A Curious Aroma

A Juvenile Fantasy Story

A boy and his crush encounter a peculiar phenomenon in a painting while on a field trip to the museum.

(I’m going with “Juvenile” because I’m not sure whether this is YA or Middle Grade.)

(Originally published Dec. 2021. Also available in Word Associations Ultimate.)

A Curious Aroma

I had planned to use this field trip to the museum as an opportunity to finally tell Dana I liked her. Of course, by "planned," I mainly mean "endlessly fantasized about it." It wasn't like I had the guts to actually put anything into action. I'd let so many opportunities slip by because I couldn't even bring myself to open my mouth around her. She could have sat next to me on the bus and I wouldn't have brought it up… and of course, she wound up sitting with her friends, and I sat with mine, on completely opposite ends.

"Don't worry, Artie," my friend Frank said. "I'll help you out." He was the only one I'd ever told about my crush—well, really, more like he'd figured it out and asked me point blank, and I couldn't lie to him and say no.

When we got to the museum, our teachers Mr. Harwell and Ms. Kidd split us into two groups, which would alternate between the east and west wings of the building through the day. Frank and I wound up in Mr. Harwell's group. Remarkably, so did Dana. Most of her friends had wound up in the other group.

So was this my chance? Maybe I could say something to her while we were exploring the exhibits.

Sure, if I could get my heart to stop racing when she got within ten feet.

Well, I still had Frank around to give me a push if I needed it. We'd discussed a possible strategy on the bus, and it looked like we might actually be able to carry it out.

Mr. Harwell took us to the first exhibit in the east wing, of modern glass sculptures. Some of them were surprisingly interesting, like the one shaped like a woman's dress, but molded as if a woman was actually in it. Or the cube of mirrored panels, or the tangle of green and blue fashioned to resemble a circuit board.

The paintings in the next room were mostly abstract shapes or smears or splashes of color, though there were a couple that were actually of something. While I was trying to figure out whether the globs on one canvas were supposed to be a clock face or a toilet, Art gravitated toward a realistic nude woman reclining on a sofa. He hovered his cupped hands over her breasts.

"Frank, grow up," Mr. Harwell said. "And please don't touch the paintings. You'll damage them."

Frank pulled his arms back. "I wasn't gonna," he muttered to me, and the two of us wandered toward less alluring artwork.

Dana, meanwhile, was gazing at a lush painting with flowers in the foreground and a woman on a cliff in the distant background, overlooking the ocean. It was a blue sky, but with dark clouds on the horizon.

Frank grabbed my shoulder. "Dude, I think this is it. It's now or never, man!"

"You think so?"

"I mean it. Go for it!"

You see, our plan had been that he would give me enough of a nudge that I would approach her and maybe even brush against her, and that would get her attention, and I could start a conversation.

The nudge turned out to be more like a shove, and I rammed right into her.

Dana flattened her palm to the wall to stop herself from falling into the painting. "Hey, watch it!" She shot me a look of disgust and anger. "Look where you're going next time."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." I shot the same look back toward Frank. "Somebody pushed me."

Frank shrugged and started rotating his hand. He really expected me to follow that up? I was gushing with sweat and had Dana's furious eyes and sharp voice carved in my mind. She hated me now. Everything had backfired. I might as well just ride home and crawl into bed until, I dunno, college.

"So can I help you?" Dana asked me.

"Oh, no, no. I, uh…" I stammered for what felt like a full ten minutes, then said, "I just wanted to apologize again. It was an accident, I swear."

She blew out a puff of air. "All right. I guess we're cool."

I peeked over my shoulder to find Frank still glaring at me. But what was I supposed to say? This was already more words than I'd ever spoken to her since she transferred to our school. I felt like I was better off quitting while I was ahead.

But then, there was something to talk about right in front of me. "That's a really nice painting."

"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" Dana said. "It's so lifelike."

"Like a photograph. Hard to believe somebody did that with just paint."

"Just smell those flowers… The lilies and the hibiscus. Like you're actually there."

I sniffed, but all I could smell was whatever fragrance she was wearing. "Huh?"

"Can't you smell that? It's all over this painting."

"No, I don't smell anything." More sweat began to creep down my back. "Are you all right?"

"I… I think so." She leaned forward and sniffed. "I definitely smell that."

"Wait, I've heard of this. It's synesthesia, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure that's how it works, though. Like, you'd smell the colors, but not necessarily the flowers." She pondered for a moment, then began swaying from side to side, as if trying to get a look behind something. "What in the heck…?"

She lifted her hand toward the surface of the painting.

"Hey, quit it, you heard Mr. Harwell," I said. "You'll damage the painting."

Dana didn't listen. She stretched out her fingers, bringing them closer and closer…

But they made no dimple on the canvas. Her hand just kept going deeper and deeper into the painting, until she got elbow deep past the frame.

Mr. Harwell called out, "Okay, everybody, onto the next exhibit."

