Looking for Lucy

By Gage Nettles

For Momma

Hall of Human Origins.

This is it.I first met Lucy on a Sunday.

Then, I was just a prepubescent.

There she was, with her

Hairy yet sophisticated demeanor.

To permeate a young boy’s heart,

With such ferocity yet oh so tenderly...

Well, that’s beyond me.

I knew Lucy was something special,

Far from your ordinary hominid.

She could just lay there, stare at my youth,

She’d make me feel as old as the stone age.

Lucy cultivated a lust in me that Sunday

A high that’s been lingering in my chest for 9 years.

I’ve reached a breaking period in my life

Where the ends begin to split.

Lucy! Come back, hold me for just a moment,

Please bring me the peace I once had in my youth.

♫Let me forget about today, until tomorrow.♫

The hall of African mammals was dark.

The air was saturated with 

A multilingual tourist buzz.

Folks of all sorts ogled at these “Animals”

Don’t they know they aren’t real?

Why not just go to a zoo?

This is not a story about them, Why was I here? 

Why would I want to be in any room that Lucy is not ?

So the hunt carries on.

I began to wander aimlessly through the 

Immense compilation of

Exhibit

Giftshop

Exhibit

Giftshop

Exhibit

Giftshop...

But I run on blindly, going on fumes.

The beat of boots, hearts, drums 

The drums are the soundtrack to my seemingly mindless trek.

My skull is clogged by laughs or cries,

Where my brain once was, now

Is a cavity, filled with sugars, custards, lemon tarts.

The Pokot women are dancing on my psyche

Taunting me; reminding me how Lucy is really 

An itch I can’t scratch.

“My love! Are you near? My love!”

I hear Lucy’s soft cries

But all is squashed by the thumping 

Of these oppressive drums.

So I try to convince myself that the louder they get

The closer I am to my Lucy.

The drums evolve into some sort of Stravinsky symphony,

Something that moved me to sprint

Through The Museum of Natural History.

I would leap into my lover’s burly arms,

We can finally connect, after enduring

9 years of withdrawal

But I cannot run anywhere,

I’ve lost my map. There arwith all this age?

So you are proud of me, my love?

No, go out there, catch some dareal fish, be one with the tribe, distinct…

I am lost.

My mind is a fried egg, so that must mean that the

Museum of Natural History is the skillet.

There’s a grease fire under my ass, I gotta up.

In this great endless vacancy, there must be an answer.

In The Cullman Hall of the Universe,

In some museum,

In New fucking York,

There’s gotta be some wisdom. 

Tour groups know nothing, tour guides know less,

I’m sure this meteor knows the best.

4.5 billion years of enlightenment,

All leading up to this moment, were the Sage meets the Gage. 

Did this space rock plan to land in the Upper West Side?

This meteor sits there for all to sponge-up,

With a disk, with some words surrounding it;

I had no intention of learning the facts,

A brilliant mind is one who asks the questions.

So, I began to confess all to the prophet.

I laid naked, to this space rock, 

Withdrew my pocket-knife, plunged it into my tummy,

I spilled my guts to him.

Tourists watched in horror, as the blood from my blue confessions

Spilled all over the concrete floor, the thick juice stained their 

Penny-Loafers, their Top-Siders.

A tsunami of deepest darkest secrets over take the onlookers,

They are swept away to the recesses of my brain,

They are sent to burn in the fiery lakes of irrelevancy.

I tell the meteorite of my longing for a certain kind of connection;

Someone to cling to like wreckage in a storm.

I tell him about Lucy, all the fun times we had.

How much she meant to me, how much I thought I meant,

To her, to them, to anyone.

I’m not sure if I’m suicidal or just horny.

The meteor would sit, pretending to listen.

Silence is a sugary alcohol, one that goes down smoothly,

Yet makes you spill out the roughest truths.e too many bodies,

Too many judges for a manchild frantically running

Through The Museum of Natural History.

I am compelled to swim in the same direction as all these guppies,

Then go to the next attraction.

“I like your red jumpsuit.”

An old coug’ was checking me out,

“Thank you sir.” 

She was not a man,

But I was not wearing a red jumpsuit,

Which one of us was crazier? 

Either way, I took the compliment in stride.

I pushed forward with a bit more self esteem.

