Debris & Detritus

by Robin D. Owens

  “And each Athena is to lead oxen into the sea,” the voice continued.

  “Could we simply slaughter the oxen? It would be very difficult to get them to—”

  “Into the sea! I’ll check back later.”

  Queen Peletta and her newly promoted female entourage stood on the rocky promontory. It had been weeks since the hundreds of men of Bybanos marched over the cliff into the sea, each with a cow or bull in tow, and the track marks from the great struggle were still visible.

  The queen hesitantly raised her arms heavenward. “Blissful and . . . somewhat merciful Poseidon, please bless our nets with plentiful fish. Our city starves as we have far too few oxen to plow our—”

  She was interrupted by a booming voice in the distance. “What was that about Poseidon?”

  “Oh, hello great Poseidon. Thank you for gracing us.”

  “I’m not Poseidon. Do I sound like Poseidon?”

  The voice sounded exactly like her late husband’s description of Poseidon.

  “Why . . . no.”

  “Poseidon retired. I’m the new god of the sea.”

  “Well, let us know your name so we can now sing your praise in prayer in his stead.”

  “It’s—” The sentence was interrupted by thunder erupting.

  The queen looks to the others. They all shook their heads. No one else heard it either.

  She turned back to the sea. “Sorry, could you repeat that?”

  “You dare have me repeat myself? I said my name is—” Once again, thunder erupted over the name of the new god.

  The queen looked to the ground, nervously. “The town of Bybanos welcomes you, oh—” She covered her mouth and said something unintelligible that sounded much like “arrggbytoonie.” Then she uncovered her mouth. “—new god of the sea.”

  “I am pleased with your statue of me next to Athena. It’s a perfect likeness.”

  Peletta looked to the crude statue that didn’t look like a person or god but more an abstract celebration of marble. Her steward helpfully stepped sideways toward it and put her foot over the sign reading “Athena” at the bottom.

  “What town is this that fights sea battles with cows?” the voice asked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “All of the dead people and cattle in my sea. Have your cattle mastered ship building? It looks like it was evenly matched.”

  “No, your predecessor commanded—”

  “I see my first duty will be to settle this conflict you have with your people-cows. Bring forth representatives of both man and cattle so that I may mediate. You have an hour.”

  Within the hour, Peletta and her people had led a cow up the cliff with difficulty, but not with as much difficulty as pushing each one off the cliff had been. She and the cow were each given five minutes to plead their case. The queen argued passionately why humans needed to rule in order for the town to function. The cow was mostly silent during her allotted time until the final few seconds when she mooed.

  The new god decided in favor of the cows.

  “All positions of power in Bybanos will be turned over to them immediately,” the voice said. “No action will be taken without the verbal consent of your cow overlords.”

  The former queen looked to her new queen, who was chewing grass, then back to the sea. “Oh most powerful . . .” She paused when she remembered she didn’t know the new god’s name. “Oh most powerful Most Powerful. Surely this would lead to the economic collapse of our town . . . the starvation of our people . . .”

  “If you find this arrangement unsatisfactory at this time tomorrow, return here and summon me. You may do so—”

  Detritus looked down at Bybanos from her Olympian palace. “—by saying my name three times. Again, it’s—” She picked up one of Zeus’s plundered lightning bolts and threw it into the sky above Bybanos. “That is all.”

  “What was that about?”

  Detritus turned to see Debris had entered. “Nothing. I intercepted a prayer meant for Athena from a town called Bybanos a couple of months ago, and I’ve been messing with them ever since. I even got them to deface a statue of Poseidon.”

  “Poseidon won’t like that,” Debris said.

  “No. When he finds out, he’ll send the women into the sea to join their men. And cows.”

  “Cows?”

  “It’s not important.”

  Debris pointed to the one remaining lightning bolt. “Don’t you worry our father Zeus will miss his lightning bolts?”

  Detritus waved it off. “No worries. Our father was away impersonating one of the bulls in Byblos once he knew the men were gone and it was ladies’ night.”

