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I pulled my father along the sidewalk toward the museum, mother following as fast as she could. My sister, Amanda, wasn't with us; I couldn't find it in me to be sad. My steps were light with giddy enthusiasm as we entered and we met a nice, smiling woman who directed us where to go, but I hesitated. From my peripheral I saw a room. A white, brick room with checkered tile, but the brick nor the tile were what drew me into the doorway and away from my parents.

A large, blue bucket sat against one corner and somehow, instinctively, I knew what was inside. I rushed forward to the bucket of building blocks without bothering to take in my surroundings. I reached greedily inside, but another, chubby, childish hand was faster than mine. I turned and he smiled sweetly at me, and held the purple building block out in offering. I took it, and he took my hand.

We turned together, to look around us. The room was a large room, brightly lit, and clean. I realized that the room wasn't just white brick as I had seen when I looked in from across the hall. This room was much more than it seemed, full of secrets and surprises. We walked together, looking at each photo, or drawing on the wall. The first wall, nearest the door was colorfully painted with drawings of sunshine's and flowers and hearts. The first wall was simple, easy to comprehend. We moved on.

The second wall was less elaborately colored, but chaotically covered with numbers and words. Words everywhere. My mind made a split decision, I liked the words. I understood even the ones that I had never seen before. My friend saw something different. He saw music notes. As we looked closer, we saw the colors laced through each different character. The colors weren't as noticeable as they were in the bricks on the other wall, but hidden within each separate brush stroke. We lingered there, with my colorful words and his notes. We stayed until the words and colors and notes began to mesh together, to collide. Until they were no longer a separate entity. Until my colors were his notes.

Suddenly, I became apprehensive. I tugged on his hand and we moved on again. All along people had been passing us, other viewers. I had only noticed a few of them. An older girl, short for her age, but with enough spark in her to make up for any physical flaw. She had a wide, comforting smile. I saw a tall girl with curly hair, a bouncy step and sophisticated clothing. I saw a short girl, dressed all in pink, with determination and a fiery spirit. I also saw a tall, lanky boy with gentle, cold hands and gold-flecked teal eyes. They were all beautiful, and I smiled instinctively when I saw each one. However, there were others that erased that smile. Took my smile away. A dark girl with sad, deceiving eyes, all in black. Another older girl with freckles, auburn hair, and a green, fur lined jacket. My friend tugged me toward the second girl, and when I pulled back against his hold, when I refused to go, he let go of my hand and took hers instead.

I turned away to the third wall, I couldn't look at them.

The third wall was devastatingly beautiful. Elaborately colored, there were words and pictures here as well. The pictures all had a common color, red. Some had a peaceful, dull red, or the red items were in the back of the pictures, hidden. Others had bright shades of red, shouting their anger and discontent at me. I felt the discontent sink into my bones. I stared at those pictures for moments on end until it seemed like hours, pitying myself, and the characters in the paintings. My anger felt righteous as I thought about how easy it had been for my friend to leave me.

When my anger began to make me feel sick, I made myself look elsewhere; dwelling on it only wasted time. My friend had his own schedule to keep. I looked to the words on the wall, dark. These words were harder to comprehend, formed into poems and stories, but I managed. Some were peaceful fairytales with a dream-like quality about them, but others spoke of beautiful, entrancing nightmares. I looked around and there were people all around me, but I was alone inside the crowd. I felt the anger well up and then diminish. I just felt sick and lonely. Where was my friend when I needed him? I spun in circles, searching every face for his sky blue eyes. I found him, but he was different. He was tall and lean; his childish chubbiness had been replaced with muscle. His expression was no longer carefree or excited, he frowned and sighed, but in his eyes I recognized the innocence of our childhood. Then I realized that the girl was still beside him, yelling in his face, giving him a dirty look. He could have yelled back, but he just stared sadly into her eyes. She struck out at him and ordered him to leave. He reached out to run his knuckles lightly along her jaw, then, reluctantly, he did as she ordered.

He stumbled along the edge of the room for a while until he looked up and began to search the crowd just as frantically as I had, looking for someone. His eyes met mine and I saw relief flash in his eyes. He headed straight for me, red rimmed his eyes. His tears were my tears. He took my hand in his again and looked at me, his face drooping with exhaustion and hopelessness. I felt the same emotions mirrored in me.

"I don't like this room anymore," we say together. His voice is different, but much the same. "Let's get out of here."

The next room was a dream. All black and white. I saw familiar people all around me, people that I loved. Friends, family, all laughing and having fun together. I saw my sister and I greeted her with a hug. I hadn't realized how much I had missed her. She was beautiful and my heart swelled with love. I saw my beautiful cousin with the comforting smile, the sophisticated girl, and the short one filled with spirit, and I saw the gentle boy with the gold-flecked eyes. They all greeted me happily as well, and I returned the feeling ten-fold. I liked this room much better than the last. In this room, I was not alone.

I turned to see that my friend's hand was still in mine. His innocent eyes were happy and hopeful as he looked at me, a great contrast to the exhaustion I'd seen in the other room.

I spared a glance downward at our apparel. He was in a black suit, a tuxedo. I was in a long, white, satin dress.

His smile widened as I looked back up, surprised. He kissed my forehead and whispered, "I love you."