Now I had entered a massive white room

Four stories of hollow rooms, hollow peoples.

Lucy could be in any

Nook or cranny; there was potential in this room.

I felt my body flood with

A glee that punched my stomach,

This sense of joy rapidly infected the rest of my body until,

I was terminally euphoric.

Jumping in my boots at the thought of telling

Lucy all about my life,

My loves, losses, heroes, villains.

So much has happened my honey pie, so much that you

Must know about. Aren’t I so much taller?

I’m all grown up. Do you miss the old me?

Aren’t you proud of me Lucy. Look at what I’ve blossomed into,

This charming man; Hot-Topic Allen Ginsberg.

You have accomplished so little with so much time.

I'm not even mad

I'm impressed. How? What did you do 

I feel like I’m talking to myself at this point.

Does he have nothing to say?

God-damn rocks never have anything to speak of.

I can’t believe it.

Doesn’t he know I’m in pain?

What kind of monster will just sit there. Watch

Me squirm like a slug under a heat lamp.

All meteoroids are the same.

Fucking sadists.  

I can’t tolerate this intergalactic insanity any longer.

This room was too hot, many evil things were

Being cultivated in this cavity.

I think it’s time I formulate some sort of exit.

Too many doors to choose from, too many shakey labels

My beady eyes couldn’t read anyways. So many damn options.

I couldn’t flip a coin to choose,

Nor roll the dice (I don’t carry dice everywhere I go),

I wasn’t in the mental state to ask anyone for advice.

As things were, I couldn’t vacate this place.

So I let my boots wander.

I know Tolkien said that Not all those who wander are lost,

But this boy is fucking lost.

I decide to take a chance, follow my nose

I ascend up these concrete steps, with the intensity

Of one who certainly doesn’t belong in such a civilized place

As The Museum of Natural History.

After a few uninformed turns, sprints, insatiable spooks,

I was near the lobby.

Where this entire monstrosity had spawned,

The prehistoric Gates of Eden, guarded by two 

Blasé, jacked dude. That exit was my exit,

Where my lucy could escape, the glass shackles.

My love would be on display for no one but me.

I would hold her in my arms. We’d sprint, powered by 9 years

Of sexual repression, break past the guards,

Slide under the Cretaceous beast,

Kick down the doors of oppression.

My Hero! My Love! My Everything! You saved me! 

No… you saved me

I would say with gusto, like all the suave 007s

Had done.

Now I would be someone,

The boy who saved Lucy.

I’d take my lady down those stairs

into an ambiguous, beautiful world

Of infinite possibilities, destination, bedrooms.

But that’s all in my head.

At the moment I’m merely a lost schlub,

Who’s watching this Minnesotan family -who are as bewildered as I am-

Ask a guard

Excuse me sir, but how do we find the giant whale?

Well, he’s right in front of you! Hahaha...

He says jokingly, but I can see that behind the self-deprecating humor

Is genuine insecurity,

Genuine contempt for his job that makes him put up with

The people asking him those asinine questions.

They have maps at like every corner! Quit being so needy!

Leave me alone,

But...

Have a nice day.

But instead he simply points them in the direction of the room with

The massive blue whale.

It’s right around the corner.

I know Lucy isn’t in there,

But I need somewhere to

Unwind before I unravel...

Before the heart palpitations set in.

The Chitter-Chatter Orchestra blared,

Somehow managing to thicken the ocean-blue air

Of this massive room, without being able to discern

One vocal cord from another.  

There she was, 

At 94 feet long, the 21,000-pound behemoth

Knocked me off my feet.

She filled the space of the room,

Like a foul odor, or an obnoxious voice.

Blue was inescapable.

I must have looked alien to the museum-goers.

Here’s some ghoulish creature, hunched over as if he were

Recently sodomized, crawling away from this “Museum Treasure.”

I scampered towards a nearby bench, which seemed to be a lovely place

To set up shop, take some notes, catch my breath.

I sat, maybe I dreamt of Lucy.

Fantasized about finally being able to see her,

I’m too ordinary for her.

This goddess sits on her throne of beauty,

I’m sure millions of more handsome men

Gawk at her everyday.

Why would she choose me?

If I had any sort of admirable,

Desirable, intangible, redeemable qualities,

Why am I still alone?

