by Zachary Howe
Gordie stood at the edge of the ring as his mom walked over to his dad and knelt down beside his head. She leaned over and kissed his lips as she whispered something Gordie could not make out. He saw a tear drop onto his father’s cheek and he tensed. He had never seen his mom cry. But he was selfishly grateful that when she turned back to him there was only a single streak on her face, which she wiped away.
“What do we do?” Gordie asked. What he meant was: ‘What do we do with his body?’ But he could not bring himself to use those words. Thankfully, she understood his meaning.
“I think we should leave him here. This is the only patch of grass left as far as I can see.” She looked out across the burnt fields.
“And what do we do with that?” Gordie inclined his head in the direction of the solid bolt. She looked at it and anger flashed across her face, but she quickly wiped her expression clean.
“We’ll leave it,” Ellie responded. “It will be a monument to him and an ever-present reminder of what we lost.”
Gordie didn’t need or want a reminder but, for her sake, he just nodded in agreement, and the frozen lightning bolt stood glistening in the morning sun.
3
The Family Secret
The mother-son pair stood in silence for some time. Ellie’s gaze was fixed on her deceased husband while Gordie stared off into nothingness, occasionally casting sideways glances at her. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but he would not interrupt her. She deserved this moment of meditation. Gordie’s grief was still very present, but some of its effects had started to diminish. He still felt sadness, though it was now more of a hollow, empty feeling rather than unbearable pain.
After a few more minutes, Ellie returned from her place of transcendence with a small sigh and addressed her son. “Well . . . we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
All of the questions Gordie had had for Hermes returned in an instant. There were so many things he needed to ask that he did not know where to start, so he just blurted out, “What is going on, Mom?”
“A lot,” she said, “but let’s not stay here to discuss it. We’re going to Grandpa’s house.”
Gordie was a little surprised by her definitive response, but it seemed as good an idea as any, so he accepted it at face value.
Gordie’s grandfather—Ellie’s dad—lived on the west side of Madison. Atalo Anastasios was in his late seventies, but still an impressive physical specimen. He was six and a half feet tall and weighed in at two-hundred-fifty pounds of solid muscle. Atalo was so ripped that he often harassed Gordie about his ‘slight’ figure. It was all in good fun, though. Gordie and his grandfather had always had a close relationship. Atalo attended almost all of Gordie’s baseball games and hung around the house quite often.
Gordie never knew his grandmother because she had died giving birth to his mom. He figured that was the reason his grandpa spent as much time with them as he could: he was lonely. He never asked his mom how she felt about her mother dying from labor complications; it seemed like it would be a sensitive issue. He assumed it was different than losing a mother you never knew, though. He could not bear the thought of losing his mom, especially not now.
“Do you want to drive? Or should I?” Ellie asked. It seemed like such a simple question, but it tasked Gordie. On one hand, he had been so shaken on this day that he was afraid his driving would be unfocused and erratic. On the other hand, he wanted to help his mom, do anything to ease her stress.
She seemed to sense his dilemma and offered to drive, for which he was very thankful. As they headed over to her Honda Accord, he remembered to retrieve his bat. He wasn’t sure why, but he just felt safer having it with him. They settled into Ellie’s sedan and she pulled off the lot to head towards the highway. As they drove away, Gordie took a last look at his car, wondering if he was ever going to come back for it. He sighed, then realized that his mother and he were alone, and he could interrogate her about all that had happened that day.
“Mom, is Hermes actually real? Do the Olympic gods exist?”
“It would seem so, wouldn’t it?”
“He said that he talked to you today,” Gordie continued. “Hermes,” he added in response to her quizzical look.
“Yes, he stopped in to see me. It was the second time we met,” she said, as casually as if she were predicting rain.
“You’ve met him before?!” Gordie asked. “How is that possible? When? Where? Why?”
