The closer they got to Houston, the more excited everyone on the bus became. When they entered the city, a hush fell over the entire art club. This was an alien world for a bunch of rural kids. Hundreds of cars of all makes and models zoomed passed the bus. Quack called out, “Look at the spaghetti bowl!” Munch hated spaghetti bowls which were freeways that formed loops and snarls far above the ground. The turns were sharp and fast. It was terrifying. How Mrs. Anderson drove so calmly was beyond him. Anxiety began to tingle inside of him. It was one thing to come to Houston in Mama’s little red VW, it was another thing to be on a bus zinging along at 60+ miles an hour. He closed his eyes. Someday was when he moved to New York, the subway would take him anywhere he needed to go, under ground.

Thahn Ho whispered, “Are you okay?”

Through clenched teeth he said, “I will be once we are no longer airborne.”

He felt her shoulder bump his ever so slightly.

By the feel of the pavement, Munch could tell they were finally on stable ground. He opened his eyes as the bus drove between high rises. The tall buildings cast long deep shadows. Looking up made Munch dizzy. What was it like to work so far up in the sky. The glass buildings glittered with reflected sunlight. It made him feel like they were entering Oz. His fear left him. For Munch being in the heart of Houston was enchanting. All his dreams lead him to New York. Houston was not New York, but it was a city, the biggest city in Texas. He craned his neck and stared up at the sky scrapers on either side of the bus. They did indeed scrape the sky.

Mrs. Anderson pulled into a parking lot. She parked the bus under some oak trees near a huge church. Everyone stood. Thahn Ho gave Munch’s arm a quick squeeze. He could feel her excitement. He turned to her and grinned. Her smile was so big. The light in her eyes was dancing. Mademoiselle Petite told them, “Leave your backpacks on the bus. It will be locked. Once we are inside DO NOT touch anything, especially the art. I don’t want us to get kicked out. Also, NO ROUGH HOUSING. Keep your hands to yourself. There will be NO public displays of affection of any kind. I don’t want to have to embarrass anyone but I will if need be. Now, stay together and most importantly behave. Remember you are young adults not kids.” She smiled and said, “Now lets go enjoy some art.”

Mademoiselle Petite got off the bus first, followed by Mrs. Duong. Everyone else followed. Mrs. Anderson was the last one off. She locked the bus and grinned.All around them, sunlight spangled through the new oak leaves.The air smelled of crepe myrtle and exhaust fumes.They crossed the parking lot. Through the trees they could see the big white block building that was the Museum of Fine Arts. It looked so regal. Thahn Ho let out an awestruck, “Oh.” He glanced at her. She was completely focused on the building. Her beautiful lips were moving as if she was praying. What was she thinking about? What was she dreaming about? What were her dreams?

The Crossing Guard held up her stop sign to the traffic and waved for the group to cross over. Fancy cars were stopped on either side of the street. What would it be like to have enough money to own a car like that? He didn’t want the car, but gosh he hoped his designs for The House of Munch would make that kind of money some day. Two men in dark blazers stood at the huge glass front doors. They opened the doors for people to enter. The students filed inside. Everything shone inside this building, the floors the stair rails, the glass, and the frames around the art. The feeling he got when he went into church settled over him. He felt as if he had stepped into a holy space. Art from ancient times to modern times was contained in this Museum. This was timeless place. Munch and all the art students were part of an ancient fraternity. The spirit of the creators was still being communicated by the work their hands had made.

In a daze Munch traveled through the museum. The last time he had been in at the MFAH he had been in seventh grade. That was a long time ago. What he felt now was nothing like he felt as a jumpy little twelve year old. He was almost sixteen now. He was only a little more than two years away from going to design school. Time seemed to be moving faster. On this visit, he noticed things like the brush strokes on a painting or the quality of color and light. Inside of him was a hunger to know more and do more. When he had imagined this field trip all his thoughts had been focused on spending the time with Thahn Ho. He was unprepared for how looking at the works of the masters would make him feel. A portal had opened before him that was a kind of time travel.

When they went downstairs to see the exhibit of Africa and Indigenous Pacific Islands Munch was awestruck. The names of the artists were not listed in this area. No date of birth was listed either. Only a time period was listed on the plaques with an estimated time of creation. He wondered whose hands had formed these small clay figures with exaggerated features. No one knew or would ever know and yet what they made still endured, was still seen, and was still admired to this day.