Dana seized her hand back, biting her lip so hard she looked like she might draw blood.

"It's okay," I said, "I don't think he saw that."

"But you did, right?" Dana said. "That definitely just happened?"

"Heck, I saw it plain as day," Frank said, springing up beside me. "Like this."

He extended his arm toward the painting.

"Frank," Mr. Harwell said, "I told you, no touching the artwork."

Frank's hand flew back.

The rest of our group gathered and poured through the archway. Frank and I stalled at the back of the crowd as Dana lingered at the flower painting. I waved for her to come on.

She nodded, and signaled for me to wait.

She reached into the painting again, this time all the way up to her shoulder.

When she brought her arm out, she was holding a lily.

She caught up to us with a blank stare, saying nothing, and we headed into the next room.

The exhibit in here was a gallery of Depression-era black-and-white photography. The picture Mr. Harwell wanted us to pay special attention to showed an old movie house and department store, on the site of what would one day be our own school. Maybe it was a nice historical curiosity, but my attention was on the flower in Dana's hand.

"How on earth did you do that?"

"I don't know," she said. "I really don't know. It's like that painting is an open window. Just look at this." She raised the flower toward me. "It's not made of paint at all. It's a real flower."

I could smell the aroma without even bending forward. "Do you think anything else here is like that?"

"I don't think so. It doesn't seem like I could go into one of these photos and wind up in the Great Depression. There's something about that painting… Like it's drawing me in. Like something important's on the other side, waiting for me. I'm just glad you and Frank saw it. Otherwise, I'd feel like, I dunno, I was starting to crack up or something."

"Well, if you need any help," I said, "or if you think of something, just let us know."

"Yeah," Frank said, "we've got your back."

"Thanks." Dana twirled the flower in her fingers. "You know, at first I was in a bad mood because all my friends are in the other group, but you guys aren't so bad."

She drifted into the crowd, and browsed the photos at her own pace.

Frank slapped me on the back. "There! Now how do you like that? Looks like our plan worked, kinda."

"You sure?" I said. "I still haven't told her how I feel."

"But you talked to her! And you heard what she said! 'You guys aren't so bad.' We just have to keep at it, then by the time we leave you can seal the deal and she's yours."

"Okay, but how do I 'seal the deal'? What do I say?"

"Uh… We'll figure that out. Maybe if we can get to the bottom of that weird painting thing, or something like that."

Right about now I remembered that Frank had never had a girlfriend, either.

We met up with Ms. Kidd's group back in the lobby for lunch in front of the museum's cafe. Once again Dana sat with her friends, and Frank and I sat with ours, on opposite sides of the lobby. I couldn't tell how she explained the flower, though while she was telling her friends about it, I noticed her send a glance and a smile my way. Maybe she was giving me credit.

"So how were things on your end?" Frank asked the others, who'd been in Ms. Kidd's group.

"Eh, well…" Seamus tilted his head and crunched his nose. "When you get there, you'll see it."

"It's a super-lifelike sculpture they just added of some granny sitting at a table," Murph said. "And I mean so lifelike you think she's an actual museum employee. Startled us every time we turn around."

"Well, I think your luck's gonna be better in the east wing," Frank said. "There's a picture of a lady with really nice boobs back there."

"Seen it," Murph said. "My mom brings me here every other month."

I snuck another glance at Dana. "In that case, do you ever happen to notice anything strange going on with the artwork?"

"You mean besides a wax old lady that looks like she'll get up and say hi?" Seamus said.

Dana got up, taking her flower with her. She said something to Mr. Harwell, then headed down the hall, back toward the east wing.

"Well, actually," Murph said, "now that you mention it, every once in a while I do hear some weird noises every once in a while. Like this faint whispering out of the paintings."

Frank and I looked at each other. Dana had said she felt like the lily painting was calling her. And now she was heading back in the painting's direction. "What do you think it is?"

"You got me," Murph said. "Could just be the air vents. But whatever it is, it gives me the creeps every time. Like it's out to get me somehow. I just know I wouldn't put anything past that old lady."

"We'll keep an eye out when we get there," Frank said.

I muttered over to Frank, "Where do you think she went?"

"Dana? I dunno," he said. "Gotta take a whiz or something?"

"But the bathroom's down that hall, not that one. And why would she take the flower with her?"

"Hm… Maybe she's putting it back?"

But if that painting was calling out to her… "Maybe I should check on her."

"What are you waiting for?" Frank said. "Go for it."

I stuffed the last bits of my sandwich down my throat and darted across the lobby toward the east wing.

I kept telling myself she might not be in any danger. She could have just now figured something out, finally had some idea why she could interact with the painting. Frank and I were, as far as I knew, the only people who knew. We'd seen it with our own eyes. She could probably use someone to talk to about this.

Maybe Frank was right, and she was returning the lily to the painting. It was sort of the museum's property, after all.

