Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 78576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I let out a sigh as I follow Brock, Brianna, and Maddie into the museum. I’m not unlike the pyramid.
That brush with death threw me out of whack with who I am.
Brianna’s smile is wide. “Let’s start with the Mona Lisa. I’ve always wanted to see it in person.”
“So we’re just going to meander around without any plan?” Brock asks.
“Of course not,” Brianna says. “The plan is to start with the Mona Lisa. I want to see all the famous works. You know, the ones everybody knows about.”
Works for me. I do appreciate art, but I’m not going to get as much out of the Louvre as my cousin Gina would. She’s an actual artist. Besides, strolling around a museum isn’t going to do much for that grasshopper munching on my spine. I need a good workout. Or another romp with Maddie.
“She’s on the second floor, right?” Maddie says.
“Who’s on the second floor?” I ask.
“The Mona Lisa.” She rolls her eyes. “That is what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”
I simply nod.
Brock nods as well. “Yep, let’s head upstairs.”
As we make our way through the magnificent hallways, my mind begins to wander, and I recall the terrifying moments on that plane. The sudden turbulence, the oxygen masks dropping down, and the passengers’ panicked reactions. It’s difficult not to relate it to the chaos of this bustling museum.
We finally reach the room that houses the Mona Lisa, and the crowd is enormous.
“There she is!” Brianna squeals.
Maddie smiles. “Let’s get a closer look.”
Brock and the women head closer, and Brock looks over his shoulder. “Dave, you coming?”
I nod and follow them as they approach the iconic painting. I gaze at the Mona Lisa, trying to appreciate its beauty and how the standards of beauty have changed over time.
But her serene smile seems to be hiding something. Some underlying turmoil.
Like I did on the plane, staying calm for Maddie’s sake.
Yeah, she’s beautiful, but she’s not helping me.
I’m staring at her smile when Maddie’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Dave, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
We move on from the Mona Lisa, and Maddie and Bree continue to discuss the art, but their voices don’t permeate my mind. The artwork around me begins to blend together as I struggle to shake off the trauma haunting me.
“Let’s check out the Egyptian artifacts,” Brock says. “Maybe we’ll see some mummies or something.”
Brianna swats his shoulder. “There’s more to the exhibit than mummies.”
We head toward the Egyptian exhibit, and I try to stay engaged in the conversation, but my mind keeps drifting back to the airplane incident. The museum’s beauty and the artistry on display do provide some solace, but the memories of that traumatic experience persist. Maddie’s here, though, and I want to grab her hand, but I’m not sure if it would be appropriate.
The Egyptian collection is fascinating. A large stone sphinx stands guard at its entrance. The Great Sphinx of Tanis, according to the sign in front of it.
I remember learning about the legend of the sphinx in my world history class in high school. They stood guard in front of important buildings in Ancient Egypt, such as temples. I remember reading about the myth of Oedipus, who had to answer a riddle from the sphinx when he first entered the city of Thebes. If he got the answer wrong, the sphinx would kill and devour him. Luckily, he got it right.
I’m in no danger, of course, of being eaten by this sphinx, but it does seem to present a riddle that I need to untangle. What was I put on this planet to do? Certainly more than just fuck every good-looking woman that spares me a passing glance. Maybe even more than working with my father on the financial side of our business.
After Egypt, we head to some of the most famous exhibits in the Louvre, including the Venus de Milo and the Winged Victory.
The Venus de Milo is captured in marble, and her arms are famously missing. As I gaze at her beautifully sculpted face, I find myself oddly empathetic. The Venus de Milo, without her arms, exudes an air of quiet strength, acceptance, and resilience. She stands here, imperfect yet still captivating, just as I must find a way to stand tall despite the imperfections and trauma that have marked my life.
My life that has been pretty close to perfect up to recent events.
I must learn to embrace my own vulnerabilities and accept that life can be both beautiful and fragile, just like this sculpture. And though my trauma may have left me feeling broken, the statue’s silent strength serves as a reminder that I too can find my own inner strength and move forward from the shadows of my recent ordeal. Art, as it should, offers a path toward healing and renewal.
Nice idea, anyway.
I take a deep breath, grateful for this moment of introspection but not convinced anything will change inside me.