ALTAR, n.
The place whereupon the priest formerly raveled out the small intestine of the sacrificial victim for purposes of divination and cooked its flesh for the gods. The word is now seldom used, except with reference to the sacrifice of their liberty and peace by a male and a female tool.
-The Devil’s Dictionary
As someone who had always dreamed of flying, airplanes in general had never ceased to be a source of disappointment for Nick. Vrai, he was in the air, among and usually above the clouds. And it was also true that by all technical definitions he could be said to be flying. But that was the problem, wasn’t it—the technicality. Distinctions between the finer points of logic and definition had never been his forte when his instinct and feelings were always claiming the first priorities.
So, even though by most things that counted Nick could say he was flying he was also, by his feelings, sitting in a sealed metal box at a height that most birds, being sensible and capable of actual flight, preferred to avoid.
Nick’s stomach churned (though that may also be because he hadn’t eaten anything that day yet, since that it was only ten and he was not in the habit of eating early breakfasts). Also, speaking of feelings, he was, between the cramped seats that were not designed to comfortably accommodate tall people and the weight of his backpack, loosing all the feelings in his legs. He was a bit worried about what would happen when he needed to do things such as, say, get off the airplane, but this was only a passing concern.
Next to him
Nick would’ve brought a book too, if he didn’t know that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it at all, this early and while he was on his way to
“Hey Zach,” he tried to whisper over
Zach looked up, an eyebrow raised half in amusement and half in curiosity. “ ‘Yet’ as in…?”
“Within the last day?” Nick tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position. Something in the vicinity of his neck cracked. It sounded interesting, but not particularly good.
“Yeah, to check to see if I’m getting on the right plane, I think he thinks I’m directionally challenged.” Zach made a face. “You?”
“I think he was trying to warn me about terrorists.” Nick paused, recalling the conversation. “Or else he’s threatening me with them. Can’t really tell.”
“Knowing Mike,” commented Zach, “It’s probably both. Don’t ask me how he manages—can’t tell you because I don’t know myself.”
Nick sighed. “Mike’s Mike.”
“Mike’s Mike,” agreed Zach, and went back to his book.
Nick breathed in. The air was thick and a little cottony on the tongue, another consequence, like the not-quite-right air pressure, of being in a sealed metal container. Outside tiny puffs of clouds floated in an ocean of blue, green, and brown. Everything felt less real here, at this height, surrounded by the grayed out air and the tiny mosaics that were the cities.
It was a nice day, thought Nick. It was a nice day and despite of all possible misgivings, it was a relatively nice trip. The whole thing could’ve been fun, in the sense of a first-time long distance traveling with friends, if he didn’t know how Mike felt about it, or if his concern didn’t weigh so heavily in his mind.
Nick took another deep breath, pulling the strange, stuffy air into his lungs, and looked outside the window again.
“You will be arriving at
***
It was easy to see from the male female ratio in the room which half of the newlyweds had invited more guests. Not that
Across the room, Nick wasn’t fairing much better. Zach had, most likely, snuck away somewhere and was currently in hiding.
The music ended and the woman, who looked to be at about mid to late twenties, smiled and thanked him.
“No prob,” said
The noise level of a room full of people at a wedding was not to be underestimated,
He found Zach sitting by himself in the mostly deserted reception area, chin in hand and staring at the outside.
“Hey.”
Zach started and gave
“How long’d you been sittin here?”
“Oh,” Zach sighed. “I dunno. The wedding’s still going on, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Now that he was no longer surrounded by people
“I don’t dance,” Zach said, studying his shirt cuffs and adjusting them.
“Uh-huh,” said
Zach eyed him, catching him in mid-yawn. “No argument there.”
“They’re not that bad, the people.”
“Right. And that’s why you’ve yawned three times in the past five seconds? Oh, fourth time now.”
“Alright,” admitted
“No, not really.” Zach smiled at him fondly, as
“There you guys are!” Exclaimed Nick. “Some friend, leaving me there all by myself.” He paused and regarded them with narrowed eyes, suspicious. “Are you guys hiding?”
“If we are,” replied Zach, grinning, “Then there’s always room for one more.”
Nick grinned back. “Okay.” He sat down and heaved an enormous sigh. Zach gave
It all depended on the person, he supposed, and he was fast arriving at a conclusion that wedding ceremonies, in general, were hosted more for the benefit of the female half of the population than the male half. That would at least explain why every wedding he’d ever been to looked like it got attacked by a mob of crazed florists.
“Where’s Mike?” asked Nick, peering around them as if expecting someone to suddenly materialize from out behind a chair.
“Pardon?” Zach sat up straighter and gave him a confused look. “I thought he’s still in the room with…well, he was in the room with you,” he amended, “wasn’t he?”
Nick stared back at him, blue eyes wide. “Uh, no. I don’t think so? I haven’t seen him for the past half an hour.”
Oh no, said a voice in
“I don’t remember seein him there for the past half an hour either.” He said slowly, as both Nick and Zach turned to look at him. No no no no no.
