Marie spent the weekend and the first part of the week doing everything expected of her. She slowly started talking to Pusher, Numbers, and Poet. There were times she even allowed herself to start laughing with them at some of the absurd stories she heard from other hobos. Talking started to feel not as stressful. Enough time had passed that she hoped there wasn’t a slip up.

Pusher, Numbers, Poet, and Marie relaxed on a side street. The weather was nice, and Marie was happy the hobos got the day off from weeding. A group of people passed, and the four of them grew silent. Though the rule stated they couldn’t interact with the people of Musical Land, often it was safer to stop talking when citizens came around.

“So, why do you talk to Thief so much?” Numbers asked when the group passed.

It took Marie a second to realize Numbers was talking to her. “Oh. Do I?” she asked. “All I really do is wave to her.”

“And all Thief does is roll her eyes,” Numbers said. “Why even bother? She clearly doesn’t want to talk to you, and honestly, I think you’re better off.”

Poet and Pusher nodded. “There are certain hobos you’ve got to be careful of,” Pusher said. “We have names like that for a reason.”

Marie frowned and couldn’t meet her friends’ eyes. “I don’t know. She’s got to have a story as to why she is the way she is. I’m… I’m just curious.”

Marie knew she was stealing her lines from Billy when he was talking about his borderline obsession with Edgar. Hopefully she didn’t sound like she was obsessing over Sophie. She just wanted to be friends with her, and help her get her memory, and hope everything went back to normal so they could resume being BFF’s. Totally not obsessing.

“We just don’t want to see you get hurt by her,” Poet said.

“And I appreciate that, it’s just-”

Music filled the street, and Marie was so panicked the words froze in her mouth as she looked. For a terrifying moment she forgot hobos didn’t have the chip. Any moment the chip in the back of her head would activate and her new friends would hear how awful of a singing voice she had. The moment passed.

The doors of a particularly beautiful building opened and a couple in wedding clothes walked out. It looked like they were finishing a reception of some sort.

“Because I love you more!” the groom sang.

“No, I love you more!” the bride sang

“And our love will become more!

“And our love will fill the world!”

“Because I love you more!”

“No, I love you more!”

Guests spilled out of the building and they filled the street, beginning to do a synchronized dance step as the happy couple continued to sing about how much they loved each other. Marie knew her face showed a pained expression. Sure, she missed songs, but she didn’t miss singing. Nor the pure awkwardness of it all.

“They are starting their lives

“And will continue their love

“And with it, it will be enough!”

The entire street was singing. The happy couple began running down the street and the entire congregation followed, the song fading away as they grew distant. Marie couldn’t help but be weirded out by the whole thing. Turning back to her friends, she froze as she saw their expressions. They quietly watched the whole thing with a deep sadness, and the pained expression in her own face softened. The singing street began to crescendo as a complicated dance broke out in the middle of the street. She tried to imagine it from the perspective of Hobo Marie who had forgotten her life before, who didn’t know she had a horrible singing voice. It seemed so hard to separate herself from that. Every singing moment of her life was filled with people wincing when they heard her sing, or worse. That constant reaction to anything she did with arts was the main reason why she started hating it. Deep down, she knew she couldn’t fit in. But if she didn’t remember?

The forlorn expressions on her friends’ face came into focus as they watched the dance. Singing and dancing was just another thing they were being excluded from. A part of the culture norm they weren’t allowed to participate in. Marie felt a conflicting pain inside her. She did not want to sing and dance because it was painful for her, but as she saw a group of people come together for this couple and sing along in support and excitement, she caught a glimpse of why the people of Musical Land loved the arts.

Marie had to look away, feeling her stomach start to churn. She couldn’t help but reiterate to herself that the chip was bad. President Arnold needed to be stopped. The song they were singing was being recorded in someone’s office for later scrutiny to make sure they weren’t secretly against President Arnold.

Controlling societies like this weren’t supposed to have happy people in it. Societies where people are forced to forget about themselves because they were ‘dangerous individuals’ to President Arnold. A controlled society wasn’t supposed to be glorious and lively and beautiful. She also couldn’t help but feel incredibly selfish for thinking such things as the couple got in a car and drove away as the rest of the happy throng waved and whooped and shouted.

“They seem so happy,” Poet whispered.

Marie nodded absently. “I wish them the best.” A part of her truly meant it.

The other three nodded their agreement.

There was a tension in Marie’s chest that hadn’t disappeared since the singing in the street. Pretending to forget who she was had started to wear down her soul. She needed some time away from her hobo friends, away from Sophie, and just take some time for herself. With her head down and arms folded over her chest, she found she didn’t need to do much else to look like a miserable hobo as she walked the streets of Musical Land. She had just finished dinner, and her thoughts were heavy with worry. Every so often she would stop and think about everything that was going on, and get hit with a wave of inadequacy that threatened to drown her. These plans she had were truly insane and it felt impossible. At least she could feel these overwhelming emotions without triggering a song, but the lingering feelings of fear still remained.

She tried hard to stay out of people’s way. The last thing she wanted to do was alert Mr. Germain. She needed time alone to recharge. To not be in constant fear of her friends’ lives. Of her life. Of her dad’s life.

Memories of her dad returned with sharp force, cutting into Marie’s soul as she pressed her lips together. There was an ache of needing to know he was okay. She hated that she didn’t know how he was. If he wasn’t in the basement of the skyscraper, she’d have no idea where else to look.