As they walked through the galleries, a hush had settle over the students. Mademoiselle Petite took time to explain some of the works, but mostly she just let them absorb what they were seeing and Munch was grateful for that. From time to time he and Thahn Ho would exchange a look. They were visually connected even if they weren’t physically connected. He sensed she was experiencing some of the same feelings he was. If anyone had told him at the beginning of his Sophomore year that he would be in the Museum of Fine Arts with his beautiful girlfriend, he would never have believed it.

When they stopped in front of the Mary Cassatt’s oil painting titled, Susan Comforting the Baby, Thahn Ho got very still. In the painting was a young woman and a little girl with dark hair. The little girl’s features were blurred, but her eyes were so blue. Her tiny hand was pressed against her forehead.

Mademoiselle Petite told them, “This painting style is French Impressionism. Mary Cassatt, the artist, was one of the few women involved in the movement.” She looked at all the female students and said, “Mary Cassatt had a difficult time in her life and yet she painted.” After Mademoiselle Petite finished her brief summary of the painting and the artist, she and the rest of the students moved to the next painting. Thahn Ho remained where she was. Mrs. Duong cast a glance in her daughter’s direction and then broke off from the group. Munch thought she was coming towards Thahn Ho, but she headed for the main gallery. Where was she going? Thahn Ho didn’t notice her mother leaving. Silent and immobile her eyes traveled over the painting. Munch whispered, “Are you okay?”

She nodded and a single tear slipped down her cheek. Quickly, she wiped it away. She turned to him and softly said, “Mary Cassatt wanted children, she could not have them, but she often painted mothers and their children. I can see the mother love she poured into this.”

All that Munch could see was a slightly blurry child with a young woman only partially painted. Still, Thahn Ho’s words did reach him and he did see the connection between the woman and the child. He did feel the bond.

Thahn Ho glanced up at him and said, “I read she wanted to be a mother more than she wanted to be an artist. It is selfish of me, but I am thankful she did become an artist and I get see her work.” Her eyes strayed around the gallery. The walls were covered by the work of men. This small space where Munch stood with Thahn Ho represented a woman’s view, a woman’s work and a woman’s impact on the world of art and the world at large.

After they had roamed the entire MFAH Mademoiselle took then across the street to the Contemporary Arts Museum. It was very different looking than the MFAH. It was covered in shiny metal that looked like a new tin barn roof. Inside it was very different too. The focal point art piece was made out of spray foam. It was a golden brown. It looked like mushroom tops. Quack muttered, “What the hell?”

Other works of art were jarring. There was even a regular toilet with stuff painted on it. Munch didn’t get it. Mademoiselle Petite told the group, “I can see some of you are quite confused by this art. It is conceptual and representational.”

Quack asked, “Of what?”

With a slight smile, Mademoiselle Petite said, “Conceptual means it deals with abstract or original thought. Representational means it can symbolize something. A toilet is more than just a toilet. Think about what it might symbolize.”

Quack said, “A place to take a dump.”

Some people giggled. Mrs. Duong looked severe.

Not put off, Mademoiselle Petite persisted in her explanation. “That is not representational. This could symbolize releasing what is toxic and sending it away.”

Quack didn’t look convinced. For Munch it was like a door opened in his head. One thing could mean something else if he thought about it from a different perspective. Symbols and thoughts were necessary elements to creativity.

The last stop they made was the Museum’s gift shop. Quack found a stack of flip books and said, “Hey Munch come look at this.”

The flip book Quack held was one with a woman’s naked body moving around. Munch felt his face flush. If Mrs. Duong caught him looking at that, or even Thahn Ho there might be hell to pay.

Quack said, “Pretty cool huh?”

Munch didn’t respond, he just walked away.

Thahn Ho stood by a display of painted wooden animals. They were in bright colors of blue, yellow and red. A little cat had caught her attention. He could tell she wanted it. He would get it for her. After she left the display he went and picked up the cat. It was $45.00. He didn’t have $45.00. Dammit. Was there anything else she liked? He saw her pick up a tiny sketch pad with a pencil attached. She didn’t look at it for as long as she had looked at the cat, but she I did like it. He just wanted to get her something so bad. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Duong pick up the cat. Would she buy it for Thahn Ho? She put it back down.

Quack came toward Munch with a bag in his hand. He grinned and whispered, “I got the book.”

Munch started to make a snide remark, but thought better of it. He asked, “How much cash do you have on you?”

Curiosity danced in Quack’s brown eyes. “I got about forty bucks, why?”

Of course Quack would be carrying that much cash. Munch said, “I want to get my mom something but I only have $20.00. Could you loan me $25.00?”

For a second, Quack frowned, then he said, “Sure.” He handed the money over. While Thahn Ho was talking to her mom, Munch went and bought the cat.