I’m sure George Clooney has gone to the

Museum of Natural History,

I’m sure he’s gone to my love,

Whisked her away,

With seven times the charm, seven times the grace

That some fag like me ever could.

Lucy with The Silver Fox, smiling brighter

Laughing louder,

Breathing deeper,

Crying lighter,

Having better sex.

I bet she looks him in the eyes

When they “make love”.

I’m sure George can give Lucy the dreams

She planned in our adolescent ambition.

Was I the exception? I know she had options far superior to

Some white boy from Connecticut.

What did I offer 9 years ago? Did I still have it?

If I ever wanted to win Lucy’s love again, I had to find it.

I couldn’t sit still any longer,

This boy was on a mission, worrying isn’t

Accomplishing anything.

I may have sat up too quickly, as
I felt a rush to my head, a dip from consciousness 

That could have put me out of the game. 

Jesus on the left shoulder, Lou Reed on the right,

They both laughed at my insanity.

It’s fucking stupid.

Just more plastic animals,

Pornography for the egotistical “intellectual.” 

Tourists mentally jerking each other off

For knowing the latin name for a polar bear.

I’m now standing in front of this tableau,

A world that soon will appear very strange.

Lucy’s kids will look through picture books,

Ask what snow is?

What ever happened to Ursus Maritimus?

But I’m okay with that.

I’m okay with oblivion, as long as we

Will burn together. 

It’s all very strange.

Another hallway, another flight of stairs,

I am now surrounded by these enormous fossils.

Why does everything have to be so huge to be impressive to these people?

I keep wandering the top floor of the museum.

There’s a special exhibition.

As long as you were infected with

Chase,

You could see the mummified remains of 

So many beautiful, fascinating people.

I see kings wrapped in toilet paper.

Thousands of years ago, they stood atop of

The Great Pyramids of Giza, they looked at their vast kingdoms.

I’m sure Tutankhamun felt satisfied at that moment;

It’s tragic that I can’t name any other

Egyptian Kings. Men who ruled a nation

I’m sure they had such an impact,

They left craters on the skin of the country.

All turned to dust.

Today they’ve all been mashed to an abstract idea.

Like Jesus or Elvis, these living gods

Have devolved into merely a concept.

A generic image printed on a board game or a block buster hit.

What kind of legacy is that?

Now these kings are now on display,

For $25.00, you can salivate over these

Emperors. Stare, like how I would

Into my honey pie’s sultry eyes.

Lucy+I may be the next Yoko+John,

But Yoko+John were never kings of Egypt.

They’re already becoming irrelevant.

In a-thousand years any sort of 

Pop-culture artifact will be only

Fun facts for few bored historians.

Who cares about Warhol? Who cares about Trump?

Who cares about Y2K or this very decadent very depraved short story?

Why even bother finding Lucy?

I am no meteor. 

I will have no lasting impact.

For all the effort I put into not

Putting a gun to my head, what’s it worth

If I’ll simply be dust anyway.

I liquify in front of a hefty security guard.

Beads of sludgy sweat drip down my forehead 

It scorches my eyes.

My glasses start to fog.

I am rendered immobile.

I am done, this time for sure.

How can they not notice?

I’m sure some pure hearted mothers care.

The ones who take the train in from Westchester

Who spend their special day overpaying on food,

Wholesome families visiting Manhattan's iconic attractions,

Only to have their day ruined by some sort of 

Inebriated monster shouting

You killed God!

At her kids, all you can ask yourself is

Why?

It’s more interactive than T.V.

It makes for some

Lasting memories for all parties involved. It gives me some sort 

Of daily fulfilment, knowing I exercised my first amendment right.

I sleep like a baby.

Like a kindergartener jumping out of bed

For his first day of school, 

My virgin legs tease the ground.

The cellulite dangly-bits taunt the marble, 

This boys a little rusty.

Stand up, I assess  the surroundings.

How often do I notice the ceiling?

Back to the Hall of African Mammals.

How can I expect to find Lucy here?

Tip-tap toes, the fresco urban beat animates Gage.

Our hero makes his way to the elevator.

This is awkward.

For the first time since I walked up the stone steps

Outside the Museum of Natural History

I can take a break.. just wait.

