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« Au rythme de mon cœur
Je marche dans ma vie
Et Paris marche et pleure
Entre soleil et pluie »
-M-
Quai d’Orsay, Paris
7th of January 2015
It was almost midday when the world changed. The ministry didn’t get the memo until later but everyone received the notification on their phone. Gil had almost ignored it but in the end he didn’t. He kind of wished he had. He would have lived in a blissful ignorance for a few more minutes.
“Allume la télé,” he’d said very slowly. Maybe it wasn’t true. “Une chaîne d’infos, celle que tu veux!” Maybe it was a mistake, it couldn’t be…
There was a large banner at the bottom of the screen: Attaque terroriste à Charlie Hebdo, plusieurs morts, les deux tireurs sont en fuite
Gil almost threw up. He forced himself to take deep breaths before he started hyperventilating. Everybody in the office was silent. In a few minutes, everything would turn hectic but at that moment, everything stood still. The eye of the hurricane, Alex would probably call it.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Adrienne. He picked up.
“Gil…” She gasped at the other end of the line. “Ils ont…”
“Je sais,” he replied. He didn’t recognize the sound of his voice.
They just stayed on the phone, not talking, only listening to each other’s breathing. Gilbert distantly noticed his hand was shaking.
His superior entered the room, looking very pale. He announced that they had lot of work to do to respond to what happened, as a country. Laf murmured a goodbye to Adrienne and went back to work. He did not quite realize just yet that the world he had woken up in this morning was now gone.
.
Drawings. They were shot over fucking drawings. And now they were dead. And the shooters were on the loose. Adrienne wanted to punch something. Preferably those fuckers. In the face. Hard.
She was angry and all day she had fuelled her anger into something useful. She knew it wouldn’t be long before solidarity and unity would fade away. People would need someone to blame, a scapegoat. And for the last few years, it had been the Muslims, the immigrants. She was well aware that it would be even worse this time. She hated those terrorists because they used her culture as a justification for their crimes.
She slammed the door when she walked back into her apartment. She had taken a taxi because everybody was paranoid in the subway and already some stations were closed due to other alleged attacks.
Gilbert was sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen. She didn’t want to see those images. She didn’t want to listen to those pseudo experts analyze the shooters’ profiles. She didn’t want to know if it was likely to happen again.
There was a cry in the room, a raw, ugly sound that she realized was coming out of her own mouth. Gil rushed at her side and they both sank to the floor. She clung onto her boyfriend and suddenly felt the anger leave her body.
Suddenly she was just sad. And scared. She was crying, for the first time today.
“Comment on en est arrivé là?” she sobbed. Gilbert just held her tighter and shook his head. She could feel his tears join hers. They stayed like that for the rest of the night.
.
Place de la République, Paris
11th of January 2015
The march had stretched out until very late. The six of them were in the middle of the square, unable and unwilling to leave. Only a few people were still there but the endless number of candles was still burning.
John was crying quietly in Alexander’s shoulder. All of this was taking a harder toll on him. Adri could see why. Committed artists, using their art as a weapon and they ended up killed. But it wasn’t just that now. It was people shopping in a casher grocery store, it was a Black police woman doing her job. And in a way, that was all of them.
But that day at been therapeutic. Adrienne had never considered herself very patriotic but there had been something very cleansing about singing the Marseillaise with that crowd. She’d cried too. That was normal though she supposed, now that they were living in the after.
Gilbert’s hand was in hers. That hadn’t changed. She squeezed it and he squeezed back.
.
They had to go on somehow. It wasn’t easy. John had bought a subscription for Charlie Hebdo and was now reading it passionately. He and Adri had bought the first new edition and donated a fair amount to the newspaper.
His work became more hectic. The world was becoming crazy and no one he knew was left unaffected.
Hercules wouldn’t talk about it the first few weeks before Cato coaxed a confession out of him. Adri had gone on full revolutionary mode, she was always going at every rally she could and ranting whenever she could. Laf was slightly worried that she’d turn into Alexander. His friend had taken more pro bono cases but he always made sure to come back home to take care of John. Because John – no matter what he was saying – wasn’t fine.
Something had changed on his face, hardened, darkened. Everybody was worried. Alex thought he should see a professional. John wouldn’t hear about it.
Once when he was over at their apartment, Alex told Gil about 9/11.
“I was just fifteen,” he gasped. “It was awful. I remember the panic, the smoke…”
And then he sobbed into his shoulder. Laf realized Alexander was scared. Way more than he let on but forced himself to stay strong for John. Once his shirt was soaked, Laf made his friend tea and said: “You need to tell him.”