  About the Story

  * * *

  I don’t know much about Patricia Pooks Burroughs.

  Other than that time she pulled me out of a burning building. Since then, she’s been all “Hey! I know you! I pulled you out of that building!” And I’m all, “OKAY! I GET it! I’m thankful for you saving my life, but can we get over it already?” This story makes us even.

  * * *

  MJ Butler

  * * *

  After I chipped the polish on two nails dragging you to safety? I think not.

  * * *

  The Editor

  12

  Sweet Dirty Love

  Jeanne Lyet Gassman

  Detritus clicked on the next profile on ImmortalLoveMatch.com and sighed. “It’s hopeless. There is no one out there for me.”

  “Nonsense,” her half-sister, Tidy, insisted. “We just have to keep looking.” She took a step back from the computer, tsk-tsking in her usual slightly disapproving tone. “We really need to do something about your hair. Perhaps if you put it up . . . ?”

  “What? No.” Detritus shook her head, ignoring the cracker crumbs that showered over her shoulders. “My hair is fine.”

  Tidy looked doubtful. “If you say so.”

  Although Detritus and Tidy were both daughters of the bawdy Greek goddess Baubo, the two of them could not have been more unalike. Tidy, a statuesque blonde, was the epitome of order. She worked part-time as a rep for Athena Lou Cosmetics, selling make-up to the female immortals who could no longer hold on to their beauty by magic and thus depended on artifice. Everything about Tidy was perfectly coordinated, with matching shoes and purse dog, immaculately groomed nails, and just the right shade of lipstick. In fact, Tidy had a saying about personal crisis: “You can fix anything with lipstick.” And she stuck by that belief, too, until the first time she tried to give Detritus a makeover, and the lipstick ended up smeared on Detritus’s chin. “How do you do that?” she cried.

  Detritus grinned at her, exposing flecks of “Perfect Passion” on her teeth. “It’s just my nature.”

  According to Tidy, her half-sister Detritus had “issues.” Her tangled red hair stuck out from her scalp in disorderly coils, and she couldn’t manage to stay clean no matter how hard she tried. Bits of trash seemed to attach themselves to her clothing, and her apartment was decorated with the strange collages she created from her forages through garbage bins, dumps, and walks on the beach. Detritus would never admit it to Tidy, but she found messiness comforting.

  Baubo still kept in touch with Tidy’s father, Janus, who liked to have “twice the fun” and met Baubo twice a year for a reunion tryst. Detritus’s paternity, however, was much more uncertain. According to Baubo, she was the product of a wild party in Hades’ lair, but Baubo claimed she had no idea who had done the deed. “After cruising down the River Lethe, my memory is Swiss cheese. I recall nothing.” She had plucked a string of damp seaweed from Detritus’s sleeve. “Be happy you were conceived in love.”

  And love was what Detritus wanted now, not absent-minded love from her wayward mother or even the grudging affection of her half-sister. Detritus wanted to experience wild, crazy love, the kind of love that makes your heart bounce out of your chest with lust and desire, the kind that makes your knees wobble at the sound of your lover’s voice. Too bad no one wa
nted her.

  After Tidy left, Detritus returned to the computer, clicking once again through the limited list of prospects Immortal Love had recommended. Despite the many times she had adjusted her profile, IL had managed to find only a pathetic three matches. Was she that undesirable? The first one on the list, a god called Plaman, brandished a mullet and a ton of attitude. In his photo, he leaned back in his chair, his thinning hair slick with grease and an index finger crooked at the camera, as if to say, “I want you, babe!” Detritus found his cocky grin unnerving.

  The second choice, who went by the name of Orphistus because he was a devoted follower of Dionysus, posted he loved women and wine, in that order. But with his red-rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks, Detritus suspected Orphistus loved wine more.

