According to the three children’s grandmother, they had been at the Great New York State Fair for four hours. The matriarch’s tone came out emphasized, as if she were reading a fairy tale. The two siblings, a boy and girl, possibly twins, sitting next to her spoke and asked questions with that familiar airy curiosity personally experienced and spoken years ago.
The older of the three stood at the opposite side of the Centro bus, staring out the window into the night and at the passing landscape. She wore a pink hoody, which had rabbit ears. She pretended to not want to be a part of the conversation, but her occasional looking back gave her away. When her grandmother mentioned something about her braids, the little one let her head cover down for a only second to show off the two intricately braided strands.
Before the lamp posts of the city and before the guard rails and zone of stargazing, she watched the bright multicolored lights of The Fair shrink to the size of stars before disappearing completely.
Aside being the first time I opted to take public transportation — it was a smooth, convenient ride — the familiarity of it was uncanny to taking the bus trips from the various Disney theme parks back to one of the resorts. The people had their bags full of swag, and some carried unnecessarily large stuffed animals. My brother, instead of I, would be the one passed out.
According to interviews, one of the goals of the fair was to “Disnify” or “Disney-fy” it. It was to be bigger and better, and the newly acquired space would be put to good use. With the Grandstand becoming one with the earth and history, its ashes and rubble spread to various parts within the central New York fairgrounds, there was more room to work with. The midway and attractions were spread out, and so were the positive and negative reactions.
However, the silent bus, save the laughing little girl and crying child in the back, justified the essence of a one segment of the 12-day stretch — inevitable
As the grandmother took a phone call to set up a pick-up appointment, the possible twins kept each other occupied. The girl, who had the most energy to burn, handled a long-tubed slushie drink. Her brother held a sword, a short-bladed weapon that Peter Pan would keep sheathed on the belt around his waist. Only Pan’s wouldn’t be plastic.
She messed with him a little bit as any typical sibling would when their kin is clearly showing signs of slipping into slumber. She rubbed his face, under the cheek where it met the neck. He was a good sport about it and didn’t fuss about her actions or when she laughed.