We Didn't Make It After All

Chapter Four

In Mr. Chakrabarti's class, we learned that Holden was discovered centuries ago by seafarers escaping exile in Scandinavia. They had established a devout religiosity in the town's constitution that had survived the test of generations. To this day, those born and bred within its twenty square miles trusted its founders' belief in an unquestionable higher power. While a wave of modern secularism had transformed Port Orion and the surrounding villages, Holden had yet to see radical change. That is why Nana slipped into my bedroom the next morning in an effort to awaken me for a trip to the abbey.

"Narnie?"

I moaned, groggily rolling over to the other side of my bed.

"Narnie, hey, wake up," she murmured, shaking me gently. I grunted again, but she continued shaking me, this time with more firmness. "Narns, come on, wake up. We have to go to the abbey. And you have a lot of explaining to do, young lady!" I placed a pillow over my head, her muffled voice nevertheless meeting my ears. "That boy with the motorcycle. When were you planning on telling me about him?"

My eyes snapped open. "Who? Ezra?"

"Have you been seeing this young man—Ezra?"

"Nana," I groaned. "We're just friends. And isn't it Saturday?"

She sat on the corner of my bed. "We have to go to the abbey."

"Abbey?" I asked in disbelief. "What's the abbey?"

"What do you mean what's the abbey? Didn't your parents teach you anything about our religion?"

I stared at her blankly, not knowing what to say.

"The abbey," she began, "is where we pray, Narnie Larson."

"Pray? At seven in the morning?"

"Yes, dear. The sermon starts in an hour so you better get ready."

"Nana—"

"I'll wait downstairs," she said, making her way toward the door.

I parted my lips, wanting to argue that religious sermons were good for nothing but propaganda, but Nana had already left, closing the door behind her. My parents weren't particularly religious. Having renounced their faith at an early age because of their distaste for organized religion, they entertained vaguely spiritual thoughts at most. Mama was originally from Nepal, a Hindu, while Papa had followed the town's religion until he no longer had to. They hadn't entered a religious site since high school. I was a lot like them, preferring spirituality to traditional religion.

I fell back on the bed, snapping my eyes shut for a few more minutes of rest.

"Narnie!" Nana called out, perhaps suspecting that I was going back to sleep.

I sighed, reopening my eyes.

I slipped into Nana's car as the sun rose above suburbia, clad in a soft winter jacket and Mama's favorite woolen scarf. The heat had finally subsided into a chillier consistency. Nana dialed up the radio on our way to the abbey, leading us to ride to nothing but a faint tune and static.

She took the road less traveled, navigating a wraparound and driving us upward. While the abbey was spatially in our town, it was higher in altitude, surrounded by rolling hills and distant white mountaintops, coated in snow. As the sun peeked through the misty hills, we drove up the treacherously narrow roads on top of which the abbey lay.

It was like any other religious sanctuary, but most closely resembled a monastery. I discovered within my first few minutes in its cement walls that the religion was an unconventional hybrid of Islam, Buddhism and Christianity. The congregation hall was adorned in a canopy of golden sculptures from as early as its inception. It led to a lectern behind which the head abbot stood. His name was Edem Whittaker.