I am still haunted by that art exhibit. The small bodies falling down, small black specks at first flailing against the wide striped curves of the Guggenheim, coming into focus as they rapidly approached the floor, dressed in bright clothes, reds and yellows and pinks and blues, decorated with Spiderman and Superman and cartoon flowers and glittery lambs and kittens.
When I think back to it, I realise it was never mentioned anywhere that they are dolls. I just assumed they were, obviously. But there was nothing on the posters. Georgie never said they were. So maybe that other person was right. About them being children, I mean.
That was the last time I hung out with Georgie. I actually miss him. He was my only real friend in New York, and the only person who cared about me getting out and about. But we just kind of drifted apart after that visit to the Guggenheim. It happens.
That day, the day we managed to get together and walk those beautiful luxe New York streets towards the Guggenheim, he was being especially extra.
“This is absolutely incredible- I know you’re a total and utter philistine darling, and I’m saying that as your best friend, but I felt you just had to see this - as a soon-to-be-mommy, you know? It says so much about motherhood, and the bond, and- well you know- all the emotional labour you poor women have to do- oh- it has us all in a tizzy!”
I sighed as he tugged on my sleeve, pulling me through the crowds of tourists towards the sleek bulging white and black curves of that incredible building. I made a mental note to look up the word “philistine”. I didn’t suppose it was anything complimentary, nor did I feel any such sacred bond, but it would come. Everyone said it would.
I was so tired, but I didn’t get out much, and I felt I had to enjoy something of what New York had to offer, before I was tied down by a never-ending rope of diapers and moist milk-stained towels, which is what motherhood mostly seemed to be. I didn’t know about the emotional labour then either, but I have learned since, that’s for sure.
Georgie paid for my ticket, squealing “so worth it darling!” and we joined the throngs standing about on the ground floor, dwarfed by the circular spiraling corridors. The atmosphere inside the museum was hushed. An area was marked by what looked like neon yellow police tape, right in the middle of the ground floor.
“That is where the baby lands” whispered Georgie, almost frothing with excitement. “I mean, I shouldn’t say baby, I think they’re toddlers. Are toddlers and babies the same? Look- you can see the blood stains, although Stravideri is supposed to come down to mop it- oh yes- here she comes- oh queen, isn’t she just fucking gorgeous? Don’t you want to just fall on your knees and fucking worship this modern Medea?”
Being Georgie’s friend was exhausting.
A tall woman with a frozen face holding a mop and bucket approached the taped-off area. She was wearing old see-through leggings and a stained sweatshirt. People drew away from her as she silently stepped over the police tape, and dipping the mop into the bucket, began washing the floor. Everyone drew out their phones and began clicking frantically, Georgie included.
“Georgie- don’t you already have photos?” I asked. The smell of cleaning fluid was making me slightly nauseous.
Georgie turned and looked at my properly, and a look of compassion flitted across his delicate features. “Of course darling. Do you want to go up and watch the next fall with me- we can go right up to Stravideri you know. Or just stand here and watch the impact? It’s totally up to darling- you’re right, I’ve already seen it a bajillion times. And it works wherever you are.”
I felt oddly comforted by his thoughtfulness. “I’d like to stay here Georgie, I don’t think I’m up to walking round and round to the top level.”
Georgie stroked my arm, visibly pleased with himself at being such a good friend. “Of course! I think there’s about twenty minutes between each fall- shall I run get you a coffee?”
“Actually, that would be nice.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to drink it, but I felt I needed a break from Georgie and his “modern Medea” babble, as much as I loved him.
Georgie left. I watched Stravideri finish mopping up the area, and walk back in silence towards the spiraling corridors, making her way towards the top floor. Her figure as it swept higher and higher was quite striking. The barrage of photography continued. Stravideri looked neither to the left nor right, her gaze fixed ahead, and people hastened out of her way. Little bits of priceless art shone on the walls behind her. I watched her mesmerized.
Where was Georgie? Stravideri could be seen at the highest floor now, clusters of artlovers held away from her by two burly security guards. Camera clicks echoed through the cavernous museum, now the only noise. I craned my neck. Georgie had described what happens, but the real exhibit was something else.
Stravideri leaned away from the low wall which separated the high corridor from space, she seemed to be struggling with something. The toddler. A doll, obviously. Not real. I heard its cry, and Stravideri emitted a very humanlike yet unmotherly growl, and turned her back. The toddler was now perched on the corridor wall. Stravideri wasn’t looking. The child fell.
It screamed as it fell, a very lifelike long scream. It turned its head and looked straight at me just before impact, and reached out its little hands to me. I felt a rising tide of horror sweep up in my whole body, and cradled my belly protectively.
THUMP!
Its small body hit the cold washed floor and lay perfectly still and crooked. A tiny amount of blood splattered.
Someone behind me whispered in my ear: “It’s a real child, you know. You shouldn’t be here.”
I gave a little shriek which seemed to flit about the silent breathing museum, and jumped, looking around frantically. I couldn’t tell, in the crowd of tourists and artlovers, who had spoken to me. I spotted Stravideri, walking down the corridors.
Georgie rushed up to me holding the coffees. “I’m so sorry darling- the line up- ugh I missed it! Sweetheart, would you mind if I went up and watched the next fall from up there? Oh you’re an angel. Sit here my love, there you go, just sip on this nice coffee, and I’ll be with you as soon, ok?”
He rushed away. I sat on the beautiful artsy bench, and burned my tongue on the boiling coffee, waiting for the next fall. I tried not to look at the fall.
After Georgie came down, he was oddly quiet. He went back with me to my place, but didn’t come in, and when we parted he hugged and kissed me as he always did, but something was lacking.
I have never seen him since. And nor have I ever gone back to the Guggenheim.