I smell,

I sweat,

I am simply unsightly,

I am loveless,

This outfit is completely unjustifiable,

This is no way to present myself to Lucy.

Should I abort the mission,

Go wait in the car for my Mother

To wisk me away to a hell of 

Country clubs or Vineyard Vines.

Oh god no! Anything but Missionary Position!

Our fingers connect on the button,

Going Down. A blue eyed, strapping young lad waits by my side.

Our eyes meet, but not one syllable slid out of either mouth.

This boy, he knows the unspeakable horrors

That are ensuing in my cranium. He knows that I am an alien

Dropped down to The Upper West Side to dissect museum culture.

The game is up, pretty boy.

Should I just confess it all to him right here

Right now? As we stand uncomfortably, waiting for the

Elevator doors glide open, I step in first

Age before beauty, after all.

Steel slides shut.

I’m sealed in. Better start rationing my energy.

It’s always been a fear of mine to be trapped in an elevator.

How can I make a compelling argument that my life

Is more valuable than Dorian Grey’s, therefore

I should be the one who gets to devour his carcass in order to survive.

I mean, I’m not a monster, I’d try to make it as painless as I could

(While still having some fun with it, of course). I’m sure I’d season him,

Eat him with some dignity. We’re not animals, I’d consume him with

The utmost respect. Still tragic that I’d have to...

Which floor?

This charming man says with porcelain teeth, with diamond eyes.

Ugh… whichever one’s the lobby?

This is probably the first time I’ve used my vocal chords

Since I walked up those fucking stairs.

My throat is dry, I wish I could say something witty,

I wish I knew how to flirt like they do in the movies.

I could use some practice before I am reunited with my Lucy.

But

Silence.

A radiostatic, a pressure building up in your head,

A tension, sexual, psychological, existential, physical,

You wait for it to subside but it only grows

Quicker. A malignant anxiety, that's only slaughtered by 

Ding Ding.

I believe this is your floor.

Dorian said cautiously.

Without a word, I hustled out of that Goddamn mouse-trap.

The elevator births a new man. A slimey, new born boy

Crawls out of it’s steel womb, crying; 

He doesn’t want to be part of this cruel world.

But with new life comes new potential.

I have a revitalized sense of ambition.

My time in the elevator gave me a moment to think about

Who else, but Lucy.

I guess it’s kinda like lightning.

It strikes you,

It flashes,

It burns,

Then you wait for it to strike again.

You crouch, hunkered in your burgeoning sexuality,

Hoping a tree doesn’t fall over your head.

I guess I am in the eye of the storm right now.

A tranquility, that lasts only a minute before I am ravaged

By my ever throbbing teenage libido.

I have to run from it, while I still have time.

The Hall of African Mammals,

Home sweet home. This place feels so welcoming now,

But I know I can’t stick around here for long.

If I want to finish my noble quest, win my fair lady's heart,

Slay the mighty dragon, I must keep marching on.

I have to be smart; this was not a trek for a dummy.

There’s a schizophrenic rhythm powering this engine.

♫Yes, the danger must be growing♫

For the rowers keep on rowing

And they're certainly not showing

♫Any signs that they are slowing♫

I go down the same cryptic corridors.

I see all sorts of pygmies with funky names.

I see masks, the masks see me. I’m 

Sorry it had to be this way my wooden friends.

How long before I gouge my eyes out, before I make merry with the madness.

Things are making less sense by the minute. 

Have I been down this hallway before

Or am I popping the cherry of new adventures?

The truth is, any turn could lead me to my Lucy.

Have you ever lived every day like it was an opportunity?

It’s pathetic to get out of bed, once you peel the sleep from your eyes

Tell yourself Todays the day!

It never is.

That’s how every turn feels.

I think that this room will be the room that my love waits for me,

But it never is.

I feel so defeated.

So drained of any ambition;

My feet are bloated like rotting corpses, my eyes sting,

The heart palpitations are setting in.

This may be the end.

To live my last moments without my love,

I guess this is how I die,

Just some gross, pus-filled, Danny Devito look alike,

Lying, sweating on the marble stone of The Museum of Natural History.

The warmth of my hands start to fade.

When you croak you see that bright light, right?

Scientists say it’s actually your brain

Breaking down.

Now, I’m seeing that dumb shit.

Not only that, I see an angel in the mist.

