Summer of Yesterday

by Gaby Triana

  She turns onto the main road and heads for Pioneer Hall and the marina. This is where guests take boats across Bay Lake to other resorts and the Magic Kingdom. We zoom past families walking back to their cabins and others lounging around in folding chairs. Everyone’s laid-back, enjoying the clear night.

  I wonder how she plans on pulling this off. “Are we going to hike behind Pioneer Hall, get in through the employee entrance, jump a fence, or what?”

  “You don’t mind getting wet, do you?” There’s a sliver—no, a whole slice—of mischievousness in her voice.

  Wet? I shift my gaze from the illuminated road to Dina again. Her hair whips around her face as she drives. Her green eyes light up in the rearview mirror’s reflection. Dad wanted me to have fun, right? So fun I will have. I grip my seat with both hands. “Not at all,” I reply.

  “Then let’s do this.” She smiles and steps on the gas.

  three

  Outside Pioneer Hall, a meeting place for Fort Wilderness guests, people stream out of the Hoop-Dee-Doo Revue, a show that’s been running since before I was born. All I remember about it from when I was little is a lot of singing, actors prancing around, and metal buckets of fried chicken clanging on your dinner table. Waiting outside are horse-drawn carriages and hayrides. The area is buzzing with activity as we cut through the crowd.

  We drive past the buffet restaurant and adjoining pizza place. We’re near the marina, where a slew of people are retiring from the parks. Exhausted parents carry their dead-asleep kids on their shoulders, wrist-tied Mickey balloons bouncing in the air above them.

  “How are we going to do this with so many people around?” I ask, eyeing a boat out on the water waiting to dock.

  “We’re not.” Dina turns left at a playground and takes us down a dimly lit road. The farther we go, the quieter it gets, until the sloshing sounds of tied racing boats and paddleboats bobbing against the docks come into the foreground. Even in the dark, I see a near-empty beach to my right. Only a few silhouettes sit there, heads touching. “We have to wait till everyone leaves.”

  “And you’re sure this is a good idea?” I mean, it’s quieter around here, but I still see people, and that means people can see us.

  “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She slows down, then stops altogether.

  At first I wonder what the heck we’re doing here stopped. But then I look straight ahead, and my heartbeat suddenly sinks to my stomach. There, looming in the shadows, is a tall, brown, iron fortress of a wall stretching all the way to the beach on one side and disappearing behind Pioneer Hall on the other. A sign on it shows Goofy in an old-fashioned striped swimming suit:

  RIVER COUNTRY

  CLOSED PERMANENTLY

  “We’re here.” Dina takes a moment to check her texts. She’s probably used to a sight like this, but I’ve never laid eyes on this wall before and can’t tear them away. Something about it, blocking the view of something vast and abandoned on the other side makes me feel really, really sad.

  “When exactly did this place close?” I ask.

  “Like 2001, I think,” she mumbles.

  Whoa. It’s surreal that the water park my mom and dad were always talking about is still here, just sitting in the darkness for this long. I’ve never been here, not even as a baby.

  I slide out of the cart to get a better look. The gate is rusted around the edges, like it was meant to be there temporarily but ended up staying much longer. For a second I think I hear people laughing and shrieking on the other side, but the sounds are coming from the crowds way behind me, maybe echoing off the wall.

  Dina mumbles something about her phone, but I can’t focus on her. It’s awful how this sidewalk ends right here. Like, boom, dead end. But you just know it continues on the other side of that wall. Where would it take me if the barrier weren’t there? Once upon a time, my parents walked down this same sidewalk when they were kids, yet I never will. I imagine my dad holding Ampa’s hand, skipping all the way to the park’s ticket booth. My heart aches. The vision fades, and the iron construction wall stares down at me again.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I turn around. “Huh?”

  “I said, creepy, isn’t it?” Dina nods at the wall.

  “Oh. Yeah.” I know this sounds crazy, but I think it’s more beautiful than creepy. Finding a place that no one else cares about anymore. It feels exclusively mine, this little corner of the campground. I want to hide here all seven days.