Something caught in her throat. She couldn’t explain the emotion. It felt like she had been swimming for miles in dangerous waters, and when she looked up to get her bearings, she found herself in the middle of the ocean with no idea how far she’d still have to go.

Marie stumbled into an alleyway, trying not to freak out. She sat down, knees drawn up to her chest as she tried to calm her breathing.

Things will work out, she told herself. It didn’t feel genuine, but she had to think of something before she started sobbing. Though sobbing hobos were probably a common thing people would see.

The despair still washed over her in waves. How on earth was she going to change anything? How could she keep a war from happening? Every day it felt more inevitable.

Something quiet drifted through the air. She paused, then lifted her head just a little. There was an opera house not far from where she was, and it sounded as though the orchestra was warming up. She got to her feet, feeling a little shaky, but kept moving toward it. She didn’t know why. Maybe because she hadn’t heard a proper orchestra song in so long.

She snuck toward the back of the building as the orchestra began playing inside. Since she was a hobo, she wouldn’t be allowed inside, so she stayed outside and rested her head against the building. The orchestra had already been playing the overture by the time she got settled. Marie closed her eyes, balled up all her problems back in their little corner, and listened to the music. It was one she wasn’t familiar with, but she listened all the same. The music sounded muted, but it still managed to touch her troubled mind.

The song had a story to it. One she couldn’t quite grasp, but as so many songs before, it soothed her soul. She was a woman of science. She thrived on the things she could touch and taste and feel. But there was something almost magical about music that she had to admit completely went over her head. What was it about music that made her problems seem not as large? What was it about arts in general that seemed to touch her soul? How was it even possible? There was no tangible way to track it, and it simply mystified her.

“What are you doing here?”

Marie’s head jerked up and she saw Mr. Germain. It was strange to admit she didn’t want to see him at the beginning of the evening, but at this point she didn’t care. She was too caught up in the music to be afraid. Mr. Germain kept glancing at her and the area around her with deep mistrust. He was probably thinking she was planting a bomb here or something. Marie decided to tell the truth.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, pointing toward the building where they could faintly hear the music within, weaving a story she was positive was different for every member in that audience, and yet all touched the same core of the human spirit.

It clearly caught Mr. Germain off guard. He frowned, glancing back at the building, then back at her. For once, Marie didn’t have to act around him. She thought the song was beautiful. She was here to listen to some music. She forgot how healing it could be.

“Do you remember this song at all?” Mr. Germain asked.

Marie shook her head, another truth. Mr. Germain’s features seemed to soften, and it felt like Marie was seeing a side of him she never had before.

“Come on. Let’s go listen,” Mr. Germain said.

Marie frowned. “I’m not allowed in there. I’m...”

Mr. Germain waved her concerns away and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll make an exception this once. You will attend as my guest. It’s one of my favorite pieces.”

This was nothing short of bizarre. Marie wasn’t acting when she said she wanted to listen. And she had a feeling Mr. Germain wasn’t acting either. For all he knew, he was helping a hobo get closer to her humanity by letting her listen to a song.

They were ushered into what Marie could assume was the Germain’s own opera box. The players were getting through a quiet melody piece. Marie glanced at Mr. Germain, who already had his eyes closed, tapping his finger against his arm to the beat of the music. Marie looked at the players, and she felt something shift in her brain. True, Mr. Germain was still trying to force music and arts on her, but for this small instance, she would let him. She could see and understand the power of music. The way the players left the quiet melody and were building to a more joyful scene almost took her breath away. She closed her eyes and could see the strange story take place in her mind. It was this, exactly this, that she missed at the clearings.

The song played out, Marie’s relatively smaller imagination getting glimpses of the story through song. She forgot her worries, forgot she was practically sitting next to her sworn enemy, forgot that tomorrow she’d go back to pretending she knew nothing. For right now, she let the music carry her away.

The finale had her in tears, the crescendos and the joyful music somehow tricked her brain into feeling triumphant even though she never left her seat. Though, tricked didn’t seem to be the word. She never felt manipulated, she simply...felt. Maybe this is what they meant when they said the arts could take you on a journey.

The audience gave the performers a standing ovation, which Marie joined. When the lights came up, she was amazed at how quickly the patrons got up and headed for the door. She couldn’t move. She had sat down after the standing ovation and felt rooted to her chair, feeling the lingering emotions the song created.

“Did you like it?” Mr. Germain asked.

“That was glorious!” Marie said, almost breathless.

Other music began trickling in. As soon as the audience members left the performance hall, their chips activated and they sang about their thoughts of the performance to those around them. Marie swallowed, glad she didn’t have a chip in her head.

“And you don’t remember it?” Mr. Germain asked.

Marie shook her head as she got to her feet. Her clothes reminded her again of her position, reminded her that she needed to act a part.

“Well, who knows. I think we made a huge breakthrough today,” Mr. Germain said.

Marie couldn’t meet his eye as he helped her out of her seat. She figured Mr. Germain would go to his office, write about how Marie Curie, the driven scientist, sat down and listened to a song today, completely transfixed. That Marie could be turned. Marie could enjoy the arts.

And she did. Marie had to admit she did enjoy them. But just because she could enjoy and appreciate them, didn’t mean she was capable of creating it. She had her own strengths she wanted to excel in.

Mr. Germain bid Marie goodnight, and she made her way back to the small little section of land for the hobos.