But she’s not what I expected.

She pudgy, she’s wearing a badge.

Are angels really just security guards for Heaven?
I always expected there to be more sentiment behind that.

With my last remaining ether, I manage out a faint...

… Where’s...my…Lucy?

The words scraped against my throat like a sandpaper-cock.

My guardian angel smiled.

Have you checked the Spitzer Hall of Human Origins?

Where the fuck could that be?

How many more gift shops will I have had to pass through first?

I am banished to a purgatory of a loveless, lifeless, hunt for another

Lost spirit, burning for an ancient connection of some kind of meaning.

This is like the shitty part of Lost when it tried to get all sci-fi or “philosophical.”

I’m not sure what will become of me when I leave The Museum of Natural History.

Will those steps lead me to Heaven or Hell?

I know that one of the deciding factors to my eternal damnation

Will be whether or not I find my Lucy.

Life is Hell without her either way.

The Spitzer Hall of Human Origins it is.

I float on these purple clouds.

Hues of icey blues, orange,

If this is what being a ghost is like, I could live with this.

Down the stairs, take a right, keep going. You’ll be there.

The angel said. It seemed like her voice was millions,

All concentrated into one mouth. As she went along with the sentence,

I could swear it was getting more distorted.

Though this angel is finished guiding me, I feel like she is screaming at me.

Her blonde hair began to shed.

They drift down like falling autumn leaves.

Coagulate on the ground.

Snakes!

Her golden follicles become scaly, slimy creatures,

Tempting me to eat the sacred fruit.

But these serpents have no interest in me (no one ever does).

They seem to be heading for my love.

Like sperms to the egg, they swim on the floor like their lives depend on it.

The angel turned Harpy sprouts demon wings, she flies off into the depths of hell.

They’re going to eat her.

Running again. This time I know exactly where I’m going.

I have opponents to outrun.

I have the advantage this time, I have two legs, while they have

None.

In  a race with snakes, George Clooney, Albert Camus, my own sexuality,

Who will win?

Nevertheless I sprint. I’m not sure whether it’s the depraved teenage urges

Or “The fire of love” that compels me to sprint with such violence, but 

I am sure that I will get to Lucy. She will be mine.

Just like that, I slip, I begin roll down the cold hard steps.

The world in 360° is quite perplexing.

I’m in a cornucopia of colors.

Like a rainbow tornado,

These brilliant shades, tossing me around I am

A lonesome, crusty grey sock in spin cycle, looking for my other half.

I slam my head at some point on the tumbleweed’s desert drifting.

This does not stop me however.

Did I trip on a snake?

Did I trip?

Maybe I meant to fall, but fall so far? so hard? maybe not.

On my knees on the floor,

I snap my head over my left,

No snakes

I whip my skull over my right,

No Clooney.

I’m safe.

I ascend from the concrete.

I tiptoe on the clouds like a fat ballerina. The golden gates.

Inscribed above The Spitzer H

I’m home.

Here is where my Lucy rests.

Here is where my Lucy sleeps.

Here is where my Lucy dreams.

Does she dream of me as much as I dream of her?

I take a deep breath.

Smells like Heaven to me.

I’m ready.

I walk through this hall with young wonder.

It is so very strange. It is all so very unreal.

I look around at this majestic assortment of

Skulls, so many damn skulls.

It’s like a forest full of stumps. Death all around.

Funny how much Heaven doesn’t look like it does in the paintings.

It sure is hot up here in Heaven.

Why would Lucy want to reside here?

I’ve always liked people with a dark side,

But having a throne made of carcasses is a bit over the top.

I continue to wonder through my lover’s chambers.

I rifle through her clothes.

Maybe I’ll try on her undergarments, like I always wanted to when I was

So full of hope. I hope she doesn’t mind.

I keep walking. I’m on a mission to get my shitty life back.

Finding some sort of stride, I spend half my time making sure

I don’t collapse, the other half goes to assessing the area.

Stay on my toes, be vigilant.

For all I know, a Clooney could be right around the corner.

Slaughter me with his rugged charm.

Guggenheim Hall of Minerals

What? How did I get here?

I must have passed Lucy.

Back to The Spitzer Hall of Human Origins I guess.

I see her.

(What do I say? How do I look? It’s been so damn long.