“A couple days after you were born. He met me on the street as I took my first walk with you. I remember it vividly because I thought he was a crazy homeless man. He told me that I had to keep you safe and that you . . . were special,” she paused, clearly deep in thought. Gordie waited for her to continue her story.
“Of course I didn’t believe him at first, but over time your . . .” she searched for the right word again, “uniqueness . . . has become harder and harder to ignore. Even so, I didn’t truly believe him until today.” The look on her face made Gordie question if she did indeed believe.
He waited for her to continue, but she went silent as they mounted the on-ramp to Interstate-90. “What do you mean, my ‘uniqueness?’” he asked, making air quotes.
“You don’t know what I mean?” she asked. “You must’ve noticed that you aren’t a normal teenager.” This stung him a little, which she realized and backtracked. “I don’t mean that you’re weird. You are a sweet, kind, caring, wonderful boy, and I love you desperately. But your strength is not normal. That was clear from your infancy. Every once in a while I would catch you doing pull-ups or handstands, even as young as three months! I couldn’t believe it. One time—I think you were about six months old—you literally jumped into your high chair. Your dad loved it. ‘My boy’s an athlete!’ he yelled.”
Ellie stopped speaking again, but this time Gordie was not waiting to hear more. Her mention of his dad sent the image of his lifeless body flashing across Gordie’s mind, and a fresh bout of grief overtook him. He looked up at her and she was stone-faced again. He thought that reminiscing about his dad had rattled her a little, too. Gordie forced himself to ask more questions to distract them both.
“So I only did these things occasionally? I mean, how often?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “From time to time. They weren’t regular occurrences I guess.”
“Would you say these ‘occurrences’ happened about every twelve days?”
Ellie glanced at him, looking puzzled. “I really don’t know. Why every twelve days? Have you noticed some sort of pattern?”
“Well, not until today. Hermes actually said it . . . something about my ‘being on his calendar every twelve days.’ Is it possible this is some kind of elaborate, insane joke?” Gordie was disappointed by the possibility of this notion.
“No,” she said curtly. “I think that we have to accept that this is real. Or at least labor under the belief that it is until proven otherwise. That’s why we’re going to see my dad.”
“What?!” Gordie’s eyes bulged. “Grandpa knows about this stuff?”
“He raised me on tales of the Olympians. Where did you think I got all those bedtime stories from? He never intimated to me that he believed these myths to be real, though. I’m starting to wonder if there’s something he never told me.”
Gordie couldn’t help but be titillated by the prospect of his grandpa confirming the existence of the Greek pantheon. He had seen his true power that day and wanted nothing more than for it to be real. If his grandfather could affirm this for him, then that would mean he, Gordie, was some kind of superhero. Wild visions of jumping over buildings and beating up bad guys swirled in his head. The elation from these fantasies registered on his face, and Ellie must have noticed, because she addressed him with a note of concern in her voice.
“I don’t want you getting carried away, Gordon.” Her use of his name brought him plummeting back to reality. “We have no idea what we are getting into. Before you start dreaming about being Superman
just think of what you’ve seen today.”
Gordie could not imagine why she would say such a thing to him. Why would she want to remind him of the horror he had witnessed that day? Why would she want him to dwell on it? The gruesome images came rushing back to him all over again. Gordie squeezed his eyes together so hard to ward them off that the darkness behind his eyelids transformed into a blinding white light. His eyes flew open again and he gasped for air, not realizing that he had been holding his breath. A tear rolled down his cheek.
Ellie said, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you, but I want you to remember that this is not a movie. These aren’t comic books. Bad things have already happened to good people and that is something that you can never forget. Don’t allow yourself to be consumed by childish fantasies of glory. There is no glory to be had. I love you and my only purpose in life is to protect you from harm. I will do whatever it takes to do that, even if that means keeping you level-headed. I know what that noggin of yours can do.” She knocked on his head. “You’ve always had a vibrant imagination.” She wrapped up her speech with a loving smile, which made Gordie feel a little better.