But regardless of what she was doing here, I couldn't let this moment slip by. Her friends weren't around to silently judge me, and for once in my life, I no longer felt afraid of her. In fact, I could hardly wait for my next chance to see her.

But when I reached the paintings, she wasn't there. Not in front of the abstract blob that was either a clock or a toilet. Not in front of the nude woman. And not in front of the flowers in front of the cliff with dark clouds on the horizon.

The lily she'd plucked out of that painting, however, was.

So where did she go? She hadn't seemed that interested in the photography or the old sculptures, so I couldn't think of any reason she'd have wanted to go back there. And there still weren't any restrooms out that way.

I picked up the lily and gave it another sniff.

A soft, cool breeze brushed my cheek, and along with it came another aroma. An aroma of more than just one flower, but rather a whole garden. And the breeze was blowing out from the painting. When I shifted from side to side, the objects in the background moved along with it. Just as if I were looking through a window. Just like she said.

Dana had also said that it felt like something was waiting for her on the other side.

There was nobody else around. No museum employees, no teachers, nobody. Just the security camera in the corner. It had probably already seen Dana. If so, then it couldn't blame me for doing this.

I placed the tips of my fingers on the frame. The painting rattled a little, but remained stable. I crept my fingers closer to the canvas… Close enough and slow enough that if I touched it, it would only be the slightest contact, and I could back off.

But my fingers simply kept going. My hand hovered over the flowers, with the frame just under my wrist.

I grabbed onto the sides of the frame and called into the picture. "Dana?" I leaned forward, poking my head through. "Dana, are you there?" Just saying her name made my heart tremble as if I'd take it in vain if I weren't careful. "Dana?"

"Artie?" Her voice came from somewhere, but I couldn't tell which direction. "Where are you?"

"I'm right outside the painting. Where are you?"

"I'm right in front of you. Can you see me?"

I couldn't, no matter how hard I strained my eyes. "Where?"

"Look close. Really, really close."

I tried squinting, and I tried tilting my head, and I tried crossing my eyes as if I were looking at a Magic Eye puzzle. It was only when I shifted my weight aside that I noticed a vague shape among the brushstrokes. "Wait…" I shifted again. She was there, standing stock still, camouflaged into the painting. "What the heck happened?"

"I… I'm not really sure… It just kind of swallowed me up as soon as I came in. It's been calling to me all day. And… And it's going to eat me once the sun goes down."

"Can you move?"

"Only a little." A hand jerked among the lilies. "I feel like I'm glued in."

"Then hang on," I said. "I'm coming in." I raised my leg toward the frame.

"No! You can't! Whatever it is, it might get you too!"

"Great. Damn." I slumped on the bottom of the frame. It wobbled, and I ducked back. Too much weight and I might pull it off the wall, and then we'd all be in trouble.

And Dana's life was still at stake.

"Ah, what the hell." I climbed into the frame, planting my feet onto solid ground, and stood up in the grass. "Let it try!"

"Artie, stay back!"

"No!" I reached out, and my hands found her wrist, and I grabbed on.

Little by little, I got her arm to come free, but she was right about being glued in. My palms stuck to the paint on her skin, and the ground was clinging to my feet even worse than fresh mud. It just meant I had to use all my strength, such as it was. Soon I managed to get her whole torso unstuck, with her clinging to me with both hands, and with the push and pull between us, her legs came free as well.

She tumbled into me, and my foot slipped out of my shoe, and we both rolled over the edge and onto the museum floor. I landed on my thigh.

One last pull, and Dana and I tore away from each other. She was still covered from head to toe with paint, and now I had some stains of my own, as if I were an especially sloppy artist. My hip hurt. "Are you all right?" I said.

"I think so." Dana rubbed her shoulder. "Hit the ground pretty hard, though." She looked up at the painting. Or what was left of it. "Ohh boy."

Tearing her out of the paint trap had left a large silhouette of empty white space in the middle of the painting in the shape of her body. I had left a small contribution of my own, in the form of my left shoe. I reached out for it, but all I touched was canvas. I wasn't getting that shoe back.

"We should get moving," she said, then added a paint-coated smirk. "Or else someone might know we did it."

I got to my feet and helped her up. "How're you going to explain…" I gestured at her. "All that?"

She looked at the lily petals on her forearms. "I don't know. I'm just relieved to be out of there. Weren't you scared?"

"Well, maybe a little… But I guess I was just more scared that I'd never see you again."

"Artie… You hardly know me."

"I know. But maybe I want to get to know you better. I thought we got off to an okay start this morning."

"Hm." She stepped forward and took my hand. Even if her face was covered with paint, she was still the most beautiful work of art I'd ever seen, and I felt powerfully lucky that I could have this moment with her. "In that case—"

"What on earth is going on here?" The voice belonged to a young woman who worked for the museum. She had come through the archway, and now stared in horror at the two of us, and at the ruined painting next to us. "Oh no."

"W-Would you believe it's not what it looks like?" Dana said.

"Just great," the employee said. "It's happened again."