Maureen and I feel guilty because we haven't been to many museums yet. After class on Wednesday, we were chatting in a cafe and decided to go to one of the Tretyakov Gallery locations so we wouldn't feel like such huge losers anymore.
We got lost. It was cold. We wondered if it was a mass conspiracy that every direction we turned, the wind still blew directily into our faces. It started snowing. I said that each snowflake landing on my face felt like a tiny rock leaving a permanent indent on my delicate skin. I didn't have my scarf. I pulled my coat up really high so that only my eyes were showing.
"Maureen, I'm a local!", I said, on the verge of tears.
We talked in really loud voices about how much fun we were having and then made up an imaginary story about a boy named Timmy, inspired by a photo we saw in our university of a little boy sitting all alone in a classroom.
Timmy loves learning and only speaks in a voice that is a mix between Kermit the Frog, the Cookie Monster, and Voldemort.
He just wants to be your friend.
We saw a beautiful orthodox church from across the street and decided to try the door. It was unlocked. We were greeted by the smell of incense and the soft glow of dozens of candles. I love the smell of incense. The smiles of the saints surrounding us uplifted our souls and made us feel like real, whole human beings. We left feeling that we had accomplished something, even though we hadn't really.
We walked to the metro and, before crossing to our separate trains, said good-bye to eachother in voices which can only be described as the elegant combination of Kermit the Frog, Cookie Monster, and Lord Voldemort.