December

[written a while ago, never posted. Happy weekend before the last-week, and good luck, everyone!]

December 2005

The door was open, so Nick walked in, hoping that the open door meant that Zach was inside, and not his roommate. Nick was not a hermit-type, strictly speaking, and he loved to be around friends. It was merely the fact that talking to people he didn’t know ‘that well’ always made him slightly nervous.

Luck was with him. Zach was inside, reading a formidable looking volume that didn’t look like it ought to be taken outside of the library. The lamp was on too, and its light was golden and cheery because of the standard-dorm-issued lampshade. It was a blissful contrast to the dismal weather outside, where many, here for the first time, were harbouring deep misgivings about Southern California.

“Have you seen Mike today?” Nick asked. It was the question that had been bothering him throughout most of his afternoon classes and had been producing little nagging feelings of worries all along the back of his neck. Mike was liable to have certain period of moodiness and when he did—when he did Nick did his best to be as comforting and as understanding a friend as possible.

It never stopped him from worrying the next time the mood came around though, and he hadn’t seen Mike in any of the places where he normally was when he was not in class. There was no PE in their schedule today, so he would not be able to find out, by the rather conspicuous lack of his friend in his class, whether or not the Mood was around.

So he worried. Worried and hoped that Zach would know something.

Zach looked over the edge of his glasses and over the edge of his book and finally up at Nick. “No,” he said, and looked down again, the pale profile of his face slightly tired and perfectly calm. “Don’t suppose you’d seen him either.”

“He’s not anywhere that I’ve looked,” Nick complained. He sounded worried even to himself. “You know how he’s been reading that magazine and there was this article that he kept talking about.”

“The one that made him grouchy for three days and had him giving out one hour lectures,” said Zach dryly, “Yes. It’s rather hard to forget, you know.”

“Yeah well,” he sighed. No answers then. Again. Worrying about them was a part of having friends. It meant that you had people to worry about. He remembered the first few weeks of bewilderment where despite of his preparations, he’d stumbled around, an international student experiencing cultural shock of a completely different environment, and no friends, and asked himself if this thing with the worrying was worth the trouble.

And the answer came back to him, always, unchangeably: yes.

“Let me know if you see him,” he said, getting up from the chair into which he’d flung himself.

Zach closed the book, took off his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He checked his watch. “I have a class in ten minutes,” he promised, “But I’ll go and look around afterwards and let you know if he turns up.”

“Alright,” Nick made for the door. Zach would do it, he knew, even if he didn’t find anyone.

“And Nick? Stop fussing.”

He looked back, and saw Zach giving him a slightly amused grin. The light from the lamp made his hair appear almost red.

“He’s a grown up, you know. Fully legal. And I doubt anyone’d want to kidnap him,” he frowned to himself, “Unless it’s a girl, in which case that’d be his problem, not yours.”

“I’d feel sorry for the girl,” said Nick, grinning slightly as he left.

“Don’t we all?” muttered Zach behind him.

What he loved about December, decided Mike, was the weather. The slate greys and pearly greys and …and cloud greys. The greys. The wind that, if you were high enough, didn’t so much bite as tried to scratch your eyes out. There was a feel in the air, as the dark silhouette of the trees crept onward with increasingly longer fingers of shadows. It was that time, just before the holiday spirits truly kicked in, where everything seem to lead, in hopeless, tangled circles, back to the word: resignation. Even in California, even in Southern California, there were inescapable days of greyness and gloom—perfect for quality sulking.

He felt like sulking. Alone. Without Nick hovering over his shoulder trying to make him feel better or Zach keeping an eye on him. The spot on top of the stadium was perfect for that, if a bit windy and chilly. But he liked windy and chilly, it made him numb, and he liked numb. It came, he reasoned, best with sulking.

Someone was coming up the metal stairs, almost quietly, moving with careful steps as he picked his way upward. Mike slouched lower into his spot—just at the corner where the topmost wall bent—and hoped that person would go away.

Quality sulking atmosphere, as it was, was easily ruined, and he preferred to enjoy it, as it was, while he could.

Despite of his wishes, however, the steps, slow, measured, kept on coming. A few moments later it ended and Mike knew that the intruder was along the top bleachers from the occasional scraping sounds of a sole against metal.

“Earth to Michael, come in please, over,” said a quiet and slightly amused voice, not too far away from him.

Mike opened his eyes.

“Go away please, over,” he said sarcastically, giving Zach a look that clearly said I-want-to-be-here-and-I-don’t-want-you-here.

“No can-do, sir,” said Zach cheerfully, stepping to the bleacher just below his and sat down. Mike glared at the back of his head. “The view’s very nice here,” Zach added as a comment.

It was, Mike grudgingly admitted. That was one of the reasons why he’d chosen here in the first place. The height of the bleachers and its angle offered an almost un-obscured view of the sky and the line of trees planted at the other side, which hid the buildings that gave away their surroundings.