  “Haley, get in. We have to wait on the beach for a bit,” Dina says.

  Slowly, I tear my gaze away from the fortress and get back into the cart.

  She does a quick one-eighty and heads back the way we came, but we don’t go far. She turns left down a short sidewalk leading to the dark beach. I can still see the wall from here, retreating into the shadows. Stopping completely, she pops up. “Get up a sec?” I slide out, and Dina lifts the seat cushion we were sitting on. Inside is a storage compartment with some bungee cords. She rummages to the bottom and pulls out a small Ziploc bag. “Crap. There’s only one. I’m going to have to go get another.”

  “For what?”

  “Our phones go in one so they don’t get wet, but we still need another one for the flashlights. I’m going to run to Pioneer Hall a minute and grab a bigger one. You wait here and keep an eye out for the boys, okay?”

  “Okay. So I guess you were really serious about getting wet.” I laugh nervously.

  “Well, swimming along the lake’s edge is the only way to get in without staff seeing us.”

  “What should I do if I see the guys?”

  “Just text me.” She grabs my phone, enters her number, and calls herself for a second. “I shouldn’t be gone more than two minutes.” I watch her run off, and then I’m alone with the softly lapping waves, the iron wall, and the smooching couple down on the sand.

  I sit back in the golf cart and prop my feet up. Looking out at Bay Lake, I have to admit, this place is really nice. Ranch Camp has a lake, but it doesn’t have soft sand like this, pretty lit-up boats traveling back and forth, or an awesome view of the famous Contemporary Resort across the water like this one does. All staging aside, Disney World is situated on some super-pretty real estate.

  Sitting here, I feel my stomach start to tighten. In just a few minutes we’re going to break into the famously forgotten River Country. I glance over at the wall. Still there. Still solid. What a waste behind it. A water park just sitting there empty. I place my iPhone into the plastic bag and zip it up.

  Through the plastic, I check the time—it’s been one minute since Dina ran off—and stick it back in my pocket. No sign of the boys. Twenty minutes since we split up. I wonder what items they’ve gotten so far. How are they going to pry a swing off a swing set?

  Craziness.

  My thoughts are interrupted by laughter again. Not people down on the beach laughing, but faraway laughing. And water splashing, like it’s coming from the lake itself. Who the hell would be in it at this time? Yes, I know we’re about to be in the lake, but it’s still weird that someone else would have the same idea as us at the exact same time.

  I have to see who’s making that sound. My sandals fling sand as I trudge down the beach. The romantic couple gets up to leave, oblivious to my presence. I stand on the very edge of the property and listen. Water splashes against the docks; a boat horn goes off far away. I can see the glow from the Magic Kingdom in the sky to the northwest. This is weird. I know I heard laughter. I walk over to the tall iron wall and press against it. Closing my eyes, I try to block out all other sounds.

  A mosquito buzzes near my ear. I shoo it away and just stand there, smooth cold metal against my hand. Then a sense of déjà vu comes over me, standing here on the edge of the lake, hearing laughing, splashing sounds, and the pops and whistles of fireworks overhead. I hate déjà vu. I can never reme
mber where I’ve seen something before, and that totally bothers me. But it doesn’t this time. Instead, it’s like I know this place. But that’s crazy. I’ve never, ever been to this side of Fort Wilderness. Not only that, but when I open my eyes . . .

  There’re no fireworks.

  I stare out at the dark edges of the water, the shrubs and foliage lurking there, and I can almost imagine the rest of the lake’s edge behind this wall. I’m staring so hard, I think I’m going to lose my balance. My heart beats so strong, I can hear it in the stillness. I have to wait for Dina. She’s my ticket out in case we get caught.

  But my mind and body won’t listen to reason at the moment.

  I don’t know how or why—I really can’t explain it—but before I can think, rationalize, or anything, I slip out of my sandals and throw myself waist deep into the lake. I have to see it. Whether anyone spots me or not doesn’t matter, because I have to get inside—now. I know this place. I push through the water, feeling the slimy bottom, the waving grasses, and God knows what else. I wade toward trees that live in the water—cypresses, I think—and feel the bottom dropping out underneath me, the black waters of the lake rising up to my chin.

