I am in a dystopian Disneyland.
In this reality, Disney was subtly misogynistic.
The men don’t notice anything unusual.
But all the accommodations for women are slightly smaller, shabbier, and subordinate.
It is an open secret.
But considered improper to comment upon.
I am carrying my guitar.
[Which I have had since high school]
I am in some sort of multi-story mall.
There are tasteful character posters at discreet intervals along the stairwells.
Advertising upcoming (or currently showing) movies.
Two women come up to me.
College students or twenty-somethings.
The shorter one apologizes for being forward, but asks if I am open to selling my guitar.
I look at it.
I realize I hadn’t fully closed the case.
It doesn’t seem properly cared for.
I am immediately protective.
You don’t know what you are asking.
I have literally been around the world with this guitar.
The taller woman nods.
We too have felt the fires of the mission field.
We have sung the sweet sounds of sunset on a cool beach.
I shake my head.
I clutch the guitar my chest and walk away.
Then I remember.
I almost never actually play the guitar.
My son did before he bought his own.
Now I can borrow his if I need to.
And I haven’t been keeping good track of it.
I actually left it behind on one of the rides.
And didn’t notice for a couple hours.
Filled with resolve
I return to the women
I hand her the guitar
I say take it
It is a gift
Then I wake up