“I can’t,” he hiccupped. “He’s barely holding it together and it’s my job to take care of him!”
“But you can’t do that without taking care of yourself first!” Laf replied patiently.
“I can’t,” Alex repeated.
“You can,” Laf assured him.
And in the end he did. It took a lot of crying and a lot of yelling but John eventually accepted to try therapy. The first shrink he saw was a disaster but the second one was really patient. Three months in, John confessed they’d started to deal with more than just his survivor guilt from January but also from his childhood. From the little he knew about it, Laf could only guess it was a lot of emotional baggage. But John did get better and that was all that mattered.
They threw a party in August to celebrate their friends’ engagement.
“C’est pas trop tôt!” Laf had smirked and Alex had just shrugged.
“C’est parfait.”
Adrienne rolled her eyes. “Stop being sappy,” she ordered as she shoved a bottle in his hands. “And drink!”
Alex laughed and complied.
.
Paris, 18th arrondissement
13th of November 2015
They were supposed to be ok. And they were. Until they were not.
It was Friday 13th and for a fleeting, absurd second Adrienne wondered if they chose the date on purpose. They were all in Alexander and John’s apartment, having chosen to stay in. It had been a last minutes decision because they usually went to have a drink on Fridays. She was sure she would laugh hysterically at the coincidence but they were all too busy trying to contact all their friends and reassuring their loved-ones. Are you ok? Are you alive? She seriously never thought she would have to answer that question one day.
Once again, John was the most affected. The shooting had happened in his old school neighborhood. It was like he had been robbed. Like those guys had now tainted with blood the memories he had of there. It made Adrienne feel murderous.
He was typing so furiously on his laptop, in his old friends group chat, trying to locate them all. One of them, a big metal fan was not answering and John was openly working himself into a panic attack.
His phone rang. He rushed to it not bothering to check the caller ID. Then he froze.
Alex slowly took the phone out of his hand slowly. John barely reacted. Everybody in the room was silent.
“Hello?” Alexander said. The caller said something on the other and his posture immediately changed. He clenched his fists and his nostrils almost fumed. Who was this person on the line that got Alexander so aggressive? Adrienne wondered.
“My name is Alexander Hamilton sir,” he said. “I’m your son’s fiancé.” The challenge was obvious in his voice. John was now sitting on the couch, with Hercules rubbing circles on his back to calm him down and he whimpered at the words.
Alex left the room to continue the conversation. Adrienne suspected it was because he didn’t want John to hear should he start a screaming match with his father.
When he got back into the room, everybody was back on their phone. So far, they hadn’t heard any bad news for which they’d gladly settled for tonight. Gil was staring at the television screen, with wild eyes. Cato was by the window, starting out at the city. Nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary outside, which Adrienne took almost as an offence. Nothing would be the same now.
“You guys should sleep here,” Alex sighed. “I’ll get you blankets.”
He approached John slowly, like he would a wild animal and knelt in front of him.
“You Dad wanted to know if you were fine,” he said very softly. “He sounded very worried. I’ll tell you the rest later,” he added. “But you got a message. Your friends managed to reach Eric’s girlfriend. They’re both fine, they went to bed early and didn’t hear their cells.”
John breath hissed in relief and sank to embrace Alexander. “Let’s get you to bed love,” Alex whispered into his boyfriend’s hair.
“How can you go to bed when there’re still people inside the Bataclan?” Gil said, incredulous and a little aggressive.
John whined pitifully from Alexander’s shoulder. Alex shot Gilbert a murderous look.
“And me watching the TV and worrying sick over it will change the outcome how?” Alex replied. “We’re going to bed,” he repeated. “None of you leave the apartment until we’re sure it’s safe!”
Gilbert nodded. Adrienne went by his side and suddenly realized her whole body was trembling. She was scared but this situation seemed so surreal that she hadn’t realized it.
Gil kissed her forehead softly. She curled up and closed her eyes. She felt Gilbert putting the comforter on her shoulders and fell into a restless sleep.
.
The biggest terrorist attack of the country. Damn.
For the next few days, the metro was merely empty and people were jumping every time someone dropped something. He could see in other people’s eye the same gleam he knew was in his. Fear, fatigue and a bit of despair.
Were we all naïve to think we were safe? Laf wondered.
Security had tripled at the ministry and it was a pain. Laf thought it useless, as if a terrorist would politely give out their ID and then walked away nicely? But he supposed they had no other choice. They couldn’t just do nothing. He sighed loudly.
When he got back from work Adrienne was mid-laugh over her laptop, tears running down her face. She showed him the John Oliver segment on the attacks and now Gil was in the same state. On impulse, they watched all the late shows monologues on the subject. After an hour, their laugher had become a bit hysterical.