  Her final match, Deb, had a sandy beard that had been unevenly trimmed and an endearing smudge on his brow that looked like dirt. He referred to himself as a collector and a sculptor, something that appealed to Detritus, since she herself was an aspiring artist. During her long, lonely strolls along the shore, she collected broken shells, pieces of rock, sea glass, and other found objects and arranged them in her collages. Of course, she also brought home a few uninvited hitchhikers that managed to attach themselves to her as well, including fiddler crabs, sand fleas, fish hooks, empty water bottles, beer cans, and lost keys. Sometimes she added these items to her art. Baubo called Detritus’s work “interesting” and hinted strongly that Tidy should hang one of the pieces on her own wall. But Tidy balked. “I agree. They have a certain . . . flavor. But they’re so messy. And some of them have crawly things. No, thanks.”

  Now Detritus studied Deb’s profile photo. No doubt about it. He was cute. She hesitated, then sent him a flirty wink.

  He sent a flirty wink right back. She was so surprised she almost shut her computer. What should she do? She requested a date, and he accepted.

  They agreed to meet the following Friday evening for coffee at the popular Elysian Brew Spot on Valhalla Ave. It was crowded, noisy, and most importantly, safe.

  Tidy was beside herself when she learned Detritus had a real date. “I’ll do your make-up, but you have to promise to sit still. No disasters.”

  Detritus paraded her wardrobe for her half-sister’s approval. “What about the blue? It brings out the color of my eyes.”

  Tidy tapped a manicured fingernail against her pursed lips. “Hmm. No, the dress is, well, a little worn around the edges. Your hem is fraying, and there’s a tear in the right sleeve.”

  “Then this coral number. It shows off my figure, I think.”

  “Is that a cheese stain on the bodice?”

  Detritus was ready to send Tidy home. She was such a critic. “It’s fine. I’ll wear a sweater.”

  On the afternoon before her date, Detritus was so nervous she allowed Tidy to stay only long enough to apply mascara, blush, and lipstick. Shortly after Tidy left, Detritus received a text. Deb had cancelled their date.

  Despairing and desperate for a friendly shoulder to cry on, Detritus phoned her half-sister.

  “You’re supposed to be having a great time,” Tidy said when she picked up. “Not talking to me.”

  “It’s off,” Detritus wailed. “He dumped me, and we never even went out.”

  “What? I’ll be right there.”

  Tidy may have been critical and disapproving of Detritus’s lifestyle, but she was loyal. She breezed into her half-sister’s apartment, immediately taking charge, snatching up dirty socks and a discarded dishtowel and tossing them into the hamper. In the kitchen, she scooped up a pile of dust bunnies and feline fur. “Do you have a cat?”

  “No, I’m allergic.” Detritus burst into a paroxysm of sneezing.

  Tidy swept the dust and hair into the trash. “Now, tell me everything,” she said as she rinsed out a mug and poured Detritus a fresh cup of coffee.

  Detritus rubbed her eyes, smearing her knuckles with charcoal mascara. “He cancelled our date. Gave some lame excuse about needing to wash his chariot.”

  “Hmm. Well, it’s possible. Men do love their vehicles.”

  “It’s raining!”

  Tidy coughed. Dabbing a tissue at the streaks on Detritus’s face, she said, “Well, he’s a cad, that’s all. And what kind of name is Deb anyway? It sounds like a girl’s name.”

  “It’s a nickname. Short for Debris. He’s a collector and an artist.”

  “Well, he’s still a jerk by any name.” She straightened Detritus’s collar. “You know what they say you should do when you fall out of a chariot and break your leg.”

  “Get a splint?”

  Tidy giggled. “No, silly. Get back in.” And before Detritus could stop her, Tidy had opened the IL file. “So, who else is on your list? This guy Plaman looks promising . . . ” She tapped the computer.

  “No, wait,” Detritus cried.

  “Too late. You have a date for drinks at Bacchanal’s in forty minutes.” She dragged Detritus from her chair. “Let’s get you cleaned up. And wear a sweater. That cheese stain is spreading.”

  Detritus spotted Plaman easily, as he was holding court in the corner, flirting with half a dozen young women. But none of them stayed long. They paused to listen to his patter then shrugged their shoulders and moved on. Dodging the crowd of females fleeing Plaman’s overtures, Detritus edged past a morose-looking figure slumped at a table: Orphistus, who was nursing his third drink alone, judging by the empties. She stumbled on toward Plaman. “Hello,” she said, her voice coming out like a croak.