“No one’s came out this way for the past thirty, forty minutes except you two,” said Zach.
All three of them jumped to their feet at the same time.
“We have to check,” said Nick, a note of panic already creeping into his voice. “Back in the room. Maybe we just missed him.”
“Wait,” said Zach suddenly. “What if he isn’t in the room and is somewhere around outside of room, or leaves the room while we’re there? We need someone out here too, just in case.”
Gary and Nick looked at each other.
“Alright,”
Zach opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded. “I’ll check around the entire floor, too.”
“Right,” said Nick, who was balanced on the balls of his feet. “Well, see you.”
They hurried back to the room. Which was exactly like when Gary left it to the extent that he sighed with relief and scanned the crowd, automatically expecting that just out of the corner of his eye he’d catch the familiar figure, that Mike would show up, if he just looked one inch more to the left.
Nick met his eyes, looking considerably less calm than he was even five seconds ago. “I can’t find him.”
“We’ll try again. Maybe he’s just in a corner somewhere we can’t see.”
“Alright,” agreed Nick, swallowing. “Alright.”
They split and went through the crowd again, this time physically. With dressed up adults pressing in on every side and the general chatter crowding his hearing and the glitter of far too many sparkles of artificial lights and crystal glasses he wanted to scream. Especially if he had to say “Excuse me” one more time. They met in the center and Gary could tell, by the expression on Nick’s face, that he had not found Mike and knew from the panicked expression that gradually infused his friend’s face (Nick had never been much good at hiding his feelings) that the same expression must be on his.
“What do we do?” asked Nick, took a deep breath, then repeated the question as if he thought if he kept asking it long enough, a solution would present itself. “What do we do? What do we do? What—”
“Shuddup,”
Nick dug through his pockets. “Hey.” Zach, he mouthed to
“No,” he said into the cellphone, looking progressively twitchier. “Oh. Right. Okay. See you. He said he’s been keeping a watch on the door and that no one’s came out,” he explained to
“ ‘kay,” said
***
Zach reminded himself to not to panic. It had been almost thirty minutes already. Granted, it was a big hotel, but between the three of them, running through the corridors at full speed and scaring the staff, it did not take that long to cover the two hundred and something rooms and all the crannies, minus the obvious places Mike would not be found at, such as in the dining room, where all the people were.
He paused by the top floor, winced at the pain in his side, and forced himself to take deeper breaths.
Leaning against a door, Zach rested his hand against the random door knob behind him and twisted, more out of the need to find something to do with his hand than anything, and nearly fell when the door opened unexpectedly. He stared at the doorknob, at the stairs beyond, at the sign which said: “OPEN ROOF ACCESS, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.”
Well, Mike was never quite on the same line with the authorities, was he?
“Figures,” muttered Zach to himself, checking his cellphone, checking the corridor, deserted at this time of the night where the others who had the option had left for better things. He also tried to check the stairs for recent signs of activity and after admitting to himself that he was no Sherlock, Zach quickly stepped behind the door and almost-shut it behind him.
Even the stairs to clean the rooftops were fitting of a four-starred hotel: clean and no chipping paint, nor dust to indicate whether someone had passed by earlier. Zach emerged unto the room top, half fenced and half open and felt a moment of relief that Mike was not here before he spotted the lone figure sitting at the edge of the roof. At the edge. No fences.
Zach took a deep breath, because he remembered somewhere that high levels of carbon dioxide caused anxiety and oxygen helped people relax. He took another deep breath because it helped, and thought, slightly hysterically, that it was a good thing that it was dark so no one would be able to see and wonder at the sight of a boy in a suit, sitting at the edge of the roof.
He took a step forward, his foot connecting with a coke can that some thoughtless custodian had left behind, possibly the only piece of trash in this hotel that was not neatly disposed in a trash can. Mike glanced back, face shadowed, the pointedly turned back around and Zach was left with an overwhelming sense that he Should Not Be Here.
He was there, however, and what he should be doing was to tell Mike that he needed to grow up, to stop sulking, and to go down and deal with it and how everyone was worried about him. That was what he should do, what he needed to do. That was what he could not do. What Zach wanted to do was find someone else, anyone else, who could tell him what to do, at a time like this. Someone else to point him the way across the proverbially thin ice, so he would no longer need to tentatively step forth, guarded by carefully tailored words and instincts only, because no amount of formulae and books could prepare a person for the real life, when it became too real.
But that was what it was all about, wasn’t it? The difference between psychology and mathematics. The lack of certainty and formulas where things were never equal and instincts a necessity. Instincts. In psychology, in life, instincts all boiled down to one thing, one decision: of choosing whether or not to care.
And Zach discovered that the choice was an easy one, after all—one that he’d made a long time ago, that one day at the bus station where a grey-eyed boy had mistakenly called him ‘Jonathan.’
With that in mind, he said, making his voice light with only a touch of wry humour. “I swear, Mike, that you were a cat or a bird or something in your previous life, because I can find no other explanation for this apparent height-obsession of yours.”
***
L'Eternel est mon berger. Je ne manquerai de rien.
