Descend the Stairs (Part 4)

Somebody once told me that being the ambassador to the princess was both the greatest honor and grandest responsibility anyone in history had taken on.

The next day, I took the hardest math test of my sixth-grade life—on exponents. Many people have said that me getting at 85 on that test was both the greatest effort and grandest feat anyone in history had ever managed.

At least, that’s how it felt to me at the time.

* * *

A quarter of the way into the third cinnamon roll, I started to feel… well, let’s say it was the inevitable consequence of trying and failing to ignore that I was approximately 70 to 75 feet above the ground while simultaneously stuffing my (non-empty) stomach with incredibly delicious dough, butter, and sugar.

“I want some of that,” Nelle said as I stared into the beautiful swirl of frosting remaining before me. It looked like the Milky Way: wondrous and vast beyond both the comprehension or appetite of mankind.

Her fork sliced into my field of vision and into the cinnamon roll, deliberately carving out a neat triangle and removing it.

Any other day, I would have protested, maybe even defended my tasty territory. However, at this point I was too wearied from both thought and digestion. Nelle’s invasion was the act of an unwitting savior.

“Mission command to the dude with black hair.”

I lifted my gaze to Elliso, the source of my delectable agony. After the single cinnamon roll I’d ordered arrived, two more had been delivered to Elliso’s place at the table before he’d slid them to me and insisted I have them.

Since, you know, I’d allegedly skipped breakfast.

“What was that?” I asked.

“You really love those things, huh?” he said. “ You’re basically in a trance eating them. But Pera just gave you a compliment, man! You can’t miss that.”

“I wouldn’t describe it as a compliment.”

Pera, who was seated between Deji and the window on the opposite side of the table from Nelle and I, narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly at Elliso.

“I was merely remarking,” she continued. “On my envy of the effectiveness of dye on your hair. My own attempts only result in failure. My natural color interferes with the dye.”

“Well, that’s obvious,” Deji said.

Despite the disturbance in my stomach and spinning in my head, the threat in the way Pera’s head turned toward Deji pierced through the haze like a laser-guided missile.

“Is it?” she said.

“Yeah,” Deji said, fully oblivious to the dangerous aura emanating from the seat next to him as he gestured toward me. “His hair’s naturally white, so of course dye would work better. Your hair is red, so it makes complete sense that it’d be harder to dye.”

How this dude had the presence of mind to lower his voice when describing my hair color so no one would overhear, but couldn’t sense that his life was in danger I could not say.

“That’s true,” Pera said.

“Right, haha?” Deji said, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who probably had seconds left to live.

I’ll remember you fondly, my friend.

“It’s pretty logical if you take the time to think about it,” he concluded, looking to Elliso for confirmation.

Back during the days before Nelle had come to the planet and war appeared inevitable, my second-grade class had done several drills in a model escape pod. One of the things I still remembered from those drills was the emphasis our teachers had put on the importance of keeping your helmet on at all times.

Hearing the word logical exit Deji’s mouth was like watching my friend gleefully remove his helmet and open an airlock to the deadly chasm of space.

“Don’t you think, Elliso?”

“Dej, I, uh…”

“I think,” Pera said. The smile she directed at the back of Deji’s head sent a chill through me. “I think it would be interesting to see you die, Deji.”

He spun around, concern in his eyes.

“Uh, Pera? What do you mean by that?”

“Dye your hair, of course.”

“Ohhh! Yeah, that might be fun sometime.”

“It might be fun indeed.”

I watched Pera watch Deji tuck back into his avocado toast. The researcher I’d imagined giving approving pats earlier now seemed to be considering dissection of her test subject. I exchanged a look with Nelle, who was obviously holding back a smile.

“Well!” Elliso said from the end of the table to my right, a bit louder than necessary. He tore his eyes away from Deji, looking like a man who might never see his friend again. “Better get to finishing that last cinnamon roll.”

He clapped me on the shoulder, ending the reprieve from my own concerns.

