Beautiful Weird Humans

The shy restorer

Amy blinked.

It took her eyes a couple seconds to adjust to the dim light inside. She allowed herself a moment to admire the scene: The museum had welcomed her into an ample, circular lobby. The stone floor had given way to polished marble tiles. The surrounding walls illustrated a battle of enormous proportions, where archangels with three pairs of wings and swords writhed in flames plunged from the dome overhead into a fiery battle that extended all around her. A large limestone fountain sat in the middle of the scene, its main column carved in the shape of a tall, solemn angel, its face pointing upwards, water pouring downwards from the trumpet pursed to his lips, rallying the legions to battle. She often wondered how people even came up with things like this.

Her footsteps echoed as she crossed the room towards the main hallway. Different signs pointed the way to galleries and exhibitions: Enigmatic Egypt, up. Dinosaurs and ancient humans, straight ahead. Vive la Renaissance, down the stairs to the right. Modern and Contemporary, left. She let herself wander aimlessly through rooms and corridors. I am stealing something today, she kept repeating herself.

But as she made her way through the rooms, the marvelous antiques and treasures forced Amy to face the extent of her ambition. Suits of armor, stone sculptures, beautiful intricate vases. Most of these things were huge. There was no way she was taking those. Furthermore, purse-friendly items were inconveniently kept beyond the reach of curious hands. Amy's mind was set on her goal but, what was she going to steal? And how was she going to do it?

She refused to give up. She entered a large, square gallery with beautiful canvases. Rudolphe, Schwartz, Sosa, Abedayo. She did not recognize the painters, yet there was something about them that evoked an aura that made her chest swell, as if she were breathing some invisible magic in the air. This room felt special. Looking to the right, she spotted a small cozy room away from the scattered visitors. She peeked inside.

Lit up in an ethereal blue and green light, gorgeous postcard-sized paintings filled up the walls from top to bottom: Endless fields of snow beneath a breathtaking aurora, a polar bear plunging into the icy water, arctic foxes getting ready to pounce on an unsuspecting white rabbit. Dark, big letters on the ceiling read: Visions of the Tundra by Agatha Li. They were perfect.

She looked around – she was alone. No cameras in sight. She approached the back wall. There was a particularly gorgeous image on the bottom corner with a couple of narwhals emerging from a hole on the icy surface. Perhaps she could take that one, its absence more discreet? She suddenly became very conscious of the silence around. She could hear herself breathe. She gulped. Would the frames be glued to the wall? What if she pulled too hard and tore it apart? Would an alarm sound? Would she ruin the painting and her reputation in one go? Would she get arrested? She turned around. Still alone. Eyes fixed on the picture, hands shaking and sweating, Amy bent down; her hand reached out, fingers outstretched. She'd first touch it, yes, give it a little nudge. If nothing happened, then she'd grab it in a swift motion and put –

"No touching, please."

"I am so, so sorry!" Amy stammered, jumping away from the wall. A guard stood on the threshold, with his... back to her? "Sorry," a voice emerged from the other room. The guard nodded and walked away without ever turning back.

******

Amy sighed, hands covering her eyes. That had been a very close call. What had she been thinking? Was she stupid? She was not going to do this. Robbing a museum? What was wrong with her? How had she convinced herself to go through this? She looked in her purse for her yoga bottle. Empty. No more booze. She got up from the bench and started walking, hoping to find a water fountain nearby. Well technically, said a little voice in her head, she could have gotten away with it. The guard hadn't even noticed her. Invisible Amy had done it again. She could have robbed the museum had she really, really wanted to. Was that not some sort of moral victory? She allowed herself a small, guilty smile.