Zoé

The museum

Party at Zeta Omega house! If you're not there tonight, you're not living.

This was the fourth flyer for this party Angel had seen during his short walk from his dorm room to his History class. The loud words seemed to be mocking him, tempting him.

For the short two months he had been at Barrymore University, he had attended more than a few dozen parties. There was one being promoted every weekend and he was there every night, hoping that he would find what he was looking for in the ecstasy of the moment. Or at least stop thinking about it for a while.

What was bothering him so much? No one knew. Not even Angel knew the answer to that question. He was simply aware that his life was unrolling and he was forced to take the back sit as everyone took a turn at stirring the wheel. He was probably going to crash soon if he didn't find what he was looking for.

He sat at the back of the class, engrossed in the life of people who had been dead for thousands of years. He was fascinated by the dead languages, and extinct civilizations. But never by the ones that survived which was where his problem took root.

He was stuck in the past, always remembering times that had come and left. The present nor the future was ever on his mind. That was the root of the problem and he knew it.

His father had decided that he would become a dentist; he was fine with that. It was not like he had a choice. He didn't know what he wanted to do in the future. He barely knew what he wanted for lunch in the next few hours.

A sense of lost washed over him as soon as he left the class. He opened the door to the big outdoors and walked toward the nearest bench under a neglected oak tree. He bathed in the warm sun as he enjoyed a rare quiet day in New York City.

The city that never slept. He wished it did once a while. Perhaps the serenity would help guide him to where he needed to be.

The single quiet second did guide him but it was in the frustratingly subtle way which faith had always been famous for using.

He was stirred away from his slumber by a wheel crushing his toes in the ground. He jumped up in time to find the bicyclist going on his merry way.

"Hey, watch out," he shouted but the man did not stop.

Angel rearranged the strap of his backpack on his shoulders and began to walk away. A flyer landed on his chest. He grabbed it and absentmindedly threw it behind him.

"Always partying, it's like people here don't know how to do anything else," he groaned under his breath. As the words left his mouth, it felt like he was reprimanding his own self.

He crossed the streets to go to his tutor. The man had a special touch that made logarithms less intimidating long enough for him to pass his tests. It was his dad's idea. The tutor was supposed to make college easier but somehow earning better grades was weighting more on his soul than failing. Or was it his justification for the depressing mode he was permanently in?

His entire body felt heavier, even the bottom of his feet. He glanced down. No, that wasn't figurative. There was something stuck to the sole of his feet. It was the flyer. He threw it away only to have the wind blow it back to his face.

He was about to tear it apart when the underlined letters grabbed his attention. It wasn't a party. It was a flyer about a museum, specifically the Gourdon Museum. It was in the process of closing its doors.

He heard of many stories about this museum but he never set foot in it. It wasn't his cup of tea. Maybe he could take a peek today since it didn't look like it would be around for much longer. There was nothing better in his calendar. The parties had lost their allure a few dozen parties ago.