to have a sip of her Sprite, an uncommon act of kindness.

“Mom, make Consuelo stop picking her scabs during dinner!” cried Juan. Consuelo could twist the knife just as well as her family could.

That night Consuelo dreamed in restless sleep. She was spinning around too fast in a giant tea cup, Merida’s flaming hair a blur in the background. Consuelo awoke with a gasp. She got up from the floor and went to the balcony. Across the lagoon, the sun was rising on the Magic Kingdom. Consuelo knew that today she would finally get her hug and feel loved by somebody.

She showered and dressed then waited patiently for her family to up. She popped in her favorite cassette: War’s Greatest Hits. Just as “Low Rider” finished playing, the family woke up and got ready for breakfast. Mother told Consuelo she had to stay in the room and wait for them while they all went upstairs to the restaurant to eat. Consuelo did as she was told because she didn’t want to risk making Mother angry and being left behind while the family went to the Magic Kingdom.

Eventually the family returned from breakfast and they all went off to the park. Consuelo was so filled with hope and happiness that she thought she would cry. They sailed across the lagoon in a little boat, with the castle getting nearer and nearer.

The day was glorious. Consuelo got to ride Pirates of the Caribbean, The Haunted Mansion, and Space Mountain. Consuelo was even allowed to get a popcorn along with the rest of the family. Juan only tripped her three times over the course of the day. Father called her the worst only once—when she piled into a pirate ship with him and Juan on the Peter Pan ride. Even Mother was kind to Consuelo; she ignored Consuelo all day.

As the day wore on, Consuelo began to get anxious. When would they meet Merida? The park was only open a few more hours and nobody else had mentioned meeting another character.

“Auntie Lola, can we please go visit Merida before we leave? She’s my best friend. She loves bagpipe punk just like me.” Consuelo asked this innocently.

“Merida is lame. Of course you would want to meet her. Honestly, Consuelo, you are the worst,” Aunt Lola replied.

Consuelo was heartbroken. She had dreamed of meeting Merida, of getting a hug from her best friend—her only friend—in the whole world, of momentarily feeling like somebody cared about her. Consuelo began to cry.

“Ugh! Consuelo, what’s wrong with you? This is why we can’t take you anywhere. Why the hell are you crying?” Mother demanded.

“BecauseIWantedToMeetMeridaAndAuntieLolaSaidWeAren’tGoingToMeetMeridaAndIWantedToHugMerida!!!!!” Consuelo choked back sobs.

“Oh, Consuelo, honestly! No! We are not going to see your stupid princess friend. C’mon, let’s go. NOW!” Mother grabbed Consuelo’s wrist hard and dragged her forward. Father, Juan, and Uncle Jorge ran off to ride Space Mountain again, leaving Consuelo with her mother and aunt. The three wandered over to the tea cups, with Consuelo still crying and Mother and Aunt Lola ignoring her the whole time.

As they waited in line for the tea cups, Consuelo slowly stopped crying. Why should she be surprised that she wouldn’t get to meet Merida? Why should today be any different than any other day in her life? She was an idiot to hope for a hug, right? Consuelo just wanted to go home now. She wanted to lay in bed and listen to Led Zepplin and read her collection of Martha Stewart wedding magazines (that she swiped from her teacher’s garbage bin at school). She resumed her normal placid inexpressive face and followed Auntie Lola and Mother onto the tea cups.

“No, Consuelo. This cup is for Auntie Lola and me. You can go get in one of your own,” said Mother.

Consuelo turned and got in a big pink teacup all alone. She sat silently and patiently waited as the ride swirled around and the happy music played. She disinterestedly looked around at happy families in teacups, smiling and laughing, with their hair whipping around. The music stopped. The ride slowed down and ended. Mother and Aunt Lola had already walked ahead to meet with the men, not waiting for Consuelo. She walked quickly to catch up with them.

Consuelo’s fun in Walt Disney World was over.

Across the path from the tea cups a slender, tall, white egret stood. It watched the sad chubby girl as she trailed behind the two women who wouldn’t let her ride with them. The egret shed a silvery tear, raised its head to the sky and chirped. Then it flew off toward Tomorrowland as a wild caterwaul from far, far away grew ever nearer…