Last week I was on vacation at the most magical place on Earth: Disney World. I went with my brother and mother as a kind of “let’s recapture that childhood” vacation, and we were more than excited when we booked back in October. Then, months later when Covid-19 infection rates were first being reported on, we decided to still go, because, well, we were all really looking forward to this trip. My brother wanted an escape from the LA actor grind. My mom wanted a break from work, and I desperately needed the sun after living through this year’s bleak Minnesotan winter.

So, with masks, gloves, and hand sanitizer we all met in Orlando, Florida on the 11th of March. One day later, Disney announced they would close both Disney world and land on the end of day Sunday, March 15th. Covid-19 was much more serious than we had anticipated. 

As I write this, it’s Monday the 16th. I’m sitting on my room’s patio chair at the Polonesian resort watching as they repaint the Magic kingdom’s titualar castle now that the parks are closed, at least until the end of the month. It’s 89 degrees F ( 31.67 C).  A warm breeze pushes lazy white clouds across the sky. The smell of sea water and sand punctuate the breeze. It is quiet. 

Everywhere I walk feels a little ghost-towny. People are escaping as quickly as they can now that the parks are closed. Those, like me and my party, wander the grounds aimlessly, drinking up the sand while we wait for airlines to call us back, even though they never will. In contrast to the Hawaiian music playing from speakers hidden around the property, it is strangely still and tense. 

In the end, I still find it odd.