  What the hell am I doing? Why am I doing this? All it takes is for one person on one of those shuttle boats out there to see me, and it’s all over.

  I swim quickly in the cool lake, following the curve of the land until the noises grow louder. But it could be me, I remind myself. Sounds travel. People could be laughing anywhere around this lake, and I would hear it. Ahead of me, there’s brush and tall grass and some old wooden boardwalk. The nature trail. I’ve been here; I’ve seen this.

  “Haley!” Someone calls me.

  I swim faster. Get to the boardwalk. The darkness of the lake and the buzzing of a thousand swamp insects remind me that this isn’t Disney World right now. These are Florida swamps, and they were here first. My soaked shirt and shorts weigh me down. As I swim, a part of me feels like I’m not actually here. Like I fell into some strange dream where I have no control and I’m being pulled in deeper. Any minute now I’m going to wake up in a cold sweat and find that I’m in our cabin, surrounded by my sleeping family.

  There could be snakes in these waters. There could be alligators. There could even be trolls, according to Marcus. The wooden boardwalk is within my reach. Two more strokes.

  “Haley!” Louder and clearer this time, but still far away. I think it’s Dina, but I can’t answer. I can hardly breathe. I reach the nature trail boardwalk and grab on to it. Got it. I hoist myself up, but the wooden beam snaps in my hand. It’s rotting. In fact, now I can see that most of the bridge is torn down. Swim alongside it. You’ll reach the edge of the marsh, then you can walk through the trees. I don’t know how I know this, but I follow my instincts.

  “Haleeeey! Where are you?”

  Little by little, I feel the bottom of the lake again with my bare toes. I grab a bunch of tall grasses to pull myself closer to the shore. Something moves past me in the water. A fish or turtle, I hope. The water level drops to my knees as I stand and grab hold of tree roots, branches, and I don’t know what else, because I can’t see a damned thing.

  Dripping wet, standing against the tree, I catch my breath. The air smells of wet grass, rotting wood, and a mustiness I can’t quite name. Between gulps of air, I laugh to myself. When did I become a criminal? Part of me wants to cheer over what I just did, but another grasps the stupidity of it. What if I don’t make it out as easily? What if there’s security in here? How do I explain to the Wilderness Police that I couldn’t control what just happened, that it was like River Country was calling me, and I had no choice but to swim toward it? If they don’t arrest me on the spot, then they’ll stick me in a mental institution.

  So. I’m here; now what? I stand there and take it all in.

  Crickets chirp all around me in the darkness, and after a minute my eyes adjust. Everywhere I look, there’s tall grass, vines, and trees. Deep breath, Haley. Start walking. Slowly. I should probably have my phone ready to take pictures. I fumble inside my pocket and unlock the plastic bag to get it ready. My phone has about ten texts from Dina and another two from my dad—where r u? hello? With wet, shaky fingers, I reply—sitting on the beach watching fireworks. Be there soon.

  As I’m sending off the text, another one comes in from Dina, about seeing my sandals and knowing I went in without her, and she’s coming after me. Do I answer? I will in a minute. For now I just like the solitude of having this place entirely to myself. But I know it’s not a smart idea, considering my medical history, so I start replying to her.

  But then, somewhere to my left, twigs snap, as if they’re getting stepped on.

  Crap.

  Forget this. I have to get out of here. I place my phone back in the bag, but I can’t swim back again. That took every ounce of stamina I had, and it’s made me a little dizzy. I know that all Disney resorts have behind-the-scenes connecting service roads. There has to be one around here somewhere. I’ll find it, then get the hell out. If someone finds me, I’ll just say I got lost.

  At least that’s my plan.

