The car pulled up to the curb on the busy Chicago street. My mom and I ran out of the car and hurried down the stairs. A large block as big as a train car with intricate glass patterns swirling around each corner stood before me. It was even more glorious in real life than in the pictures I had seen.

I was in second grade, and second grade was intense. We were assigned our first real research project. We had to choose a building or piece of art in Chicago, write about its history and accompany the research with a visual. I was excited, this project was legendary. Years ago (last year) my sister made a model of Buckingham Fountain and years before that (three years ago), my brother created a mini Wrigley Field. I was determined to outshine my siblings with a project more amazing than theirs, but my mind was racing. What would I do?

I went home and told my mom that school was “good.” Then I proceeded to tell her about the super difficult project I was assigned and how I had no idea what to do. All I could think of was the Sears Tower or the Water Tower, but those would be a popular choice for half the kids in my class.

My mom mentioned Chagall's mosaic, "The Four Seasons.”

I had never heard of it. My curiosity urged me to look it up. It was beautiful. I could not believe that a piece of art with that amount of mass and that much detail could ever exist. I decided then I would do my project on the “Four Seasons.”

…
My family was on our way home from a nice Memorial Day weekend in Michigan. We planned on stopping in the city to see the Chagall’s “Four Seasons” which I had been researching with my mom for the past week.
My dad double parked so we could make a quick stop. I hurriedly got out of the car with my mom and descended the stairs that led to the public artwork. I stopped in my tracks as soon as I saw it. I was mesmerized. A sun swirling  with every color imaginable, and a vibrant city underneath it. Intricate designs of people playing music and others dancing decorated the four walls. Beautifully detailed scenes of a mother with her child, and pairs of lovers reflected life and the people in Chicago. We walked around the mosaic figuring out which part was which season and I was amazed by every inch of it.

I decided I wanted to get my photo taken in the summer section of the mosaic so I stood near the swirling sun as my mom snapped away on her camera. She glanced at the pictures she took and I guess none of them were good enough for her so she urged me to step over the protective fence to get a better close-up. I looked over at her conflicted and confused. The voice in my head was telling me the fence was there for a reason, but my mom would never steer me wrong. She told me once more. “Just step over really fast so I can get a close up. Don't worry...we are the only people here. It's just a small fence.”

I slowly lifted my foot over the fence. Nothing happened. Relieved I smiled for the camera.

“PLEASE STEP AWAY FROM THE CHAGALL,” an intercom blared out of nowhere.

My stomach dropped, my face turned red and tears streamed down my face as I wailed, “I don’t want to go to jail!” I was scared and embarrassed, and worried security guards would be rushing out of the building ready to handcuff me. Without looking at my mom I ran to the car as fast as I could feeling betrayed. How could she put me in such a compromising position? What was she thinking? The beautiful Chagall was now associated with one of the worst moments of my life. I am still scarred and have not visited it since. The booming voice is always in the back of my mind reminding me fences are there for a reason.