Nick felt like he had been through this part of the hotel so many times that he could walk through it blindfolded.
They still had not found Mike yet.
Grâce à lui, je me repose dans des prairies verdoyantes, et c'est lui qui me conduit au bord des eaux calmes.
It had been nearly an hour of searching. Where could he be?
His cellphone went off. It was
“Haven’t seen him,” said
Il me rend des forces neuves, et, pour l'honneur de son nom, il me mène pas à pas sur le droit chemin.
He hoped that at least Mike’s dad wouldn’t ask after Mike before they found him, because—
“An’ I’ve gone through downstairs an’ through the Room again, an’ Mike’s dad’s asked me if I’ve seen Mike.”
Horrifyingly optimistic, Nick reminded himself. I am horrifyingly optimistic. His cellphone made another noise. “Alright. Hanging up now, Zach’s calling.” That was another error in Zach’s planning. Two people calling him at the same time generally did not work out very well.
Except so far that was not a major problem, because their terse conversations over the phone were seldom longer than three sentences, and often no longer than what was necessary for a proper negation.
“Hey.”
“Mike’s with me,” said Zach, “and we’re coming down to the first floor. Meet you in front of the Room?”
They’d found Mike.
Oui, toute ma vie, ta bonté et ton amour m'accompagneront….
“Mike’s with you?” Nick repeated, almost stupidly. Mike’s with you? Where the hell was he? What was he doing?
“Yeah, he’s here right now, want to talk to him?” A different voice. Mike’s voice. Spoken away from the cellphone and with a great deal of irritation. “What? Aren’t we gonna see them in like, two seconds anyway?” Some muttered comment from Zach. “Okay fine.” Then, to Nick, over the phone, “Hey. Heard you’re worried about me?”
Quel con! “Where were you?” His head ached. His head ached and he abruptly just found out where his stomach was in a very surprising and unpleasant way. He felt like he ought to yell at Mike except, as always, he was too relieved to do so.
“In the hotel.” Zach said something that Nick didn’t catch. “Shuddup,” Mike muttered back. “Where were you?”
“I—” He turned the corner and saw Mike and Zach standing there with
The lamps in the hallways were lit, long rows of light stretching either way. A few people who were standing near the entrance to the Room looked at them curiously for a moment, then looked away again, bored and more occupied within the orbital of their own lives.
They stood around for a moment, after the initial panic and the subsequent rush of searches, suddenly awkward with each other, not knowing what to say. Nick felt like he ought to say something—knew that he had plenty to say, that he wanted and should say—but, as usual, he lacked the proper words to say them.
It wasn’t even an issue of the language barrier, since he was just as bad in French as he was in English.
It was Gary who broke the silence first.
“They’re there,” He indicated the door to the Room with his head. Which, Nick assumed, meant that Mike already knew that his father was starting to look for him.
It was awful, Nick realized, the way that they all looked at Mike expectantly. But it could not be any other way, because it was his father’s wedding, and it was his life, his decision, and all of them knew it.
“Alright,” said Mike, exhaling sharply. “Alright. No, um, really, it’s alright,” he added, when everyone else made the move to follow him.
Nick looked at Mike again. Everyone looked at Mike again, then they looked at each other.
“Alright,” echoed Zach quietly.
Mike looked over them, once, face unreadable, then turned on his heels and walked into the room, where the newlyweds and most of the guests were. Nick gave Zach a questioning look, which Zach answered with a slight shrug—Mike is Mike—which, Nick supposed, was the most eloquent comment anyone could make under the given circumstances.
They walked in, a few seconds later, and stood by the door. The music was no longer blaring and the volume of the conversation in the room was more subdued. Soon, soon it would be done and the day would truly be over.
Nick watched Mike walk toward his father and his now-stepmother, knowing how much his friend must’ve had hated and dreaded this moment, and felt vaguely proud that none of Mike’s emotions showed through. His friend’s steps were decisive, firm, and he held himself straight, without even the habitual slouch. The only hint of his tension was his tightly clenched fists but, Nick supposed, Mike’s fists were probably clenched during most of the ceremony. He wished he could give happiness to all of his friends, as if it were a physical thing to be wrapped up and tied with a brightly-colored ribbon, to be handed over a cup of hot chocolate, but it was not within his power to give. It was a hopeless task to keep on trying, but he was tied to his task, his efforts, even as Sisyphus was, helpless. All because it was one of his greatest wishes—it was simply what he did when he liked people—he wanted to make them happy.
He watched Mike walk away, looking strangely grown up and strangely tall as he moved toward the inevitable, and it was in that moment that Nicolas realized the single most awful thing about being a grown up:
It meant that everyone expected you to have gained the ability, the self-control, to fulfill your expected role, no matter how much you hated it.
C’est pas juste, thought Nick, I hate being a grown up.
Also, in the last part, where Mike told Nick that he was "in the hotel", Zach's muttered comment was meant to be something along the lines of "Actually, it's more like on the hotel." Because. Yes. Ha. Ha. ]
