My First Adventure Through Time and Space

It wasn't a particularly glorious morning. In fact, it was downright miserable. The perpetual overcast sky of London had made an appearance yet again, and the sun was no where to be seen. The doors of The National Gallery reflected only myself as I dashed through the drizzling rain to get inside. As soon as I entered, the brilliant colors of the paintings that lined the walls welcomed me with open arms. After I had paid the entrance fee, I quickly headed to the entire room devoted to Vincent van Gogh, my all-time favorite painter. As I had all other days of my visitation, I slowly relished every painstaking stroke and carefully chosen color in every single painting. As I admired van Gogh's painting of a church, I noticed a reflection in the frame. Startled, I realized that a man had been standing behind me the entire time!

I quickly turned and took a step away, taking in the ridiculous sight before my eyes. The man was wearing a bow-tie and a tweed jacket. (Had he not heard that that look was so 30 years ago?) He was tall and gangly, with a big chin that could poke an eye out. But other than that, he wasn't bad, cute even, and on his face was the biggest smile I had ever seen, stretching from ear to ear.

He interrupted my intense gaze, saying: "Hello, I'm the Doctor. And you are?"

I answered tentatively, as my mother had taught me to not talk to strangers. "M-my name? Oh, yes. Abbie. My name is Abbie. And you're a doctor? Of what?" I tried hard to keep a smile on my face while surveying the room for security guards.

"Oh, I'm a doctor of many things, mainly medicine and cheese making. But my friends call me the Doctor."

"That's nice," I replied, turning back to the painting, and trying to get myself back into focus. Several minutes later, I realized that he was still there. I couldn't believe it! Couldn't this guy take a hint? I covertly began to step away, mourning the loss of time to admire the painting. Suddenly, he moved to intercept me.

"I couldn't help but notice that you really like van Gogh. I mean, you've visited everyday for a month, paid the sumptuous fee, and, out of the entire museum, have only visited this room."

I didn't know what to think... had he been following me? Since the first visit I had made, almost a month ago? No, that would be too strange, but giving him a second glance, I realized that bow-tie, gargantuan smile, and refusal to give me a name practically screamed that nothing was too strange for him. It took me at least another minute to reply, yet his smile never faltered. I felt my guard beginning to lift, and I began to wonder if he only wanted a friend, or at least a good conversation.

"Yeah, he's my favorite. I love the impressionism, and how he was able to turn his obvious distress into such amazing beauty. And the way he used textures in his paintings... I can only hope to someday be that good. Well, I can't even hope to be that good. I truly believe that he is the greatest painter of all time. Of course, not everyone agrees..."

"Oh, I wholeheartedly agree!" he replied eagerly. "What would you say if I told you that I could take you to meet him?"

Then I knew that he was a nut job. Didn't he know that Vincent van Gogh had died over 100 years before? Who did he think he was kidding? But I appeased his needy look and told him that I would jump for joy and probably take him up on his offer.

"Right then!" he cried, grabbing my hand a pulling me toward the exit. I don't know what came over me. A wave of craziness and courage, of absolute foolishness... I didn't struggle. Something was telling me that everything would be okay, and I began to find myself trusting him. So what if he wore a bow-tie? Bow-ties could be cool. Maybe he liked to smile, and his name really was the Doctor. Who cared if he had been watching me for a month? Almost as soon as we had slammed through the exit doors, we came to a big, blue Police Box from the 1960s. He pulled out a key, unlocked the door, and waltzed right in. He shouted something like "Come on in!", and the echo was all wrong for the size of the box. I slowly pushed the door open, took a step inside, and immediately stopped cold.

"It's... it's..." I stammered.

"Ah yes, my favorite part! Bigger on the inside! Haha! It's a TARDIS. T-A-R-D-I-S. Time and relative dimension in space. It can travel anywhere in space and time, hence the name. Sorry for stealing your moment, but the time window is closing, and if we want to meet van Gogh before his sadly premature funeral, we'll have to leave now." He began to dance around the large room, pressing blinking buttons, pulling long levers, and quietly humming "All You Need Is Love" by the Beatles. A strange noise filled the room, almost like brakes squealing mixed with old 40s sound effects. Seconds after it began, the sound stopped and the Doctor bounded towards me.

"Right. So, out there, right now, is van Gogh's cottage. If you don't believe me, you can see for yourself." And then the strange man reached out and opened the door.

Up to that point, I hadn't believed him, but they say that seeing is believing, and what I saw definitely made me believe. Not only did I recognize the cottage from one of the paintings that I had seen day after say for the past month, but a man with fiery red hair, almost exactly matching the self-portrait in the gallery, stood just outside the door, no doubt drawn out by the strange sound of the time machine. Time machine!

"Doctor!" van Gogh shouted, striding with arms outstretched toward the Doctor, who welcomed him gladly, and then directed the attention toward me.

"This, my dear friend, is Abbie. She's a massive admirer." Van Gogh immediately turned toward me, a surprised look on his face.

"Hi," I said nerdily, "You're awesome. Big fan. High five!" At his look of confusion, I slowly lowered my hand. I'd forgotten that the high-five wasn't going to be invented for a few years. I glanced, embarrassed, at the Doctor. Just as our eyes met, I could see the last tendrils of a memory fading from his eyes, one that he seemed to be fighting to not remember. My thoughts were interrupted by van Gogh as he carried our conversation out of the awkward pause.

"Surely you cannot be a fan of mine! None of my paintings are very good, at least according to some of my kind neighbors," van Gogh stated ironically.

"Oh but she is!" the Doctor interjected. "And I hate to break up this introduction, but we only have about five minutes before we have to be going again. Time windows, you know. Picture a bus window speeding by a single point on the horizon. Well, it's nothing like that..." He continued to ramble as he walked back to the TARDIS.

"Well," I said, "it was nice to meet you, even for a few moments." I reached out and shook van Gogh's hand.

"Yes," he answered, "very nice."

And then I turned and walked away. It was one of the hardest things I had ever done. I had met my hero, my inspiration, my teacher. Years of admiration, and only moments of joy. Yet, I realized, that was more than many of my colleagues had ever had. A few minutes with Vincent van Gogh. The painter. The genius. What would I tell my friends? I had traveled in time and space! I had actually met van Gogh! They would never believe me. And I realized that they might never get the chance. I opened the deep blue door and peered inside. The Doctor was watching the door, waiting for me. He raised his eyebrows, and I took that as my cue.

"Where to next, you wonderful Doctor you?"

With a yell of pleasure, he resumed his dance, plunging the TARDIS back into the web of time, whirling us toward our next adventure.