  Plaman glanced up, his smile freezing and fading as he took her in. He clearly recognized her from the Immortal Love site but had obviously been expecting someone more alluring, Detritus thought. Without a word, he motioned for her to sit down.

  An awkward silence followed. Then Plaman said, “So, you’re the aspiring artist, uh, Detritus, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I like to make collages.”

  Plaman waved for the waitress to take their order. He requested another “whiskey, straight,” while Detritus asked for a martini with two olives, “leave in the pits.” She planned to use the pits later in one of her art pieces. After downing his drink, Plaman turned to Detritus and stared. “Did you know you have a broken pencil sticking out of your hair?”

  She plucked the pencil from her ponytail and dropped it on the table. “Those things happen to me all the time.”

  “Ah.” Brightening, Plaman sat up and began to brag about his important connections. “Prometheus is my third cousin, once removed. I inherited his skill. I can light this candle with my fingertips. Watch.”

  Flames shot from his fingernails, igniting the strand of toilet paper dangling from Detritus’s sleeve, which set her cocktail napkin on fire, followed by the roaring inferno of the tablecloth. It took three waitresses, two fire extinguishers, and a lot of screaming to put out the blaze, and that effectively ended their date.

  After her disastrous encounter with Plaman, Detritus decided all men were losers. The only cure for her blues was shopping, and she especially loved shopping estate sales. While most of the patrons squabbled over furniture and china, Detritus liked to dig through the junk drawers and button jars. People threw away the most interesting stuff. The following Saturday morning, she hit the circuit.

  The first two stops were duds and had been cleaned out of anything useful, but at the third place, she found a box crammed with scraps of fabric, thimbles, rubber bands, paper clips, crumbled erasers, unidentified keys, and various screws, nails, and fasteners. She was sifting through the box when she heard the homeowner say to someone behind her: “Just shove that pile out of the way. It’s all garbage anyway.”

  “No,” the person said. “That’s okay. I want it. How much?”

  Detritus turned around to see who was buying trash. Deb, or more accurately Debris, stood by the curb. His eyes widened as she faced him. Detritus set down her box and offered her hand. “Hello. We haven’t met in person, but I’m—”

  “Detritus. I
know.” He cleared his throat. “You’re very pretty.”

  It was her turn to blush. “Thank you.” She pointed to the stack spilling around his feet. “You’re buying this?”

  He scooped up a waterlogged magazine. “Isn’t this great? I believe in dirt. It’s good luck.”

  Detritus stroked the scrap of tattered paper, imagining the possibilities. “It’s lovely.”

  “Look, I’m sorry about the other night. I guess I panicked a little. I thought when you met me you’d . . . ” He hesitated. “I thought you wouldn’t like me. That you’d think I was a slob.”

  She smiled. He had cement dust caked on both elbows and a blob of paint on one shoe. “I think you’re very creative.” Gathering up her treasures, she added, “I was planning to visit two more yard sales today. Would you like to join me?”

  He nodded. “And maybe I could take you out to lunch afterward? To make up for my rudeness?” Tenderly, he brushed a cobweb from her ear.

  At his gentle touch, Detritus’s heart bounced wildly in her chest, and her knees wobbled. “Ooh, I—”

  Deb caught her elbow. “Have you ever been to the dump?”

  About the Story

  * * *

  Debris and Detritus. These gods have a small shrine (collecting dust!) in my house. When I was asked to write a story about them, I was honored and delighted. How wonderful to be able to pay tribute to the value of messiness. My home is notorious for its clutter, dust bunnies, piles of books and papers, missing pets, and general disarray, but out of that confusion and disorder, I still produce art. Some of my writing is humorous, some of it is more dramatic, and some of it is downright intense. I write everything from essays to short fiction to novels, and I hope my readers find my work entertaining and thought-provoking. If you’d like to more know about what I write and who I am, please drop my website for a visit.