Description: I was pretty worked up by the time I got to the museum. It was farther from GW than I remembered. Even pedaling non-stop, skidding my way around the corners, weaving in and out of the motionless cars, trying not to hit any pedestrians, I felt like I was moving impossibly slow, like I was running out of charge and winding down to a stop. It wasn't true, of course. I was flying. Dangerously so. Reckless. I could have easily brained myself on a tree or monument. But I made it. There was a line out the front door at Natural History. There usually is. Things get backed up at the metal detector as the guards rummage through bags. I hopped off my bike without stopping and let it roll away from me into a jersey barrier. Admired it as it went. It was nice to see something else move on its own. But I had no time for nostalgia. I had a goal. Find Grace. She was somewhere in the massive building before me. Before I could stop myself with logic--such as the fact that I had no idea where anything was in this massive building or that I wasn't even really sure that Grace worked here--I bounded up the stairs past the line and inside. I had started to get used to the frozen people, but I had never been quite so surrounded by them. The atrium was packed. I went through the metal detector--on the off chance that I might set it off and wake up the world--then into the fray. It was hard to walk in any direction without bumping someone. Tour groups clustered together, taking up large chunks of real estate: Japanese tourists following a yellow flag, elementary school crossing guards wearing bright orange belts, a church group proudly sporting Jesus on their t-shirts. In between them were the families trailing toddlers and pushing strollers, the couples whose clasped hands created additional barriers, the singletons who were gazing earnestly around the room searching for their companions. Their collective inactivity had a movement of its own. So much potential that I could almost fool myself into thinking they were moving beyond my peripheral vision. Not true, of course. At the center of the atrium was the elephant. Proudly raising its trunk above the crowd. Stuffed. Not supposed to move. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if freezing the world would lead to the static exhibits coming to life. My mom loved Night at the Museum--particularly Attila the Hun. His rebirth would have been a nice tribute to her, but the elephant remained stoic and still. So there I was. Where to start looking for Grace? Not in the main exhibits, certainly. She'd be somewhere behind the scenes. In the guts of the massive building, which really is massive.

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