"Step Up"

Next week will make it a year since I became a security guard, more politely called a “gallery attendant”, at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I’d lived in Philly my entire life, but when I got the position and reported for training, it was the first time I’d ever entered the building.

I grew up in Roxborough and in the ‘90s would have perfectly fit the description of a Roxy Chick. Big hair, small clothes, and make-up that rocked. Just like in the Bruce Springsteen song, our glory days were in high school. After that, most of the girls got married and started families. Most of the guys got hourly jobs that would almost support their families. Their wives usually had to do only part-time work. Our glory days were passed.

I got married at eighteen to Rory. It’s funny, even now every time his name crosses my mind, or I write it down in some form, my lips mouth, “Rory”, as if I’m calling to him. My parents paid for a big wedding at the Immaculate Heart of Mary Church with the reception in the parish hall. Between our two families and friends, we had about 250 guests. We were on cloud nine for two months. Eight weeks of big smiles and warm hugs and kisses that never stopped. I was working three days a week at the Acme and Rory worked at Murray’s Garage. His dream was to open up his own garage someday.

But then… it’s never a good thing that follows those words. My shift was done at the Acme, and I was waiting in front for Rory to pick me up. We were going to have dinner out that night. We used to say we could save the money we spent on restaurants, but why not enjoy our nights out before the kids came? The thing is the kids never came. And Rory never came to pick me up late that afternoon. There were no cell phones then, none that regular people could afford. Harry, the Assistant Manager, suddenly burst out of the store and hurried over to me. He nervously brushed his hand over his bald head.

“Julie, you’ve gotta take a call that just came in for you.”

“Who is it?”

My heart stopped when I looked at his expression. His round face was red, and his eyes watered as if he’d just swallowed a jalapeño. I didn’t want to hear what he was going to say. I ran past him into the store, into the office, and grabbed the phone receiver that was lying on the counter.

I don’t like remembering the rest of it. It was a policeman, and I never remembered his name from the time I hung up the phone. All I know was that he told me there had been a terrible car accident and Rory had been killed. He was dead. My mind was spinning. Rory wasn’t going to pick me up. Rory was not going to smile at me over his whiskey and Coke while we waited for a table that night. I was not going to fall asleep in Rory’s arms that night, our bodies so warm against each other. I was going to be alone.

Like I said, I don’t like thinking about that day. Rory had been the love of my life, and I lost him, wow, thirty-one years ago. I’m going to be fifty years old in three more months. Sure, I’ve dated a few guys, but none of them came close to Rory. So, at some point, I just decided that was that. I had good friends, I had my family, and I managed to support myself. But after 30 years working at the Acme, I wanted to try something completely new. If not now, when? Right? I went through all the training to be a security guard and worked at Wanamaker’s in downtown Philadelphia for a while. Then I saw the ad for a “gallery attendant” at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Wow. The Philadelphia Museum of Art. It sounded so fancy. So important. Like most of the people I know, the one thing that came to mind was the scene in “Rocky”, when Rocky Balboa finally manages to run up all the front steps at the museum and gives that victorious punch in the air. None of us ever wondered what was inside of it.

Well, I got the job and talk about something entirely new. I couldn’t believe how much art – paintings, sculptures, armory, artifacts, antiques – where in one building. It was unreal. They moved me around in different galleries for a while, then I kind of stayed in the American Art Collection. Which was my favorite section anyway.

Tonight was different. There was a special exhibit going on for top tier museum members to view before it was open to the public. Even though it was in one specific part of the museum, all the galleries had to have attendants. That was fine with me. I’d never been in the museum at night, and it feels different. For one thing, there are no visitors in my section – as it should be. All the visitors should be at the advance viewing or whatever they call it. For another thing, all the paintings I had become familiar with look different. There are shadows that aren’t there during the day.

