The Architect

They say we grieve to the depth that we love, but how do I grieve someone who isn't dead?

***

Xavier and I met in our freshman year of college. He was from Iowa and I from Idaho, and we bonded over the fact that no one can ever correctly identify either of our states on a map. We were both in the architecture program at Cornell University, and when the opportunity to study abroad came up during our senior year, we jumped at the chance. Wanting to make the most of our time and limited cash, we chose a school in Florence, Italy because of the wealth of architecture in the area. From there, we could take cheap flights or trains to nearby countries and spend our weekends touring buildings we could never have dreamt of seeing from our tiny hometowns.

We both had an insatiable hunger to learn from architects of the past. Ingesting their journals and diagrams, we committed everything to memory. Xavier was different though—studying was never going to be enough. He claimed we missed a “golden era” of human creativity and wished more than anything he could go back in time. Had I thought this could be possible, I never would have let him talk to that damn witch who changed our lives forever. This is the story of the last time I saw Xavier.

***

Xavier and I flew to Barcelona with a college tour group for the weekend to visit some of the sites designed by Antoni Gaudí. After a long, yet marvelous day seeing some of the most incredible works of architecture on the planet, we stumbled across a night market centered around all things magical.

“Woah cool—a magic market! Can we stop here before we go back?” I asked excitedly

“We could never skip this!” He exclaimed “Let’s just try not to buy anything that is haunted”

The market smelled heavily of sage and other herbs; we could see the smoke flowing out of hanging silver cannisters that dotted each aisle. It was crowded, but we made our way down each row, admiring all the oddities and potions.

“Do you think this is real?” Xavier joked as he held up what looked to be a shrunken head--clearly made from paper and some paint.

“Yeah, I think that’s actually Professor Adams” I joked.

We reached the end of the rows and turned to find our way out when another small alley caught my eye.

“Do you think this is part of the market?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. It looks about 200 years older than the rest of the place. Maybe that is part of the magic theme.”

“To be honest, this looks intriguing, and we don’t have much for a pickpocket to take. Let’s check it out!” I replied.

We made our way down the dark alleyway. All the signs for the shops were written in Old English; the whole thing seemed very authentic. At what looked like the end of the alley, there was a single lamp lit outside of a shop on the right. Just beyond the shop was the deepest, most impossible black—we could not see anything through it. On the shop door, there was a sign that read: “Real Time Travel.”

“Real time travel huh? Is that some sort of joke?” I asked.

“Maybe it’s a joke shop? Or maybe we can extend this trip into another century!” Xavier said.

We creaked open the door to find almost every inch of the inside of the shop covered in dust. In the corner sat a woman who only looked a few years older than us.

“Well met! What fine wares bring yee hither?” the woman asked.

“Hi! We just wanted to look around. We noticed your sign mentions time travel—what is that about?” Xavier asked.

“Fortune smiles upon thee, for I hold the very object thou desirest,” She cawed while reaching down into a leather box. She pulled out an object with colors that shone much brighter than anything else in the shop. “This dreamcatcher came to me in trade from an Ojibwe wanderer many years ago, upon the long roads of my travels. By its craft it bears a strange power—to carry one into ages long passed. I have walked this earth near nine hundred years, and I tell thee true: few such relics remain,” she explained.

She held out the dreamcatcher, and it was beautiful. It had streaks of gold and silver woven into the rim, with turquoise stones attached at the center. Whether it worked to travel through time or not, it was probably worth a lot of money in materials alone.

“Wow, it certainly is a gorgeous piece. How much would you charge for it?” He asked.

“Nay, child. Gold cannot purchase such a thing. This object chooses its own keeper. If fate decrees it to be, it will find its way into thy hands before midnight’s final bell.” She responded.

A chill ran down my back as she spoke, and everything inside me screamed, Get away from her now. So, I looked at Xavier and said, “Ok, that sounds very cool, but it’s getting late—we should probably get out of here.”

His eyes dimmed as he thanked the shopkeeper, and we headed out.

As we walked back towards the hostel, I couldn’t stop thinking about the dark feeling I had inside that shop. Xavier, however, was in a completely different mindset.

“Can you imagine the people we could meet if that thing worked? We could talk to Brunelleschi about his time working with Ghiberti,” he chirped.

“We could find out if Gaudí and Eusebi Güell were lovers and not just business partners,” I quipped.

“Yeah, ok but we could get to important stuff—like how they engineered the Parthenon and how they did their geometry. I could think of a million things.”