  Finally, I’m out of the thicket of trees, and the stars hover over me once again. I’m in a wide-open area. The ground I tread is covered in tall grass and a layer of mucky water. For every sloshy footstep, I think I hear another one behind me. It can’t be Dina. She couldn’t have swum here that fast. So that leaves a Disney employee, a raccoon, or a swamp troll. I speed up and use my phone’s screen to illuminate where I’m going.

  Darkness, more darkness . . .

  My breath is loud in my ears. I feel like I know where I’m going, though I’m pretty certain I’ve never been here. In fact, I’m not even surprised when I stop suddenly, because out of the gloom appears a collection of shapes, hard to discern, and I slow down to take it all in. Man-made structures come into focus—wooden platforms and tall poles just sitting there frozen in a foot of swamp water. A dock for jumping off of and two suspension bridges for delving farther into the murkiness on either side of my view. I hear shrieking again in my mind. And this time I see someone grabbing a metal bar and swinging off the platform, whooping and hollering as he flings himself into the green water.

  But when I blink again, there’s nobody. And no water. Just an empty, slimy lake bed to my left and shallow marsh topped with a layer of algae in front of me. In another spot, two kiddie slides, embedded in big, reddish boulders, slope down and plunge into a patch of marsh grasses. Holy crap, that used to have water and kids playing in it. In fact, this whole abandoned corner of the world I am standing in now used to have hundreds of people swimming, laughing, and having a good time.

  I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m seeing this.

  River Country.

  This is . . . there’re no words for this. I swallow stagnant air and blink back the sadness rising in my throat. I hear country banjo music coming from somewhere.

  Something white, winged, and startled by my presence rises into the air and disappears into the branches of a nearby cypress tree. Slowly, other structures come into view. Intertwined waterslides twist out and then retreat back into the great masses of brush, like ghostly snakes struggling to break free from the vines restraining them. Behind them are giant mounds of rock, and off to my left, other slides and ruins that might have once served a purpose. Now they sit rotting, completely forgotten by time.

  Snap.

  Another twig breaks somewhere in the trees, but I will not stick around to find out why. I take off running toward the bridge to my right, the one that flanks the lake. My feet disturb the still water, upsetting the slime layer that probably hasn’t moved in years, making splashes that sound loud even to me. I jump onto the suspension bridge and run over the wooden planks, shaking and creaking the whole thing as I go. When was the last time someone walked on this thing? The ropes holding it up seem surprised at
being tense again.

  It’s hot. Really hot. My dizziness returns. The sheer stupidity of going somewhere remote alone just four months after I had my first seizure slaps me hard; I honestly don’t know what came over me. I can’t think about it right now. I just need a place to hide. Luckily, I don’t hear anyone behind me anymore, but I run to the end of the bridge anyway.

  When I get to the end, I jump off, landing at the base of the rock mountain where the snakelike waterslides come out. My bare feet burn from running. A wooden sign lies on the ground. WELCOME TO WHOOP ’N’ HOLLER HOLLOW. FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT, PLEASE . . . STRONG SWIMMERS ONLY. Somewhere, there has to be a set of steps leading up to the top of those rocks. From there I can probably find a service exit, water-pump shed, or some cavern to duck into while I text Dina.

  “Haley!” she faintly calls from the general direction I broke in through.

  “Dina!” I call back this time, my voice sounding loud in my ears and strangely out of place. Apparently, I’m not loud enough, because she doesn’t answer me. And then the dream feeling is back, the disconnected, slow-motion wooziness that makes me feel as though I’m out of my own body, as though I’m watching this all unfold from behind a sheet of glass.

  Carefully, I climb a set of steps carved into the rock structure all the way to the top, and just when I think I’ve outmaneuvered whatever it was, I hear feet again, shuffling down below. My stomach crunches into a ball. Now what? Quickly, I scan around for a place to hide, but it’s even darker up here surrounded by more trees and brush. I turn, nearly slamming into a giant wagon wheel covered in vines. Suddenly I’m smacked with the feeling of air displacement. There’s another presence just a few feet away. My body freezes. I don’t breathe. In the shadows, whatever is there is waiting for me to make a move.