Is saying “I would die for you” still romantic

If you don’t really want to live anyways?)

My love in a glass case.

There are strangers posing with her. Can’t you read?

It says no flash fucking photography!

This is not a religious experience.

I don’t even recognize her.

This! This is an imposter. An illusion! 

My ideas are shattered before my very eyes.

It’s all downhill from here, I guess.

What is this bullshit? Why don’t all these

Monsters line up to fruit-punch me in the dick, they might as well.

I’m sure that would feel better than this.

Don’t they see that someone once loved this sexxxy neanderthal?

I look at her, she doesn’t even break character. She doesn’t even have character.

What did I do to deserve this?

Should I have visited more? Maybe my smile didn’t twinkle the way it should.

Why should I care?

Why worship some bimbo with millions of mindless disciples.

I am Judas.

How have I betrayed my lucy to deserve such treatment?

Love is not an entitlement.

All this boy was born with was himself.

Everything else could go at any moment;

What made you think love was any different?

I turn my back to Lucy.

She’s dust, Love LTD.

Fraught with such defeat, would you have done any differently?

This is not what I needed. I start to head back to the parking garage.

No!

This is not how it was supposed to be!

I’m not giving up this fucking easily. I came for some love,

I’m gonna get some God-Damn love.

Pointing towards Lucy’s glass prison, I charge.

Warp speed, you're gonna get it you bitch.

I smash my skull on the glass. 

♫Break on through to the other side!♫

It’s all a blur.

Tweety bird twirling around my bloodied brain.

Right before you die, your body kicks in all its remaining endorphins,

Adrenaline, DMT, it’s remaining dopamine or oxytocin, in a ditch

Attempt to keep you alive. Maybe it’s a kind of mercy,

Mother nature’s attempt to compensate for all the evil,

It is the best high you will ever feel.

Better than love? Maybe, but this will suffice for now.

I’m on my ass with my back to who was my love.

There’s a twinkling halo around me, splinters of crystal mania.

I pull out a glass shard from my cranium.

It’s so beautiful. I’ll probably keep this as a souvenir. They don’t sell that sentiment in giftshops. I can almost see my reflection in it.

What have I become?

Some distorted, deep red lunatic, whose only remembrance will be

That boy who had a meltdown at The Museum of Natural History.

There’s a crowd of strangers circling around me.

With torches, with pitch-forks.

I guess I’ll be crucified for interrupting the tourists’ weekend pleasures.

Scandal is good, in moderation.

It’s time I pay my dues.

This is how my purgatory is decided. With a mob of tourists,

Who have probably never even thought how it is to be…

The first punch was thrown, then the next. 

I curl up in the fetal position. Don’t they know I get off to this kind of pain?

I taste the rich smoothness of Italian leather.

Do you lotion your fists? They’re so soft!

Now this! This is entertainment! For all parties involved.

Pretend I’m your boss! Pretend I’m your wife!

Pretend I’m your kids, step-dad, or landlord! It doesn’t fucking matter!

We all have that evil inside us. We all wish we could pummel

The homeless guy on the subway, who’s singing about salvation or the apocalypse. 

Given the opportunity, most people would spit fire.

There’s a Hitler inside us all, Vlad the Impaler waits to be manifested once again.

I don’t blame these cunts, I would do the same in their position.

They shout rude words, far too profane to say in a museum.

It’s ok though. Spock's dying words were

The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

I’m not sure if all this violence is quite necessary, but better me than

Someone with a pretty face, that we can’t afford to have damaged.

I start to laugh. A wave of manic madness washes over me.

It’s so silly, the whole fucking thing! My eyes are glazed with 

Tears, laughs? Cries? Who cares, they sting either way.

I turned over to my Lucy, she was watching.

Is this what you wanted? I hope this was worth it to you!

She just stood in her silence. An apathy only she could pull off.

I wish I could say something profound but

I spat thick jelly blood on her feet, my eyes met hers.

♫Happy trails to you, until we meet again.♫

Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.

Who cares about the clouds when we're together?

Just sing a song to bring the sunny weather.

♫Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.♫

♫Some trails are happy ones,♫

Others are blue.

It's the way you ride the trail that counts,

♫Here's a happy one for you.♫

♫Happy trails to you, until we meet again.♫

Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.

♫Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then...