I walk over to my very favorite painting, I know now it was painted by Charles Willson Peale. It’s called “Staircase Group”, and he painted it in 1795. His two sons, Raphaelle and Titian, are painted life size and they’re walking up a curved staircase. Titian is kind of hidden by a wall at the curve in the steps. He’s pointing at something. The other brother, Raphaelle, his walking up the steps, but turns to the viewer, a paint palette in one hand and something that looks like a walking stick in the other. They both wear blue jackets with tails, breeches, white stockings, and dark shoes. Their white shirts have ruffles or cravats at the neck… I can never decide. Their faces are super realistic, and I get why people stare at the painting. But here’s the best part: Instead of a regular frame, Peale bordered it with a door frame. And at the very bottom of the life size painting, there’s a real step that matches the stairs in the painting that’s attached to the frame. I read in a brochure there that when George Washington saw the painting for the first time, he thought they were real people and tipped his hat to them. It’s the first painting I talked about to my family, to my friends, too.

I look out the window and the sky is dark, but not black. It’s a deep navy blue. It’s a clear night and the stars – well, it’s a cliché but they really are sparkling like diamonds. The view is so amazing I keep staring at it.

Suddenly, I hear someone clear their throat and I jump. How long was I staring up at the sky instead of making sure my galleries were clear of people? I make a quick turn and see no one. But I’m positive someone cleared their throat. Like to get my attention.

“Ma’am? Your pardon?”

I spin around. I see no one. What the hell? Now I see something move out of the corner of my eye. But I can I only see the “Staircase Group” in that direction. I stare at it. Raphaelle gently lifts his walking stick up and down to get my attention. Okay, this is crazy. Like in a comedy, I rub my eyes and look in the other direction. With caution, I look back at the “Staircase Group”. I gasp. Raphaelle’s left foot is now on the physical step that’s attached to the frame. I rush over and speak without thinking.

“Get back in there! What do you think you’re doing?”

Raphaelle smiles with kindness.

“Titian and I would be so pleased if you would join us.” He points up the stairs. “There’s something we’d like you to see.”

“Well, I can’t very well just walk inside a painting.”

“Oh, but you can. You must.” He rests the walking stick against the wall and extends his hand. I mean, half  his body is outside the painting and half is inside and my brain is about ready to explode.

“Please, I’ll lead the way.”

I look all around. No one else in sight. If  I’m dreaming, which I figure I must be, it’s one of the most interesting dreams I ever had in my life. Suddenly, I’m game. I walk over to Raphaelle and tentatively place my hand in his. Why is his hand warm? Shouldn’t it be cold? Or would that only be if he’s a ghost? Wait, if he’s not a ghost, what is he?

Raphaelle gives a slight nod. “Step up. It’s not too steep, ma’am.”

I pause. I put one foot on the step attached to the frame and Raphaelle takes a step backward to make room for me. Both of my feet are on the physical step. He gives me an encouraging smile.

“Step up, then.”

I lift one foot and tentatively move it forward. I panic. If I damage the painting, it will be the ruin of me. To my shock, my foot moves as easily to the step inside the painting as it did to the physical one. I take my next step forward. I have both feet in the painting. I am in the painting. I look at Raphaelle, whose face is so benevolent it would be impossible to feel fear. I look up the stairs at Titian, who also smiles at me and nods for us to follow him up the staircase. I have no choice but to abandon reason, maybe all my sanity, and keep going up, following two young 18^th century gentlemen.

We walk in silence in a row. Titian holds a pewter candlestick and the small flame from a beeswax candle glows from it. Where did he get that? I shake my head and laugh to myself. The biggest question I have right now is where did the candle come from? Titian opens a door and gestures for Raphaelle and me to follow.

The brothers step inside first and stand to the side for me to enter the room. It’s too dark to make out what kind of a room it is, but I try. Is it a study? An attic? I see a large telescope on a stand, pointing out at the cut-crystal stars in the sky. Raphaelle is on my right side. He leans close to me and speaks in a low voice.

