New York and Sandwiches just a little something I wrote a week ago.
In the midst of the modern world, lived a little girl; a little girl in New York, which was not modern to her at all. There were buildings, and people, and statues, that all told her this place was from another time, one that she couldn’t remember, one that was, no doubt, older than she was. She’d been looking for an adventure for quite sometime now, to help her discover what it was she needed, or maybe just wanted.
This particular little girl was unique, because she knew life was beyond her, unlike most children, who tend to think the world is no more than their own age, no more than themselves. She had freckles on her face and on her shoulders, each one full of wisdom and existence, which she often tried to count, but time and time again ended with her tiring due to the lengthy process it took for her to decipher how many there actually were.
Today would be the first day that the little girl was responsible for getting the mail, a great obligation in the life of a very small person, and surely not a coincidence for this adventure. Her parents told her it would give her character, and they would also pay her for it, a small amount each week, for her to save, until she really needed it. And, so, without fail, the little girl walked down the hall to her apartment building elevator, to get the letters, notices, junk, magazines, and mail, for her parents. But today, as most likely predicted, otherwise this story would be of no matter, a notice came in for a young Abigail Trudo, one for the New York Art Museum. It seemed to invite her to a celebration of love and art that might inspire. What Abigail did not know was that the letter was not meant for her, but instead meant for her mother, just like the credit card that was sent to her earlier this month. You see Abigail’s name and her mother’s name were not that different, her mother’s being Adelaide. Somehow Abigail’s name had been put onto a mass mailing system list. Abigail never received any mail up to this point, and never knew that mail was being sent to her, and often. However, it was intercepted by her mother, but this letter, she received. This letter was a call from the great beyond to find out about why New York felt like her grandmother and what love was all about, or at least that’s what Abigail thought.
Like any city kid, Abigail knew how to get to the Art Museum, how to get around, and how to be sneaky. She also knew her parents would not be so inclined to the idea of her going unaccompanied, but she felt the museum in her body. She knew that it was a journey she must brave alone. A journey that would teach her about life and love. She was a very insightful little girl. She wondered about New York and wanted to know about love there, and where it came from, and why those loved each other. She never had a brother, or a sister, in fact, as a result, that type of love, she was unsure of.
No one could stop Abigail at this point, she was determined to find a way to explore on her own, like Louis without Clark, or any other exploratory team, no one really wants to share discovery, they are just afraid to go unaided, but Abigail was brave. After an undetermined amount of time, staring at the invitation to the museum, she decided that after school, she would call her parents on her cell phone, and tell them about a play date she’d be having. From there, she’d get to the museum with her bus pass. The plan was particularly accessible, believable, and trouble-free; the perfect sort of plan.
School began the next day, and Abigail felt a warmness inside her, crawling to her feet, itching to let loose. Adventure would begin now, today, and as soon as the bell rang, she’d jump to her feet, and run into the abyss of understanding.
Braving the trip on the bus, Abigail sat with her backpack in her lap. She saw a man on the back of the bus, who was wrinkled and wise. He could teach her about perspectives and existence. She leapt out of her seat, thinking he wanted to share his thoughts with her, after all her grandmother always did. Swallowing her fear and trading it for strength, she marched her tiny feet to the back of the bus.
“Excuse me sir, can I sit here?” she said with an air of confidence. He did not respond. Abigail sat down. She continued with her questioning.
“Sir, do you think I could ask you a question?” she said. He didn’t respond again, but Abigail was diligent in her efforts.
“I’m on my way to the art museum you see, and I am going there to try to understand what it is like to have love, because I don’t have any siblings, and because I think it will help me learn about love. My parents say that 1 child is enough, and isn’t keeping the marriage together like they had planned in the first place, so, another child would be of no purpose. I don’t really get that, because I really want a brother, even a sister would be ok, and I wouldn’t mind sharing too much with her. So, I guess I wanted to ask you,” Abigail stopped mid sentence, and watched the man walk away. She thought to herself that maybe he didn’t understand her, and that not everyone can know the answers to these very important questions. Abigail was withdrawn, but not despondent just yet; she picked herself up, and continued on her way.
