Where Dreams Come True

NOTE: All events and characters involved here are imaginary. Any similarities with real occurrences are purely coincidental.

Bobby Waltz bent over his sketch. It was the caricature of a kitten playing with a spool of wool. His father had taken him out to watch a screening of the Steam Boat Willie last year and the then 6 year old Bobby had watched awestruck at the jumping little mouse that was not a real mouse but an animated sketch that could talk, sing and dance! It was unprecedented for many an adult, let alone a child for whom the world itself could be a wonder. “Hey Bob! Wanna play baseball?”-Angie, his next door neighbor invited him from outside the window of his bedroom, where he was busy sketching. “Sure thing!”- Cried out Bobby. It wasn’t the game he was particularly interested in though. It was only to observe it up close so that all could go down on his sketch pad.

Little Bobby had had a thing for sketching stuffs since he had barely learnt to talk. In the class, he would be busy drawing up a caricature of a teacher or a fellow classmate or even anything inanimate that would catch his fancy. He had been scaled quite so often for this and yet he couldn’t help himself. It was as if a scrap of paper and a writing instrument were enough to bewitch Bobby and as if his hand would move in a trance.

“Get outta here kid! Help your Paa with the firewood. This boy ain’t no use really. Berta is way better.”Bobby’s father chided him. He wasn’t very well happy about his son’s hobby and felt he needed grooming as regards men’s duties. Martin Waltz owned a small ranch in the Arkansas County and lived there with his wife, daughter and son. A sturdy and honest farmer, Martin had received a severe blow on his right leg during his service as a soldier in World War I and still walked with a limp. He was a loving yet strict patriarch. Consequently, he worried constantly about Bobby’s lack of such skills as would appeal to his gender or his lack of inclination towards the acquisition of them either. Emily Waltz, a calm and pious woman did not ever speak up against her husband but secretly she was proud of Bobby’s abilities. Berta though did take up the liberty to openly admire her kid brother’s funny sketches and did not mind having to usually replace him in helping her Paa with the rough outdoor activities required on a ranch.

Meanwhile, the antiques of the animated mouse called Mickey continued to gain popularity amongst children and adults alike. Bobby’s fascination knew no bounds. It grew stronger with each passing year. Bobby began dreaming about working as an animator some day. However, 1939 arrived and the United States declared itself at war again with Germany and other Axis powers. The very next year Bobby, being all of 18 now, soon got drafted into the military.

Life was terribly hard now-a far cry from the peaceful County. Harsh physical training-sometimes almost abusive, lack of basic requirements more often than not, the constant accompaniment of bombings and gun shells made it difficult to preserve oneself itself. Death and pain painted the world crimson. News of destruction of the cities reached the soldiers. There was no way of ensuring the safety of the near and dear ones back home either. And yet Bobby did not allowed the cartoonist within himself to be subdued. Often during the rare moments of repose, when despair threatened to engulf him completely, he would get out the tiny notepad and the pencil butt that he kept tucked inside his pockets and draw to his heart’s content, draw whatever he saw and felt and escape into his world of fantasy, forgetting all miseries. 5 years passed thus and Bobby miraculously managed to survive. He prepared to return home.

Only there was no home. The Waltz’s ranch had been reduced to a charred wasteland. The local war-time emergency office informed him that the family had been home asleep at night when the bombs had hit the farm. Bobby could not comprehend what sort of homecoming this was. He was dumbstruck at the cruelty of fate. He felt dizzy with fatigue, now compounded with the grief of loss. Upon waking up, he found himself in the local shelter, a plastic plate containing peanut butter toast and vegetable broth laid close by. He pushed it away. His uniform had not been taken off yet. Hurriedly he began looking for the pencil and notepad he always had with himself- the only means of escaping the tormenting ache of his soul and let himself lose. The darkness of his thoughts produced magnificent illustrations- angry skies with Gods warring against each other, raging seas gnashing against monstrous rocks and cliffs.

A sharp intake of breath interrupted the artist’s thoughts. A lanky and pale faced youngish chap, the plate of meal Bobby had cast aside in his hands, was staring at the sketches Bobby had just produced. “Jesus! Bosses gotta have a look at that…” Putting aside the plate and without the civility to take Bobby’s permission, he snatched off the notepad and began sifting through its contents eagerly, letting out exclamations of glee occasionally.

“Where on earth were you man?”

“I am sorry but…”

“Ah! William Chapman. Call me Willie. Came here as a volunteer. Couldn’t very well join the War. They thought I was a bit touched up in ma brains you see.” Willie guffawed.

Bobby could only gape.

“Oh…Sorry about the blabbering. Been scolded tons for it. I am like that when exciting stuff makes me go bonkers. I am a junior animator at Disney. Bosses have been going into a tizzy off late, what with the war taking away folks and bad business all around. And you are?”

Once again, Bobby Waltz was at a loss. How exactly had the Heavens decided to toy with him? Here he was; homeless, penny less and the sole survivor in his family, when it should have been the other way around, he being the only Waltz sent off to war. And there was this garrulous stranger, paving up the path towards the realization of the dream that he had so ardently thought of in the happier times. Would it be right for him, could he even dare to hope to be happy again? But if he had been kept alive, greater forces had surely been at work, something beyond his imagination. Leaving all doubts aside, Bobby decided to follow the way laid out before him.

10 years later, the first Disney Land began operations in California. Bobby had at long last found the place where dreams could come true.