“You said I need to think about what I’ve seen today . . .” he pieced his thoughts together as he spoke. “Do you know about what happened at school?”
“I do,” she said. “Hermes told me. He said he watched you pull children from piles of bodies.” Gordie heard this statement catch in her throat and she paused to gather herself. “Then he said he was going to go ‘confer’ with you and told me to wait for you to come meet me. Something made me uneasy. So, after he flew off,” she briefly reflected on this phrase with a slight disbelieving shake of her head, “I hopped in the car and raced straight home.” After another short pause she said, “If what he said about the situation at your school is true, then I’m very sorry you were subjected to that.”
“It is true,” Gordie said with a spark of anger returning. “It was horrible.” He stared out the window, trying to keep a lid on his emotions.
“Then I am very proud of how you handled yourself,” Ellie said. “You’re strong, like your father.” For the first time that day, the thought of Gordie’s father did not slingshot him into despair. Rather, it buoyed his spirits and filled him with pride.
“I am strong,” he acknowledged, “like both my parents.” He smiled at his mom and gave her hand a fleeting grasp. They were now on the highway in Madison, just a few miles away from his grandpa’s house, and would be arriving in less than ten minutes.
They exited the highway and embarked on the last short leg of their journey. They rode in silence as Gordie was deep in thought about so many things, and it appeared his mother was, too. There was one thing he was focused on, which he did not understand. “How does Hermes know about me? And why would he try to protect me?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Ellie replied. “I have the same concern, though. Remember, we are possibly dealing with the supernatural here—it may not do us any good to question the whys and hows. But maybe Grandpa can shed some light on our predicament.” They turned right onto Atalo Anastasios’s street.
His grandpa’s was a nice neighborhood bordered by a small pseudo-forest, almost creating the illusion of a rural setting, despite being a few blocks from a bustling mall. He lived in a modern ranch with white siding and gray trim. It was one of the smaller houses in the neighborhood, but Gordie liked its modernity much more than his family’s old yellow Victorian. Still, his home was home and he had loved it. It pained him to accept the fact that he would never see it again.
They parked in the driveway, and Ellie turned to her son before they exited the car. “You ready?” she asked. The question surprised Gordie. What did he have to be ready for? As far as he was concerned, they were just stopping at his grandpa’s house to talk.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” he told her with confidence.
Gordie gripped his bat as they climbed out of the Honda and walked the curving path from the driveway to the front step. They rang the doorbell and heard Atalo’s imposing voice boom from within, “Just a minute!” Gordie wondered if his grandpa thought they were some kind of solicitors. He did not think his grandfather cared much for those touting religion, but he doubted he would be too upset to open the door for Girl Scouts and the delicious treats they’re always hawking.
Atalo opened the door and filled most of the opening. His shirt was covered in sawdust; it seemed he had been doing some woodworking in the garage. Atalo’s face broke into a broad grin when he saw his family. “What a nice surprise,” he chortled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Gordie was delighted to be greeted with a happy voice for the first time in hours. But as he watched his grandfather’s face, the grin disappeared and was replaced with a look of grave concern. He didn’t realize what caused the change at first—until he glanced at his mom and saw the tears streaming down her face.
Now he understood why she had asked if he was ready. Seeing the anguish on his mom’s face shattered Gordie’s world all over again. He would have done anything to take the pain from her. What hurt him even more was that she felt she had to conceal it from him. He thought he was being strong for her, but did not appreciate how strong she was being for him.
Atalo wrapped his daughter in a hug and stroked her hair. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked in alarm, yet with great sweetness. He could be astoundingly gentle for a man of his stature. Ellie was sobbing into his chest with her face in her hands. Gordie willed himself to muster his courage once again because he knew how painful it would be to verbalize the words that were swimming in their heads.
