It was silent when Elon and I entered the gallery. The silence felt thick, which gave me the idea that we were the first to arrive. In the air lay the smells of paint and varnish, along with something much older— a smell that usually calmed me, rooting me in something palpable, something I could handle.
So, I couldn’t help but looked down on Elon beside me to see his reaction. Naturally, he’d notice that. I mean, he didn’t always get to be embraced by this atmosphere and scent.
“Not loving the smell?” I asked, smiling.
“It’s fine, mom. But I wonder why it smell so familiar…” He responded, looking at the paintings on the wall.
I let him be. I held his small hand tighter, and guide him through the entire gallery ‘til the last room, where I was planning to spend most of my time today. I
