Dillon Dillon

by Kate Banks

Dillon lifted out the bundle of letters. He shuffled through them
quickly. There was nothing for him. Then he walked to the end of his
street and dropped his own letter into the corner mailbox, in the
slot for out-of-town letters.

Days passed. Weeks. At school Dillon moved happily from square roots
to long division. He did not forget about the coupon. But it was no
longer in the forefront of his thoughts. Instead it dangled
somewhere in the back of his mind on a small fading thread of hope.
Far enough away so that when at last the response came, Dillon was
taken by surprise.

CHAPTER THREE

"Mr. Dillon Dillon
1687 Keller Road
Rock Falls, New Hampshire 03877"

That's what the envelope said. They'd gotten the name of his street
wrong. Dillon had never heard of Keller Road. And he hardly thought
of himself as a mister. But he was sure the letter was meant for
him. There was certainly no other Dillon Dillon in Rock Falls, or
anywhere else in the world for that matter.

Dillon tore open the envelope. It was from the cereal company. Out
of all the millions and billions and trillions of coupons sent in,
his had been drawn. He had won something. Not a little something
like a Super Ball or a key chain. He had won first prize. He had won
an all-expenses-paid week at Disneyland for his entire family.

Dillon read the letter again and again. He could not believe it.

"I won!" he cried.

"What did you win?" asked Didier. "A Mickey Mouse pencil?"

Dillon ignored his brother. "I won a trip to Disneyland," he said.
" Remember the coupon I sent in?"

"Let me see," said Didier. Dillon handed Didier the letter. Didier
read it out loud. He read it again. After the third time he put the
letter down. "Way to go, Dillon," he said.

"We can go, can't we, Mom?" asked Dillon.

Dillon's mother picked up the envelope. She didn't look hopeful.
" There are no dates," she said. "And you still have to fill this
out." She handed Dillon a questionnaire with two full sheets of
queries. It had to be completed and returned within two weeks. When
the cereal company received it, they would send out further
information.

Dillon sat down and began answering each question: Had he ever been
to Disneyland? Why did he want to go? Was this the first time he'd
won anything? What were the names and ages of his family members?
And so on. When Dillon had completed the form, he folded it and
stuffed it into the enclosed return envelope. Just as he'd done six
weeks earlier, he walked to the end of his street and dropped it in
the corner mailbox.

Dillon waited one month. Two months. The further information never
came. At the cereal company a new employee had mislaid Dillon's
envelope. She was asked to send a letter and another questionnaire
to Dillon, but she forgot. Dillon tried the 800 phone number on the
back of the cereal box countless times, but he was always placed on
hold.

"It was probably just a publicity hoax," said Didier.

"Or a mistake," said his mother. "Everyone makes mistakes. Isn't
that right?" she added cheerfully. Dillon nodded.

In any case, the free trip to Disneyland fell to the second-place
winners, Mr. and Mrs. Clarence Witherspoon and their two daughters,
Lottie and Claire.

"It's not the end of the world," said Dillon's father. "We'll go up
to the lake like we always do."

Dillon was not listening. He had not clutched the prize in his hand
for long enough to feel truly disappointed. On the contrary, he felt
strangely elated. He had won something. A big something. And nothing
could take that away.

When the time came to leave for Lake Waban, Dillon packed his
suitcase. He sat on top of his luggage and snapped the latch shut.
As the car pulled out of the driveway, Dillon knew he was headed for
the lake. But being the hoper he was, he continued to hope that by
some strange twist of fate he might end up at Disneyland.

CHAPTER FOUR

The road curved like a lazy river, pitching Didier into Dillon and
squashing Daisy against the door of the car. Dillon had just
finished a game of travel checkers with Didier. He'd lost. Didier
took out a wooden flute and piped a few notes.

"Didier's flute is magic," Daisy said.

Didier frowned. "There's no such thing as magic," he said.

Dillon did not believe this. At least, he didn't want to believe it.
There were always things happening that couldn't be explained.

"How do you know?" Dillon asked Didier.

"I just know," said Didier surely. He put the flute to his lips and
kept on playing.

Dillon leaned back against the seat. He listened to the musical
notes float out the window and dissipate into the air. He was sure
they could not possibly finish where his own hearing ended. Maybe
there was a land of music. A land where half and whole notes bounced
through town, bumping into one another. Dillon smiled at the
thought.

(continued on Wednesday)