The museum was only blocks away, and according to this invitation she’d find out all about what love was, even if that mean old man on the bus didn’t want to tell her. Abigail’s grin preceded her, gallantly galloping to her destination. She saw a woman sitting on the side of the street, silently holding a cup out. Her parents never let her speak to those people, they were dirty, she was told, and sad, and the reason they were there was because they hadn’t worked hard enough. She walked past her towards her goal, and paused, retraced her steps, and moved backwards to where the woman was.
“Excuse me Ma’am,” Abigail always started her sentences to those she did not know with excuse me, “I wanted to know if I could ask you a question.” The woman looked up, directly into the little girls eyes, and waited.
“Well, my parents always tell me not to talk to you, to strangers I mean, but I think you could know the answer that I am looking for,” Abigail said and waited for any response. The woman did not give one. “You see, I am going to the museum today, to find out about love and I think you have been here for a long time, longer than me, do you know what that is, or maybe what I can do to get it?”
Without hesitation the woman said “there is no love here, not anymore.” Before Abigail could ask anything else, because she did have so many questions in her head, the woman continued “do you have anything I could eat?” And, of course she did, Abigail was the type to plan ahead, she made herself 2 lunches today, one she had already eaten and the other was in her backpack. She gave it to the lady.
“That’s it?” the lady moaned.
“Yes, that’s it,” said Abigail before moving on.
The day was progressing to late afternoon and the museum was right ahead, literally. This little girl would not let anything get in the way of her determination for discovery. The building became ever so close, with the conquering of the marble steps; one after the other, each leg of Abigail’s lifted as high as it could to climb. Enduring all she could to get there, the little girl was in the museum. Success, exclamation point, end of thought, Abigail was Leif Ericson, Abigail was Sacagawea, Abigail was Napoleon, short and victorious in her goals.
“Excuse me Ma’am,” she said to the lady at the desk, she barely reached the counter, “I have this letter, to me.” She reached as high as she could and put it on top, where the lady could see it, and awaited her entry into the greatness.
“Sweetie,” the lady said with a somewhat condescending tone, clearly she didn’t know who she was talking to, “this exhibit is closed for the day, and you can’t come in without an adult anyway.” Abigail had not even considered either of these as options to her grand plan.
“But,” she said, “I came here to find out about New York and love.” But, there was no answer, just like those people before. Abigail didn’t feel like an adult anymore, her eyes swelled up with tears, and she gulped in restraint. The sadness of the whole day overcame her.
“Come back tomorrow,” the lady said definitively, and that was that.
She dragged her feet to the door with a depressing feeling of defeat. The day was a marvelous and magnificent, full of wonder, and happiness, though Abigail did not share those same meaningful feelings. Abigail climbed down the stairs to the museum, realizing that there was no real love. There was no love at all in her city. She knew from the books, and from the people she had met, that once, long ago there was, that people had brothers who weren’t real brothers, but it had been devastated by horrible things, those things she didn’t know, because after all she was a little girl. Still, she knew that life was different before. People had been terribly rude to her, brash, bothered, and mean. She just couldn’t understand why her journey had led her here. Giving up on her day, she sat down with her sadness, on the large stairs of the art museum. Her backpack came off each shoulder, relieving the weight, of what seemed to be the world, and she put it down beside her. She remembered that she had had no food, no snack, not even a juice box to console her, so she sighed, and sat feeling ever so small.
It was awfully gloomy for Abigail to feel as if she no longer mattered to the big world. Abigail sighed again, but this time, she put her head into her hands and gave up. She’d tried so hard all day to find the slightest bit of satisfaction in New York. There was none. She decided, finally, that it was about time to conclude this misadventure. Her mission was a failure and there was no answer to love.
As she got up, an unsuspecting Abigail, we always are unsuspecting when we’ve been let down, looked up, and saw a boy, sitting on the great big steps too, but with his parents. She wanted to be that boy, with his parents, with his snacks and his love. Never the less, Abigail was a girl, and she’d lied to her parents, given away her food, and found herself here, too despondent to even exhale. She was ready to go home. Her journey was over. She got up to leave, because there was nothing more to do, but it seemed that the boy was headed towards her, and she did not know why. He came over and smiled. They were about the same age, and he could tell from her head in her hands that she needed something to make her a little bit happier. And he handed her a sandwich and walked away.