“Dad’s dead.” Gordie had tried to say it casually and calmly, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Atalo’s eyes widened with shock. He reached out an enormous hand and pulled Gordie into the hug. Gordie and his mom remained in Atalo’s embrace, sobbing for five, ten, fifteen minutes. He didn’t say anything. He just held them until they both started to regain composure.
Their collective convulsions became more and more controlled. After their hysteria was reduced to just sniffles, Atalo released them, took a step back, and invited them inside. Gordie and Ellie followed him past the living room, Gordie’s bat still in hand, and into the kitchen/dining room—such a conversation as the one upcoming was not meant for sofas and recliners. Ellie and her son sat at the table, against which Gordie rested his club. She shot him an apologetic look. He looked back at her and said, “I love you, Mom. Everything is gonna be okay.” He doubted that he was very convincing, tear-stained as he was, but she smiled all the same.
Atalo’s shoes squeaked on the laminate floor as he bustled in the adjacent kitchen, separated from the dining room only by a particle board island. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Ellie said.
“I’m fine,” Gordie waved him off.
“You’re spose to give those in turmoil a hot beverage,” he replied with a smile. “It’s non-optional.” His audience smiled meekly. “That’s what I like to see.” His smile widened.
“Decaf, please,” Ellie said.
“Do you have hot chocolate, Grandpa?” Gordie asked, with a note of childish hopefulness in his voice. It was seventy-five degrees outside, but his grandpa and he used to sip hot chocolate in front of the fire during those cold Wisconsin winters—Gordie could have used some nostalgia at the moment.
“I think I can scrounge some up,” he said. Atalo busied himself in the kitchen with preparing their drinks for the next five minutes. Gordie sat in silence at the table, reveling in the calamitous activity as each clanging pot drowned out his thoughts. He thought his mom was experiencing the same relief—she at least looked less grief-stricken than a few minutes earlier. It was uplifting to watch Atalo work his way around the kitchen. The mundane commotion was a display of life and humanity, two things to which Gordie had been seldom exposed that day. It was a reminder that the world was still turning despite all the death h
e had seen of late.
Atalo finished his barista duties and joined Gordie and Ellie at the table, handing them their drinks. He sat next to his daughter and rested his hand on her forearm, then looked at Gordie, who knew what he was going to ask before he opened his mouth. “What happened, Gordie?”
Gordie took a deep breath to prepare for recounting the tale that pained him so—
“No,” Ellie interjected. She was holding her coffee in both hands, staring at it. Her gaze was very empty, which Gordie figured was why Atalo had addressed him and not her.
“It’s okay, Ellie,” her father said.
“No,” she repeated. “He doesn’t need to relive it again. I’ll tell you.” Gordie once again counted his blessings for his mother’s great strength.
“Robert was killed,” she said. Gordie struggled to reconcile the foreign proper noun with the image of his dad, while reading the shock on his grandpa’s face at being offered such a blunt statement.
“No!” he gasped. “How? By who?”
“He was killed by a lightning bolt. He is still lying in our pasture with it sticking straight out of his stomach.” Ellie’s effort to maintain a blank face looked a lot like Gordie’s own struggle. Meanwhile, Atalo’s expression was one of utter incomprehension. Gordie supposed, to hear it described as his mom had, without actually seeing it, would be hard to wrap your head around.
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand, Ellie,” he said. “What do you mean ‘there’s a lightning bolt sticking out of his stomach?’”
“I mean—”
“Mom,” Gordie blurted, “I need to explain it to him—the whole thing.” Ellie looked at her son searchingly, like she was trying to determine if he could handle it. “It’s okay,” he told her. She did not seem convinced, but she relaxed a little, indicating that she would allow his proceeding.
Gordie readied himself with another deep breath, knowing that this time no one would be speaking for him. “I was at school this morning and there was an explosion . . .” Gordie started into his story with his family looking on with rapt attention. His mother’s focus told him that Hermes had not given her an exhaustive account of the day’s events, so he spared no details.