There I was again, standing inside an art fair booth, watching an elderly couple slowly make their way past. One of them was tethered to an oxygen tank on wheels, the other gently guiding the apparatus along, hand resting lightly on their partner’s back. Their pace was deliberate, unhurried, as if they had long since learned to move in time with one another.
 
I watched them go by, quietly wondering how many art fairs they’d attended over the years. How many gallery openings and museum shows had they seen? How many young artists had they discovered long before the world caught on? I imagined the knowledge they must have gathered, decades’ worth of press releases, artist statements, worklists, and panel talks. I pictured them at dinners, gallery backrooms, perhaps even afterparties filled with cigarette smoke and half-sipped wine. I imagined a life steeped in art, shaped by it.
 
Were they part of that art world I used to dream about as a kid? The one I knew only through books and movies, where artists and patrons mingled in chaotic brilliance, and the scene felt both mysterious and magnetic?
 
On impulse, I stood up and approached them, hoping to hear even a fragment of their story, or at the very least, to confirm they were part of that scene I had imagined so vividly.
 
 
“Hi,” I said. “Let me introduce myself. My name is ___________ would you like to talk about art with me?”
 
The woman looked up, her eyes kind but weary. She offered a soft smile.
 
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, not unkindly. “We’re on our way to Larry’s booth. We’ll come back later today. What’s the name of your gallery?”
 
“It’s… hhhhii,” I said, the word stumbling awkwardly from my lips, like it wasn’t ready to be spoken.
 
She nodded, or maybe didn’t. They were already drifting away.
 
They won’t come back, I thought, watching their forms fade into the crowd.
I stood there a moment longer than I needed to, still holding a small hope that they might turn around. They didn’t.
 
I went back inside the booth and sat down behind the table. The buzz of the fair resumed around me like static.
 
A few minutes later, another elderly couple passed by—another oxygen tank in tow.
I watched them too.