The Return of Dan

My girlfriend was fifteen percent of my age, and, being somewhat old-fashioned, it bothered me. Her name was Lil, and she was second-generation Disney World. Her parents had been among the original ad-hocracy that took over the management of Liberty Square and Tom Sawyer Island. She was, quite literally, raised in Walt Disney World, and it showed.

It showed in everything she did. From her gleaming red hair to her meticulous accounting of every gear and cog in the animatronics she managed, Lil was the epitome of neatness and efficiency. Her parents were in canopic jars in Kissimmee, deadheading for a few centuries.

One muggy Wednesday, we sat with our feet dangling over the edge of the Liberty Belle's riverboat pier, watching the listless Confederate flag flutter over Fort Langhorn on Tom Sawyer Island by moonlight. The Magic Kingdom had been closed for the night, and every last guest had been ushered out beneath the Main Street train station. We were finally able to relax, shedding parts of our costumes and savoring the peace as cicadas serenaded us.

Despite being over a century old, I still felt a spark of magic in having my arm around Lil's warm, slender shoulders under the moonlight. We were hidden from the hustle of the cleaning crews by the turnstiles, breathing in the warm, moist air. Lil nestled her head against my shoulder and pressed a soft butterfly kiss under my jaw.

"Her name was McGill," I sang gently.

"But she called herself Lil," she sang back, her warm breath tickling my collarbones.

"And everyone knew her as Nancy," I continued.

I was surprised to discover that Lil knew the Beatles. They had been old news in my youth, but her parents had given her a thorough—and eclectic—education.

"Want to do a walk-through?" she asked. It was one of her favorite activities, exploring every inch of the rides she oversaw with the lights on, after the tourists had left. We both enjoyed seeing the magic's underpinnings. Perhaps that was why I kept questioning our relationship.

"I'm a little pooped. Let's sit a while longer, if you don't mind."

She heaved a dramatic sigh. "Oh, all right. Old man." Reaching up, she playfully tweaked my nipple, causing me to jump in surprise. I think the age difference bothered her too, though she teased me about letting it get to me.

"I think I'll manage a totter through the Haunted Mansion if you give me a moment to rest my bursitis," I said, feeling her smile against my shirt. Lil adored the Mansion; she loved turning on the ballroom ghosts and dancing with them on the dusty floor, and challenging the marble busts in the library that followed your gaze as you walked past.

I enjoyed the Mansion too, but I really treasured just sitting there with her, watching the water and the trees. I was about to get up when I heard a soft ping in my cochlea.

"Damn," I said. "I've got a call."

"Tell them you're busy," Lil suggested.

"I will," I replied, and answered the call subvocally. "Julius here."

"Hi, Julius. It's Dan. Got a minute?"

I knew countless Dans, but I recognized the voice instantly, even though it had been ten years since we last got drunk together at the Gazoo. I muted the subvocal and said, "Lil, I've got to take this. Do you mind?"

"Oh, not at all," she replied with a hint of sarcasm. She sat up, pulled out her crack pipe, and lit up.

"Dan," I subvocalized, "long time no speak."

"Yeah, buddy, it sure has been," he said, his voice breaking into a sob.

I turned to Lil and gave her a look that made her drop her pipe. "How can I help?" she asked softly but quickly. I waved her off and switched the call to full-vocal mode. My voice sounded unnaturally loud in the cricket-filled calm.

"Where are you, Dan?" I asked.

"Down here in Orlando. I'm stuck out on Pleasure Island."

"All right," I said. "Meet me at the Adventurer's Club, upstairs on the couch by the door. I'll be there in—" I glanced at Lil, who knew the castmember-only routes better than I did. She held up ten fingers. "Ten minutes."

"Okay," Dan said. "Sorry." He had regained his composure. I ended the call.

"What's up?" Lil asked.

"I'm not sure. An old friend is in town. He sounds like he's in trouble."

Lil pointed at me and made a trigger-squeezing gesture. "There," she said. "I've just uploaded the best route to Pleasure Island to your public directory. Keep me updated, okay?"

I set off for the utilidoor entrance near the Hall of Presidents and descended the stairs, guided by the hum of the underground tunnel system. I took the slidewalk to Cast Parking and retrieved my cart for the trip to Pleasure Island.

Dan was seated on the L-shaped couch beneath rows of framed trophy shots with humorous captions. The downstairs cast members were busy with animatronic masks and idols, engaging with guests.

Dan, now appearing over fifty with a bit of a paunch and stubbly appearance, slumped listlessly. His eyes were heavy with dark circles. I noticed his Whuffie had plummeted to nearly zero as I approached.

"Jesus," I said, taking a seat beside him. "You look like hell, Dan."

He nodded wearily. "Appearances can be deceptive," he replied, "but in this case, they're bang-on."