Then he felt annoyed that Zach had interrupted his sulking—the thought process, anyhow. The view was nice, but it was part of the atmosphere that he needed, and Zach was definitely ruining it.

Words were definitely not a good choice. Zach could probably out argue him simply by being overbearingly rational, or, in other words, his usual self. Also his friend had a certain stubbornness that Mike rated to be about equal to his own, and knew from that the futility of trying to send Zach away by glaring and snarling when his friend had simply made his mind to stay.

Sometimes he would like very much to punch Zach and would spend a few minutes during those moments of frustration considering how satisfying it would be and how satisfying it was when he and Nick punched around but, in the end, he would always work to keep his fists down, because Zach was simply Not Nick and he, damn his guilt, would feel eternally bad about hitting someone who was smaller than he was.

Besides, he might seriously injure something. Zach looked the sort who’d get bruised easily, and he was clumsy enough to injure himself enough without anyone else’s help.

Mike sighed. It was the very long and drawn out sigh of someone submitting to their fate. Zach made a muffled noise. Mike suddenly had the suspicion that Zach was laughing at him.

“Are you laughing at me?” he demanded, standing up and trying to see Zach’s face.

“No,” Zach looked up at him, all innocence. “I just sneezed.”

“Oh,” He felt foolish, then annoyed, at himself for feeling foolish and even more annoyed at Zach for being here because otherwise he wouldn’t feel foolish. “Um.” He gritted out. “Bless you.”

“Thank you,” Zach said gravely. The corner of his mouth quirked, “Okay,” he announced, a definite note of laughter creeping into his voice, “now I’m laughing at you.”

“Oh, thanks.” He sat down on the lower bleacher too, because that way he could more easily keep track of when Zach was really laughing at him which, he suspected, was more often that his friend let on. “So how did you find me?”

“By being logical and systematic,” said Zach serenely, caught the expression on his face, and explained. “Nick’d already checked all the usual places, so I thought I’d check the …less usual ones, and we’ve been here before for the football game, remember?”

“Yeah.” Indeed they had. The game was awful and posed absolutely threat of whatsoever as a subject of interest, but the stadium was a cool place to hang out afterwards.

“I recalled Nick’s attempts to try to save you from breaking your neck and your apparent obsession with height,” he shrugged. “A fair guess, right?”

“I was not about to break my neck,” Mike heard himself protest, almost in spite of himself. “It was perfectly safe.” He paused, slightly horrified as he realized his sulking mood was being torn to shreds right in front of him. “And he fussed too much,” he added in a mumble, sulking, even though he knew this wasn’t the sulking he wanted. There was sulking and there was sulking, and this petty thing ain’t it.

“He cares. Ever realize that people can care, ‘Mikey’?”

Mike could just imagine the smirk on Zach’s face. He angled a look at him. To his surprise, there was no smirk. Zach was staring at the area above the arena thoughtfully, seemingly lost in thought. Mike snorted to let Zach know what he thought. After all, why waste words if a simple sound would suffice?

A group of birds took off, despite of the lack of sunset, and wheeled about the field like dark phantoms seeking for a place to rest. The treetops, darker than dark against the cold steel grey of the sky, swayed gently. There was a promise of rain in the air.

“Eloquent,” agreed Zach after a moment. “Says loads about what you think about the rest of us too.”

Mike resented the fact that Zach would put it that way. He opened his mouth.

“One article. About a week ago.”

“That wasn’t it,” he muttered darkly, watching a particularly large crow as it traced its endless circles. Useless. Getting no where.

“Didn’t think it was.” Zach waited, his eyes likewise on the sky.

And that was the moment. That was the moment that usually came from conversations like these, where Zach waited, patiently, and Mike dived through the tangle of thoughts and emotions, measuring himself against himself. If he started talking, he wouldn’t be able to stop, that was a constant fear. If he started talking, he would trail off into rambles and rants. If the balance was tipped, even so slightly…. And if he came up, the sums and quotas of himself measured in careful doses against his own tolerance, he would chose to keep silent, and Zach would know and wouldn’t ask unless Mike volunteered the information himself.

He stared at the sky, now the grey-black of the coming night, and did his math. Mike’s math where numbers always trailed off into irrational, endless figures and estimation was always a necessity. He stared at the sky and at the departing birds.

And finally, he hefted a very hefty sigh, realizing that his sulking mood was ruined beyond repair and it was getting dark and for the first time in hours he realized he couldn’t feel his hands, feet, ears, or nose. He said as much to Zach while stretching his back, then his hands, studying the faint bruises upon fainter lines from years past.

“Next time, dress warmer,” Zach said dryly, climbing to his feet, then offered his hand to Mike as he tried to get up.