“We want you to see what we see, ma’am.”

I want to tell them to stop calling me ma’am. But they look like they’re young teenagers and I’m going to turn fifty soon… probably ancient for their time. I suppose “ma’am” is okay.

Titian looks through the telescope and sighs. He looks over his shoulder and gestures for me to come over.

“It’s all there. Everything.”

Well, that sounds big. I walk over and he adjusts the telescope so it’s the perfect height for me. I press my eyes against the cold brass and gasp. It is all there. Everything. I don’t know how to describe what I see. The sky is beautifully overwhelming. I want to dive into the richness of its dark blue depths. The stars are even more incredible, each one sparkling brighter than anything in the most expensive jewelry store window. I shake my head and sigh. I glance over my shoulder at the brothers.

“Is it this way every night?”

Titian shakes his head. “Oh, no, ma’am. Only on rare evenings like this one.”

“And you wanted me to see it? Because I was the only person standing in front of your painting – I mean in front of you two?”

Raphaelle gives me a compassionate smile. “No, no. Because it is you. We felt you would enjoy it.” He shrugs. “We can not begin to fathom how many people through the centuries have stopped and stared at us. And, of course, as far as they know, there is no reality on our side. But what they don’t realize is that we truly see them. Not only their physical aspects, that part is quite dull. But we can see –“

“Their souls?” I offer.

“Well, I wouldn’t quite say that. That would be best left to higher powers. But we can, perhaps not see, but sense the experiences they’ve had in their lives.”

“Well, I apologize that I haven’t had many interesting experiences in my life. So, that being said, I feel – I feel honored that I was invited in.”

Titian and Raphaelle glance at each other, then come together and stand facing me.

Titian says, “Well, you may say you have not had interesting experiences in your life, but we see that you have had deep experiences in your life.”

“I fear,” Raphaelle adds, “That they are somewhat bookends. The very rooted love you had for Rory and then the profound sorrow at losing him too soon.”

I freeze.

Titian steps in. “Perchance Raphaelle spoke with too much boldness. What we have felt is that you are someone who has shown herself capable of both deep love and deep sorrow.”

I give a slight nod.

Titian gestures to the telescope. I walk over to it and look out again at the mad beauty of the evening.

“Now, here,” Titian adjusts the telescope to my eye again. “Take a look to the left. Do you see it? That star that’s extraordinarily bright and seems to be flashing?”

I see it. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

He sighs. “Every star in the sky, in every universe, has a name. Or it should. Raphaelle and I, after observing you for almost a year now, have named that particular star ‘Rory’.”

I turn around. “What?”

“Rory,” Raphaelle says, “We named it that months ago and have noticed it has a steady and sure light. Tonight, when you were here alone, we observed a change. Sometimes a flash, at other times a remarkable force of light. We agreed that you should see it for yourself. So that perchance in some way, Rory can see you.”

I start shaking. I step towards the telescope and look at the star they named Rory. How did they know? I know better then to ask questions any more. I stare at the star, and it flashes three times. It may be my imagination, but it shifts a little to the left. Then to the right. Then it stops, centered perfectly in my view. The light from it is no longer a sparkle, but a warm, powerful glow. Startled, I step back from the telescope. I can see the star with my bare eyes.

Without thinking, I fold my hands over my chest. I bask in what I feel certain is somehow the presence of Rory. I am filled – no – overwhelmed with a sense of peace and purpose.

I look at Raphaelle and Titian and smile. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Before I finish the second “you”, I’m standing in the gallery, across from the “Staircase Group”. I look at Raphaelle and Titian, standing as they always have in the painting. I stare carefully at their faces. Their eyes seem to be real now. I look around the room. No one else is there. But everything has changed. It’s not to late to truly live my life. To live my life fully and deeply, knowing that I deserve to experience joy again. And now knowing that I will be with Rory, in time, once more.