“Pizza?” Adri suggested when they calmed down.
“How about we met everyone by the River and eat a kebab?” Laf said instead.
Adrienne nodded with a smile.
The six of them met in front of the cathedral. They were all looking as if they hadn’t slept in a week. But they were all determined not to ignore what happened but to look past it, at least for a little while. They sat on a bench and laughed when Alex dripped sauce all over his shirt. This had become an act of resistance in itself, Gilbert realized, just living and be happy. This whole thing was absurd!
“We’ve been going here for almost five years,” John shook his head fondly, “and you still managed to get all dirty!” Alex gave him a very greasy peck and John groaned. Hercules rolled his eyes and Adrienne kicked them.
Eventually Adri, Cato and John left to go check the Shakespeare library’s bookshop while he remained on the bench with Herc and Alex.
“So what did he want?” Hercules eventually asked. “John’s father?”
Alex shrugged and sighed. “I’m not sure. I’ve hated the man since the first time John mentioned him and with the little John shared, I kinda made this very ugly portrait of him in my head. Like he was the Grinch or something…”
Lafayette snorted.
“But the man I had on the phone the other night,” Alexander continued. “Well it’s very hard to imagine it was the same guy…”
“My name is Alexander Hamilton, sir. I’m your son’s fiancé,” Alex said, ready to give Henry Laurens a piece of his mind if the guy dared to think he had a say about John’s life now.
“Fiancé?” Laurens repeated. Alex was expecting disgust in his voice but there was not. Instead the guy sounded just surprised and… a little sad too? “Jack’s getting married?”
“Hum…” Alex hesitated. He didn’t want to tell him stuff John wasn’t willing to share. But it would be stupid to deny at that point. John wasn’t in any state to talk to his father so he would have to keep his mouth his check. He exited the living room slowly, leaving John in Hercules’ care before he replied: “Yes, we’ve been engaged since June.”
“Oh…” Was the only reaction he got.
“Sir I’m sorry to ask you this,” Alex started – he wasn’t really, he had better things to do right now than preserve Henry Laurens’ feelings but he should at least try to be civil if he wanted this conversation to go smoothly – “but is there a reason for that call? It’s pretty late here.”
“I know,” the man answered. “We just heard the news here and I wanted to check if… If my son was ok.”
You gave up that right when you threw him out because of who he was! Alex almost snarled but something held him back. The worry in John’s father’s voice wasn’t fake, he sounded so scared, so genuine. There was a chance here, a very small chance that John could reconnect with his family. And if Alex was to run his mouth now, he’d ruin that forever.
He wouldn’t. He didn’t know what he’d do if his own father were to contact him. But he knew this was not his decision to make.
“John’s fine,” he said instead. “I mean, we were home, we’re safe. We’re trying to check with the rest of our friends.”
There, facts. He didn’t lie. He was just not about to mention that John had been seeing a therapist for months because the last terrorist attack had traumatized him and that Alex was very worried about how all of this would affect him.
“Ok, good, thank you,” Henry Laurens said. Then he hesitated. “How long have you been together?”
He’s got to be kidding me, Alexander thought. Was this really a good time to ask? After almost en years of radio silence and in the middle of a crisis?
Against his better judgment, Alex answered: “Five years, Sir.”
“And,” Henry continued awkwardly, “When are you going to get married?”
Alex took a deep breath, “We don’t know, Sir.” How do I politely ask him to leave us alone?
“Of course,” he said. “Did… I mean… Was it in Jack’s intentions to tell us?”
John hated to be called Jack. It reminded him of a version of him he hated and the fantasy of a son he could never be. So even if Henry seemed to be sincerely chagrined, Alexander’s next words were sharp: “You didn’t seemed to take any interest at who he was with, Sir. Or so you told him.”
He bit his tongue. He had a selection of other chosen – and harsher – words for John’s dad but he held back. It was not his fight.
“I know,” Henry sighed. “I thought for a second my son was dead tonight.”
“Not on my watch,” Alexander almost growled.
“Good to know,” Henry replied and Alexander was sure he was smiling despite not seeing him. “I don’t want those things to be the last words I ever say to him.”
Shit, how was Alex supposed to reply to that?
“I’ll tell him,” he eventually managed to say. “But I don’t know if he’ll call you back,” – you’re definitively not talking to him tonight! – “it might take time.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Henry agreed and wow, Alex never thought the two of them would agree on anything ever. “I’m available at this number should he want to call. And I’ll text him his siblings’ numbers too if he wants.”
“I… think he’d like that,” Alex said quietly.
