Rearview

by Rajen Goyal

Our station wagon sits in the driveway, its fresh maroon coat beaming in the sun. I race out from the house and hop into the wayback seat. Our mission: reach Disney World. I grab the seatbelt, but I wince in pain from the scorching buckle. I wrap my shirt around the buckle and fasten it. The adventure begins—our house on the cul-de-sac shrinking in the distance. THUD! The car jolts from hitting an unseen crack in the road. I grip my belt, jaw clenched. We get on the highway, miles of road blurring together. Hours drift by, and we arrive at our rented villa. It’s massive—broad white walls and beige carpeted floors everywhere. Dad says we can unpack later and head to Disney first. We drop our bags, race back to the car, and head off.

My jaw drops as we enter Magic Kingdom, surrounded by crowds, storybook castles, and color-splashed buildings. I study our map, scouring all the choices to find our first ride. “Pick one or we’ll be late for the stunt show!” my sister shouts. Several minutes pass and a sharp flutter arises in my chest. “I don’t know,” I reply. “It doesn’t matter now. The lines at both rides are packed,” Dad says, annoyed. A faint cracking sound from the ground catches my attention. I look down and see crevices forming on the asphalt, ripping it apart. I blink and shake my head. The crevices are gone, the ground flat, solid. Families stroll past me while the screams of riders echo in the sky as roller coasters race by. Dad asks if I’m okay. I nod, uncertain, as I take one last look at the ground before leaving.

That evening, we’re packed among crowds of onlookers staring at Cinderella Castle—the crackling fireworks overhead brightening its warm colors. I stare at the tallest blue spire and dream of climbing to its top. I wrap my arms around Mom, and she puts a gentle, reassuring arm around me. I look up at her, wondering if I should say what I’m about to. “Mom,” I say, pausing, “I wanna learn piano again. I promise not to quit.” She replies, surprised. “Really? That would be great. Hearing that just made my day.” I swallow, trying to suppress the rising knot in my stomach. Maybe she’ll forget. One sparkler rises in the night sky. It bursts but doesn’t fizzle. It erupts in a brilliant flash, forcing me to look away. I tighten my arms around Mom, but they collapse around me. I look around. She’s vanished. Everyone’s gone, and my surroundings blur into a haze.

The crackles of fireworks linger in my ears. I still feel the warmth of Mom’s arm around my shoulders. The haze clears. I rub my eyes but notice thin-rimmed glasses across my nose. My hands are larger, worn—marked by adulthood. A fissured road stretches beneath me to where Cinderella Castle once stood. The castle and its tallest spire are replaced by a luminous, navy tower. Awestruck, I stroll towards it, hands outstretched. Inches within reach, I pause. A familiar feeling arises within—freezing me where I stand. Should I go near it? The tower holds, as if waiting for me to climb it. I try to reach out, but as soon as I do, it dissipates into the air. The only thing left is the barren road. Beads of icy sweat trickle down my brow. Tall white walls appear, solidifying around me while the road is replaced by carpeted floors.

I’m back in the villa. The calming breeze through the open window fills my chest. I study myself in the mirror; a scared kid stares back. My face, hands—youthful, small again. Maybe I should tell Mom or Dad? They’ll just laugh it off, so I pretend nothing’s wrong. Mom asks us to help unpack, but I ignore her and run outside. Hours pass before I realize I’m late for dinner. I sprint back to the villa only to see my sister, glaring at me through the back door window. “Mom’s pissed. She wanted to check out the grand piano at the rec center, but you disappeared. I covered for you though,” she says, unlocking the door. I rush upstairs, spring into bed, and drift off.

The next day, Dad takes me to one of the arcades. I make a beeline for the closest claw machine. My target—a classic Mickey Mouse at the back. I move the claw towards him, but a giant Goofy in the back snatches my attention. I yo-yo the claw between both and smash the grab button. I'm too late—the claw clutching nothing but air. Dad shouts, “Son, we gotta go, looks like your brother got sick!” Frustrated, I run towards Dad. With every step, I hear the gravel cracking behind me. I turn around to look. The arcade’s gone, the road reappearing beneath me. Glasses reappear, almost dangling off my nose. I push them up to see more clearly.

It’s disquietingly silent except for my stuttered breath. My hands are larger once again, fine hairs across the back of them. Clouded images rise from the asphalt cracks and hover above the road. I discern misty hands over a piano in one. A tethered claw materializes in my hands. I swing the claw to latch onto an image, but another appears in front of me. I quickly switch direction. Before the claw can reach either, the images decay into husks. I frantically swing the claw again and again, vacillating between images. Each one hardens into lifeless rock. Frustrated, I stop, and all the images reappear. I focus on the one with the piano. The hands hovering over the C—those hands look like… Mom’s? My breath catches: I never kept my promise. I see another with my sister clutching a phone, trembling. I look at the rest—my eyes widen in stark recognition… the few who cared, who tried—now gone. Streams of dim light lead to each image. I trace their path until I see—

No, this can’t be right—the beams emanate… from me. 

“I’m so sorry.”

My words are absorbed by silence, its deafening echo the only reply. The images, the road, bleed, coalescing into a liquid gray mass.

As the sun’s rays pierce the glazed windows, the gray hardens into clarity—ashen individuals in a nursing home lounge. I’m sitting, alone, the old TV droning behind me. The trip that started in the maroon station wagon plays repeatedly in my head. It now nears its end. While pondering this, I notice the catheter bag full of urine down by my leg. “Nurse!” I weakly shout, pressing the call button. No one comes. I don’t want to push it again as it might bother someone. Instead, I do exactly what I’ve done for my entire journey… nothing.