“I think love is important, but yeah, it would be super cool to know how they did that math” I digressed.

I thought about how his love for this art bordered an obsession, but that was what made him magical in my eyes. He had the gift to be just as great as the people he idolized, but he couldn’t see himself the way I saw him.

***

We reached the hostel exhausted, confused, and a little excited. I could not wait for a good night’s sleep, and I plopped down on the bed immediately. Xavier turned to me and said, “I’m going to have a drink at the bar downstairs; I love you and I’ll see you soon.” I figured he was disheartened by the reminder of his impossible dreams, so I let him go on his own and I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up and he was nowhere to be found. I panicked. I searched every place I thought he could be to no avail. I decided to go back to the area where the night market had been, but when I got there, there was no trace of Xavier or evidence that a market ever existed. After searching for several hours, I knew I had to alert the police. I gave them all the information I had, and they assured me they would keep looking for him so I could catch my flight back to Florence that evening. I didn’t have the money to reschedule my flight, and they repeatedly told me that this was normal for college students, he probably just got drunk and ended up passing out in a room somewhere. This wasn’t completely in his character, but what choice did I have? If he was somewhere asleep, he could use his emergency card to have his mom pay for a new flight, and everything would be fine.

***

When I arrived back in Florence, a girl from my archaeology club came running up to me, grinning from ear to ear and she practically yelled at me “You’re back! You will never guess what they found!”

“Is it Xavier?” I said hopefully.

“What? No, where is Xavier?” she asked.

“I don’t know I couldn’t find him this morning in Barcelona, the police said he will probably turn up soon and this happens all the time with people our age.”

“The police?!” she screamed “Wow, well let me know the second he is found safe.”

“Absolutely, so what were you saying was found?”

“It’s amazing! They found a new archeological site this morning. It’s only an hour away and It’s like nothing that has ever been found before. The school has given arch club members first dibs on checking it out, if we agree to help with the restoration. We’re going tomorrow morning! I will save a spot on the bus for you and Xavier, I’m sure he will be back then.

It was late and I was tired, but I couldn’t miss that opportunity so I said, “Ok that sounds great, I will see you on the bus then.”

I woke up the next morning, still no Xavier. I walked down to the bus the school had arranged for us, and we headed towards the mountains. After about an hour, we arrived at a seemingly empty hilltop that had a single narrow path leading in the opposite direction. We hiked for a few minutes up this path, cresting a hill that hid the sunken palace. As we got closer, I noticed the strong scent of wildflowers, it was strange because it smelled almost exactly like my perfume. The smell wafted on the breeze, seemingly leading us towards a worn set of gates. The gates were freshly freed from a thick layer of moss, easily over a foot in thickness, which must have been how this place was hidden for so long.

Passing through the gates, the path turned to marble and my heels clicked softly against it as I descended the steps. The warmth from the sun on my cheeks suddenly vanished as I crossed the threshold into the cold, stone building. My ears filled with the sound of rushing water, crashing down from a natural limestone waterfall that marked the entrance, it was nothing short of a vision of Eden. Behind the waterfall was the most beautiful architecture I have ever seen in my life. The ceilings towered over us, opening wide with rays of light shining through illuminating a dome like structure. The rim of the ceiling was encircled with several large pieces of stained-glass in every color, suspended from carved stone spindles encapsulating what seemed to be an underground world.

Along the walls were eight different passageways, each pulling in air from some unknown end. My lungs filled with the fresh air the further in we went, highlighting the masterful engineering of the designer. I ran my hand over the tile mosaics along the wall which were laid in a dragon-scale pattern, creating the illusion that the entire chamber was breathing in sync with my footsteps. The ground glittered as sunlight reflected off threads of gold and silver inlay that decorated the stone, lighting up a spiral path to the center.

While the rest of the students scattered to explore the dark passageways, I was drawn to the center where a single goblet sat on a pedestal, perfectly lit by the rays of the sun. The goblet had a dreamcatcher design engraved on the side and inside the cup was a small handful of turquoise stones. Carved into the rim of goblet was a note that made my heart sink. It read: "Brunelleschi is a jerk, but I am a fool. This is all for you. Love—Xavier."

That was when I knew I would never see him again. I am trapped in present day, missing architects of the past. Just then, there was a ringing in my ears that made me wince. I opened my eyes and read the goblet’s rim again. “Xavier,” I thought. That name sounds so familiar.