“You’re not gonna be able to hold my weight,” grunted Mike, wondering if he still had any toes left. Certainly he couldn’t feel them, and he’d tried to wiggle them in his shoes already.

“Actually,” said Zach, more dryly still, “if you know your physics equations, I’ll not be able to hold only your weight, but a great deal more. I’m stronger than I look,” he added challengingly, when Mike just gazed at him dubiously. His chin went up and he gave Mike his I-am-being-completely-serious look. “I never offer any help that I can’t give, Mike.”

Mike sighed for what felt like the hundredth time in the past five minutes and took the offered hand, and tried to pull himself up as quickly as possible without actually putting any weight on the hand. “Alright, I’m going back to my dorms and seeing if I have any toes left.”

“If you do loose some, I heard that Nick’s getting fairly good in his sculpture and art class,” said Zach, finally, beginning the walk down as carefully as he took the walk up. He looked at Mike, but didn’t say anything. Didn’t bring anything up, in fact. It was difficult to tell whether the thought had already passed out of his mind or if he was just refraining himself from mentioning it.

How very typical of him, thought Mike sourly.

“Geez, what did I ever do to you?” Mike complained, taking his steps down in jumps and small leaps. He got to the bottom first and waited while Zach continued to pick his way down.

“I’ve seen some of the stuff he did,” said Zach, clearing the bleachers with a disturbing lack of thuds and crashes. “You should give him a chance; he really is getting pretty good.”

Mike snorted again. “Look, they’re my toes, alright?”

“Should’ve thought about it before you went up there in this weather,” retorted Zach. He paused.

“I’m going to call Nick and let him know that you haven’t been kidnapped or anything.” The words were spoken lightly, but Mike could hear the faint reprove behind them. Probably for making Nick worry. He rolled his eyes, but it was already too dark for Zach to see it, because it was already too dark for anyone to see it.

“No, I’ll call him when I get to my room. Better reception there anyway.” He peered at his watch, faint glints of metal on a darker face. Records of time and schedules. “You should go get food. Don’t you usually get food about now?”

Zach looked down at his watch too. “Usually,” he admitted.

“Right. Go get food, and I’ll talk to you online if you go on.”

“Call Nick first.”

“I’ll remember, you don’t have to remind me.” Mike dropped the tone of mock-offence and added, sardonically. “If I didn’t call by the time we talk online you can yell at me, fair enough?”

“Uh-huh,” said Zach, as that both of them knew that of the many things Zach may or may not do, yelling was definitely on the Never Did and Never Will Do list. “Alright, food it is. Bye!”

“C’ya,” replied Mike, raising his hand in lieu of a wave, and began the rest of the walk to his dorm. He knew now that he had at least three toes and did not find the number particularly reassuring. Especially when they were split between his two feet.

The street lamps from the camps roads made his shadow shiver and stretch first in one direction, then another. Fading and growing again, clockwise, in a circle.

Nick tried reading his history book, he really tried, but there was something profoundly boring about American history that made it very hard for Nick to stay focused on it for any period of time longer than five minutes.

His cellphone rang. Nick pounced on it, saw who it was, and punched the ‘talk’ button with a sigh of relief. It was officially night time no matter whose when you considered night to start, by American or by French standards, and he was remembering belatedly that he ought to have told Zach to call him even if he hadn’t found Mike.

“Heard you’ve been looking for me,” said Mike by a way of ‘hello’, “You worry too much.”

That’s because you never worry enough so I’d have to worry for you, thought Nick, peering outside. It was very dark and looked like it might rain. Then again, it looked like that all day. “It’s called caring, Mike.” He grinned, “Never thought I’d be teaching you English. Wow, I must be smarter than I thought!”

He could almost see the expression on his friends face. Nick’s grin widened. The lamp’s cheerful glow was comforting, but too dark if anyone moved more than six inches away from it, so he turned on the room’s light.

“Riiiiiiight,” said Mike. “You keep thinking that.”

“I will,” replied Nick happily, imagining Mike twitch at the other end of the conversation.

“So are you going online or what?” Came the eventual response.

“We-ell,” Nick pretended to be studious, if only for a minute. “I do have reading to do for my history class.”

“Nick—just—” From the tone of his voice, Mike was probably rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “Just leave the studying and being a good student part to Zach, okay?”

“I am a good student,” protested Nick, half mockingly, half offended. If he wasn’t a good student, would he have even ended up here? But that was part of friendship too, the joking that was also hurtful words, that would coalesce into memories.

“Whatever. Oh, I saw this really cool site yesterday…come online, I’ll give you the link.”

Funny how the memories that were mixed were the clearest of all, thought Nick vaguely, and smiled.

“Okay.” Said Nick.

“What?” Said Mike, as derisive as only Mike could be. “No more protesting?”

“Who, me?” asked Nick, already signing into his instant messaging program. The history book remained where he left it, at the abandoned corner of his desk.

It never stood a chance.