"You want to talk about it?" I asked.

"Somewhere else, huh?" He glanced around. "I hear they ring in the New Year every night at midnight; I think that'd be a little too much for me right now."

I led him to my cart and drove back to the place I shared with Lil in Kissimmee. During the twenty-minute ride, Dan chain-smoked eight cigarettes, filling the cart with stinging clouds. I kept glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. With his eyes closed, he looked almost lifeless. I could hardly believe this was my once-vibrant action-hero friend.

I called Lil discreetly. "I'm bringing him home. He's in rough shape. Not sure what's going on."

"I'll make up the couch and get some coffee," she replied. "Love you."

"Back atcha, kid," I said.

As we arrived at our modest, swaybacked ranch house, Dan opened his eyes. "You're a pal, Jules," he said. "I tried to think of who I could call, and you were the only one. I've missed you, bud."

"Lil said she'd put some coffee on," I said. "You sound like you need it."

Lil was waiting on the sofa, a folded blanket and an extra pillow on the side table, along with a pot of coffee and some Disneyland Beijing mugs. She stood and extended her hand. "I'm Lil," she said.

"Dan," he replied. "It's a pleasure."

I noticed Lil's surprised disapproval as she pinged his Whuffie. To her generation, it was crucial; anyone without it was automatically suspect. She quickly recovered, smiled, and discreetly wiped her hand on her jeans. "Coffee?" she offered.

"Oh, yes," Dan said, slumping onto the sofa.

She poured him a cup and set it on a coaster on the coffee table. "I'll let you boys catch up," she said, and started toward the bedroom.

"No, wait," Dan said. "If you don't mind, I think it'd help if I could talk to someone … younger, too."

Lil took on her chirpy, helpful demeanor and settled into an armchair. She pulled out her pipe and lit up. I had gone through my crack period before she was born, just after they made it decaf, so seeing her and her friends light up always made me feel old. Dan surprised me by taking the pipe from her, toking heavily, and then passing it back.

Dan closed his eyes, rubbed his fists into them, and sipped his coffee. It was clear he was struggling to find the right words.

"I believed I was braver than I really am," he finally said.

"Who doesn't?" I replied.

"I truly thought I could do it. I knew that someday I'd run out of things to do and see. I knew it would come to an end. You remember our arguments about it. I swore I'd be finished, and that would be that. And now I am. There isn't a single place left on Earth that isn't part of the Bitchun Society. There isn't a single thing I want any part of."

"So, deadhead for a few centuries," I suggested. "Put the decision off."

"No!" he shouted, startling both of us. "I'm done. It's over."

"So do it," Lil said.

"I can't," he sobbed, burying his face in his hands. He cried uncontrollably, shaking with each sob. Lil went to the kitchen, retrieved some tissues, and handed them to me. I awkwardly patted his back.

"Jesus," he said into his palms. "Jesus."

"Dan?" I said softly.

He sat up, took the tissue, and wiped his face and hands. "Thanks," he said. "I've tried to make a go of it. I spent the last eight years in Istanbul, writing papers on my missions and the communities. I did follow-up studies and interviews, but no one was interested. Not even me. I smoked a lot of hash, but it didn't help. One morning, I went to the bazaar, said goodbye to friends, then went to a pharmacy to get a lethal injection. The man wished me good luck. I sat with the hypo all afternoon, then decided to sleep on it. The next day, I did the same. I looked inside myself and saw that I didn't have the guts. I've faced a hundred guns and a thousand knives, but I didn't have the guts to press that button."

"You were too late," Lil said.

We both turned to her.

"You were a decade too late," she continued. "If you killed yourself now, you'd just be a washed-up loser who couldn't hack it. If you'd done it ten years ago, you would've been going out on top—a champion retiring permanently." She set her mug down with a harder-than-necessary clunk.

Lil and I are sometimes in sync. Other times, it feels like she's on a different planet. I was horrified by her bluntness, but she was right. Dan nodded heavily, acknowledging the truth in her words.

"A day late and a dollar short," he sighed.

"Well, don't just sit there," Lil said. "You know what you've got to do."

"What?" I asked, feeling irritated by her tone.

She looked at me as if I were being deliberately obtuse. "He needs to get back on top. Cleaned up, dried out, and into some productive work. He needs to rebuild his Whuffie. Then he can go out with dignity."

It seemed absurd, but Dan was considering her words carefully. "How old did you say you were?" he asked.

"Twenty-three," she replied.

"Wish I'd had your smarts at twenty-three," he said with a sigh, straightening up. "Can I stay here while I get the job done?"

I glanced at Lil, who considered for a moment before nodding.

"Sure, pal," I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You look beat."

"Beat doesn't begin to cover it," he replied.

"Good night, then," I said.