As someone raised to never waste food, finishing the remains of the third cinnamon roll was basically a given. As a lover of all things cinnamon and sweet, finishing the remains of the third cinnamon roll was, again, basically a given. However, as a human being in a weak mortal body with a mild case of acrophobia who was currently seven stories up, finishing the remains of the third cinnamon roll was, frankly, an extremely bad idea.

It’s not like I couldn’t have stopped myself if I really wanted to, okay?

Richness spread across my tongue, the perfection of the soft, doughy texture blending with the sweet frosting and the warm sparks of cinnamon just as good as it had been with the first bite of the first roll. To describe it as “good” or “incredible” or even “divine” did the experience a disservice.

What also did it a disservice was the fact that I’d already eaten two others exactly like it.

I chewed as Nelle began telling Pera about the next experiment she wanted to run with the Experimentation and Analysis Club, taking another bite after I swallowed the previous one.

Bliss. Regret. Bliss. Regret. Bliss. Regret.

I continued on in this manner until, at last, the plate sat empty before me and I had nothing left to do but ponder my own life choices.

The clink of Nelle placing down her tea cup pulled me back to reality. I noticed that my friends had all finished, cleared white ceramic signaling the end of our meal. Together, we rose and made our way toward the checkout station. Elliso paid, letting me know he’d only accept me paying him back for one cinnamon roll. Then, the elevator. Elliso pressed the button, and that was when it hit me.

There was a less than 1% chance I was making it down that elevator without, for the second time in far too few weeks, having my stomach forcibly eject its contents.

“I’m going to take the stairs.”

“You’re what?”

Nelle had spoken, but questions appeared in the eyes of the other three as well.

“It’s seven floors down,” Elliso said.

“Exactly,” I said, feeling more confident about my plan with every word. “Perfect for burning off a few calories after all those carbs. See you guys down there.”

“Taking the stairs will have a negligible effect on your overall caloric balance,” Pera said.

“Gotta start somewhere!”

I stepped away from the group, making my way toward the stairs and feeling my momentary confidence already begin to drain away.

“I’m not walking that,” I heard Elliso say.

“I’m going with him,” said another voice.

I stopped at the top of the stairs, gripped by a new type of regret. A second later, Nelle appeared at my side.

“You really want to do this?” she said.

“No, but you know how it is. Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions and all that.”

“Three cinnamon rolls is a lot.”

“That’s what I’m currently feeling.”

“Maybe too many.”

“You’re not clever, you know that?”

“… heh.”

“Shall we?”

I reached for the railing and took the first step. For about the one millonth time since fourth grade, a feeling of acute exasperation rose as my whole body told me that descending stairs of average steepness was liable to end my entire life. If I had to have an irrational fear, why couldn’t it have been something less inherently ironic for a tall person? Like crickets. I would love to be afraid of crickets. Or, what about being afraid of balloons popping? At least with that one, you could chalk it up to being easily startled.

But no, I was afraid of heights.

Afraid of heights, and filled with cinnamon rolls.

I stopped at one of the landings before the stairs changed directions, putting a hand against the wall to steady myself. My knees shook, but I was upright and only a regular, tolerable amount of nauseous.

“Hanging in there?”

“Somehow,” I said grimly.

“You know,” Nelle said. “I did have an idea for getting you out of the elevator ride down. You were too fast to choose the stairs, though.”

“How good an idea?”

“Do you want to hear it?”

“… sure.”

“Let’s just say it involved a helicopter.”

“That sounds worse than an elevator.”

“No,” she said cheerfully. “Because you would have been unconscious.”

“Are you turning into Pera?”

I vaguely felt her hand smack my back, but whatever she said never registered as I eyed the next set of stairs and my chest tightened with a new wave of mild panic. I had a distant feeling that I’d missed something important, but I had to keep going. Once again, I stepped down.

I made it down the stairs with all the cinnamon rolls still in my stomach. Some are calling it the greatest adventure and grandest success in human history.

Unfortunately, it was only the day’s first set of stairs.