Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Museum Boy

It happened on the first of June 2001. I opted to attend a recital and lecture by Donne e Donni—women musicians from Walla Walla who play classical music by women composers. I was in the mood to write letters to the calm, soothing strain of the violin. As I entered the museum, I cast my eyes about me and took in the various exhibits. In the midst of this activity, I was approached by a young man (young being slightly older than myself).

“Do you know where you are going?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied confidently, “the rotunda room.”

“Do you know where that is?” he responded.

“No,” I said.

“Are you going to ask me?” he questioned.

“Yes,” I said looking at him expectantly.

Upon us descended a slight lull—a pause. I naturally assumed that he would then direct me to the room. I was wrong.

“Well,” he stated, “I am waiting.”

“Could you please direct me to the rotunda room,” I laughingly queried, amused slightly at his antics.

“Follow the stairs and you will see a large room—rotunda shaped,” he directed.

“Oh thank you!” I responded sarcastically, feigning amazement at his helpfulness.

Once in the destination of interest I, on scanning the audience, was not surprised to find that I was the youngest in attendance—having unusual tastes for my age. Yet such an inconsequential detail I did not let interfere with my enjoyment of the music and stories. A lavish reception afterwards took place—tables full of delightful delicacies of which I generously partook. Since I did not know anyone, I took refuge near an obliging wall and unobtrusively ate. It was in this stance that I was again approached by the young man.

“Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to mingle?” he asked.

I replied that at present, I was unacquainted with anyone in the room. He then took pity on me, introduced himself as Adam, and then introduced be to a charming older woman named Dorothy, who frequented the museum often. Adam and I then conversed for over an hour, at the end of which he knew that I was graduating, I danced at Western, my teacher’s name was Pam, I was going to Ukraine for a year and a half, and I was Mormon. In return the only information I had garnered was his name and that he worked at the museum.

Over the ensuing days, I planned my return. I planned what I would wear and how I would appear and went to the museum with great confidence that I would see him. How great was my disappointment when I didn’t! I left thinking that I would never see him again. That all I would have was this beautiful memory.

Yet fate smiled on me. I returned a week and two days later with my roommate, Y, in tow. Again we went to the main building only to find that he was not there. As we were about to leave however, the person manning the desk mentioned two other buildings holding exhibits. Low and behold, who do we find in the third building? Adam. We conversed briefly prior to viewing the exhibit during which he mentioned meeting my dance teacher and that he had mentioned my name to her. To hear that he had remembered my name! My heart did a series of twists and leaps. We returned to the desk after a short viewing where we continued our conversation until a large part entered, and he was detained. That was the last time I saw or heard about Museum boy. That is until…….

Last year when I received this from Y:

“hey, is this museum boy?

He was in my program...I kept meaning to ask you. ;)”

Image my astonishment! Seeing him after five long years. The memories of what could have been…….sigh. But as Y pointed out, “You are way taller then him, so it never would have worked.” It just wasn’t meant to be.

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