“Alright, then. Goodnight and Mister Hamilton?”
“Yes sir?”
“Thank you, for not hanging up on me and for taking care of Jack all this time.”
I certainly didn’t do it for you! Alex thought bitterly.
“Goodbye sir.”
“That’s some intense shit man!” Herc said eloquently.
“I know.”
“So what will John do?” Lafayette asked.
“He said nothing for now,” Alex shrugged. “He’s not gonna make any rushed decision. He’ll go to therapy, discuss it with his Doc and eventually decide what he wants to do.”
“That sounds like a smart decision,” Laf commented.
Alex nodded. Laf could see it bothered him, to have something that huge hanging over their head and being helpless about it. He squeezed his little friend’s shoulder. Alexander smiled at him.
They eventually got up and joined the rest of their group at the bookstore. Gilbert found Adrienne eyeing the Trotsky’s biography by Deutscher.
He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged.
He chuckled and kissed her neck, feeling incredibly better now that she was here in his arms. He smiled. They’d be just fine.
.
Paris, 7th arrondissement
1st of January 2016
Adrienne had insisted they all spend New Year’s Eve together. As usual, they’d gone to Algeria to se her family for Christmas and ate way too many Arabic pastries to the point she was pretty sure she was nursing diabetes.
So like the responsible adults they were, tonight they were killing their liver and annoying the neighbors with the loud music.
It was a little after midnight. They’d all kissed at midnight and had already drunk two full bottles of champagne. Now Gilbert was enthusiastically swaying his hips to Shakira in the living room while Hercules was struggling to keep his eyes open. Cato was devouring their stock of Doritos and Alex had decided to dial his friends in the States. It wasn’t a bad idea considering that when they will get into 2016 in a few hours, Hamilton wouldn’t be in any state to have a conversation. She had decided to enjoy some fresh air for a minute on the balcony when she heard someone slide the glass door behind her.
“Mind if I join you?” John asked.
“Not at all,” she smiled. “Happy New Year, may it not be as shitty as the last one!”
John laughed. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Some good shit also happened this year.”
“Don’t start wiggling your engagement ring in front of my nose again, Laurens!” she mock-threatened. “You and Ham are disgusting enough as it is!”
John laughed again, honest and carefree and it occurred to her that it had been a while since she’d seen him like that.
“Yeah that is one of them,” he eventually said softly, looking down at his hand, which proudly harbored his ring.
“Anything else?” she asked. “You haven’t like… adopt another cat or something at Christmas without telling us?”
“Nah,” he reassured her. “But I called my father.”
“What?”
“At Christmas. I called my Dad at Christmas. Well the day after in all technicalities but… yeah…”
“That’s…” she started, unsure how to finish. She studied his face cautiously. He had a small, hesitant smile on his face and his cheeks were pink, probably due to a combination of both the alcohol and the early January cold. But he didn’t have the haunted look in his eyes he had each time he mentioned South Carolina. Uh. “Good? How did it go?”
John sighed. “It was awkward. And tensed. But yeah good. We talked, which I don’t remember us ever doing because it was always him giving me orders and me acquiescing until the day I couldn’t take it anymore. But not this time. He let me say my piece and I was honest. He… apologized and he cried. I didn’t know he could do either of those.”
“So you’re back on speaking terms?” Adrienne asked.
“Sort of,” he shrugged. “It’s not easy as forgive and forget. We won’t fix twenty years of disagreement and resentment in one phone call but… He seemed willing to try, to learn…” John took a deep breath. “He said he wanted to come to the wedding.”
“Wow,” Adrienne breathed. “The guy who cut you out because you were gay wants to come and see you marry a man?” And not any man, Adri thought, the embodiment of everything he hates and fought against his whole life…
“Shocking right? I said we didn’t even have a date yet so…” He shook his head. “I don’t know how this’ll turn out but if there’s one thing I learned this past year it’s that certainties are an illusion. I spent years convincing myself that I’ll live the rest of my days without talking to my relatives ever again and that I was better off this way. But maybe I was wrong,” he smiled. “I wouldn’t mind being wrong about that.”
She nodded. Silence fell between them, familiar and comfortable.
Someone knocked at the glass door. They jumped and turned around to see Alex, mouthing something so fast they couldn’t make out what it was. However he was also wildly gesturing for them to come back inside and so John did, chuckling at how ridiculous his boyfriend was.
Adrienne was about to follow them when she turned back. It was one o’clock and the Eiffel Tower was twinkling at the hour. She thought back at how bad her dear city had been hurt in 2015.
Paris je t’aime, she breathed to the wind, pour toujours.