43 years later ...

[AvroAnson]

Lydia Kinkaydye was feeling ignored and talked brother Jimmy into running away from home as kids 43 years ago. They had a grand adventure but that experience they went back home, lived normal lives, got married (to other people) and had kids and grand kids.

Everybody knows that part.

But after the eccentric Mrs. B. Thyme Frankfurter passed away in 1982, every year on the anniversary of her passing, the two return to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City and spend one magical night inside.

They were kids that first time. But in 1983 they are 25 and 28, and can think of "kinkaydyier" things to do in the fountain, Louis XVI bedroom, and tapestry room. It's a grown-up sex-capade through one of the worlds great museums.

Proper nouns may have to be changed a bit: maybe the "Centre City Museum" or something equally vague instead of the Met.

(Idea is from: 'The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler' by E. L. Konigsburg won the Newbery Medal in 1968.)

 

[sirhugs]

Here I guessed it was a "Night at the Museum" rip off til I read further.

 

[Carnevil9]

I'm a little unclear on the timeline. If it is 43 years later, how are they only 25 and 28? Or are there three time periods of interest here?

 

[AvroAnson]

Sorry, I was going to look up the title of the 1978 Robert Mulligan film (or 1975 Bernard Slade play) Alan Alda and Ellen Burstyn play people "married, but not to each other," who meet to continue their affair each year: 'Same Time, Next Year'.

But then I got busy with an issue in real life.

So, my original idea was, sister and brother meet each year. Each meeting can be a scene or chapter that takes place in a different exhibit area.

 

[Hypoxia]

Slightly different take: The siblings return every year to the exact same spot where they gave each other their virginities 'way back when. But what had been a remote rural locale has undergone development -- their 'spot' is now inside a sub-optimal restaurant space that changes owners and formats every couple years and eventually becomes a soup kitchen for the homeless. Hilarity ensues.

 

[AvroAnson]

Slightly different take: The siblings return every year to the exact same spot where they gave each other their virginities 'way back when. But what had been a remote rural locale has undergone development -- their 'spot' is now inside a sub-optimal restaurant space that changes owners and formats every couple years and eventually becomes a soup kitchen for the homeless. Hilarity ensues.

Well a long time ago, came a man on a track
Walking thirty miles with a sack on his back
And he put down his load where he thought it was the best
He made a home in the wilderness

He built a cabin and a winter store
And he ploughed up the ground by the cold lake shore
And the other travellers came walking down the track
And they never went further, no they never went back

Then came the churches, then came the schools
Then came the lawyers, then came the rules
Then came the trains and the trucks with their loads
And the dirty old track was the Telegraph Road

Then came the mines, then came the ore,
Then there was the hard times, then there was a war
Telegraph sang a song about the world outside
Telegraph Road got so deep and so wide
Like a rolling river

And my radio says tonight it's gonna freeze
People driving home from the factories
There's six lanes of traffic
Three lanes moving slow

I used to like to go to work but they shut it down
I've got a right to go to work but there's no work here to be found
Yes, and they say we're gonna have to pay what's owed
We're gonna have to reap from some seed that's been sowed

And the birds up on the wires and the telegraph poles
They can always fly away from this rain and this cold
You can hear them singing out their telegraph code
All the way down the Telegraph Road

Well I'd sooner forget, but I remember those nights
Yeah, life was just a bet on a race between the lights
You had your head on my shoulder, you had your hand in my hair
Now you act a little colder like you don't seem to care

But just believe in me, baby, and I'll take you away
From out of this darkness and into the day
From these rivers of headlights, these rivers of rain
From the anger that lives on the streets with these names
'Cause I've run every red light on memory lane
I've seen desperation explode into flames
And I don't want to see it again
From all of these signs saying "Sorry, but we're closed",
All the way down the Telegraph Road.

-- Telegraph Road (1982) Mark Knopfler

 

[sirhugs]

not quite sure how that post jumps to "Telegraph Road", but now I have that tune stuck in my brain.

Sort of like having the desire for that improper lover stuck in your loins...