Nostolgia is one thing, this was something stronger; I was keeping my younger self alive. I sat on the same couch I did nearly twenty years ago, curled up on the muted fern green corduroy-like chaise that was more comfortable at nighttime than during the daytime. The same tan quilted blanket covered me, no longer long enough to cover me toe to chin like it used to. Instead of a matching Pajama set with Belle’s face plastered on it, I wore a plain yellow oversized sweatshirt and blue pajama shorts that had little white roses on them. The aroma of popcorn emulated from the bowl next to me, the bag of microwave popcorn no longer popped the unfinishable mountain of popcorn that it used to seventeen years ago.
The sound of the Disney intro pulled my attention to the screen, now thinner and slicker than the two-foot-long boxed television that I first watched the film on. The improved technology had no effect on the soft imaging of the 1991 film, transporting me back to 2007. Six-year-old me was enchanted by Belle; my love for reading was inspired by her, my hair styled into a ponytail like hers, and my stubbornness and strength only grew from my admiration. It was like something pulled out of a time capsule, the present day slipped from around me and suddenly I was six again. My eyes softened with an innocence that had long since left me, they grew wide in childlike wonder when Belle walked down the steps in her yellow gown, turning into a princess.
My head laid on the same pillow it did seventeen years ago, a sense of contentment had replaced the usual anxious feeling of adulthood as Belle and the Beast’s dancing closed out the movie. I hum the tune of “Beauty and the Beast” as the credits rolled, rediscovering the feeling of dreaming once again as my head swayed on the pillow with the music. In my head I was dancing with them in my own golden dress and golden heels; with soft features, my hair up, and a rose tattoo on my arm.
