by Cat Bruno
But I did, of course, and told him of Hera, for any tale of Heracles must include her hatred for him. Most of the babes who Zeus fathered would bear her wrath, although Heracles drew her attention more than the others. He was destined to be High King, yet Hera even foiled that, by forcing the goddess of childbirth Ilithyia to delay his birth. After the birth, however, Athena had taken pity on the newborn and tricked Hera into suckling him for a short time; the mother’s milk of the goddess gifted him with even greater strength. But his path was still not a safe one, and, years later, when Heracles became a father himself, Hera reappeared, driving him to madness until he slayed his own children.
When his madness was cured with hellebore – a flowering evergreen – and he realized what he had done, Heracles visited the Oracle of Delphi for penance. There, he was tasked with Ten Labors, although that number increased to twelve once the first ten had been completed. I told Mickey how he slayed the Nemean Lion, the beast with golden fur that repelled all weapons. Heracles had been forced to trap the lion and strangle it, for neither arrow nor sword could penetrate its skin.
“Athena helped skin the beast, and the beautiful coat became impenetrable armor that hung from Heracles’s back.”
The nine-headed Hydra and the Stymphalian Birds also fell by his hand, while he captured many others, with Cerberus – the multi-headed dog guarded the gates of the underworld – being the most famous. None thought Heracles would succeed at such a task, but he had Athena and Hermes as guides and found the entrance to the underworld with ease. Hades insisted that Heracles use no weapons against the hound, and, with his lion-skin as a shield, the hero subdued Cerberus with haste and wit.
“You must remember this next story!” I exclaimed with so much excitement that Mickey sat up.
It was then that I told him of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons and daughter of Ares.
“The Amazons lived between the Black Sea to the north and the Thermodon River to their south, in what is modern day Turkey. Their lands were covered in mist, and many believed them to be an island nation. Themiscyra, their lands were named, and few could find them. However, Heracles’s ninth labor was to bring back the magical girdle that Hippolyta wore. This time, however, he did not use force or fight. Instead, he met with the Amazon Queen privately and confessed all to her, including the slayings of his children and Hera’s never-ending vengeance. Hippolyta was half in love with him by the time he finished and offered the girdle willingly.”
While I paused to breathe after speaking for so long, Mickey said, “You know so much, Dandelion, and remind me of my college professors. Did you minor in classics? I considered that route myself, but could not handle the Latin requirements.”
He thinks I learned this in books.
How do I explain the truth to him?
“Heracles embraced Hippolyta before he left and kissed her deeply.”
When I realized that he waited for me to continue, I added, “She was taller than most women, with dark hair that curled from root to tip which she often piled high atop her head and wrapped with wreaths and cloth. Her clothing, like all of the Amazons, was a mixture of patterns and weaves, and, to our modern eyes, would appear mismatched and nonsensical. Hippolyta was not compared with Helene or Aphrodite or any such beauty, yet both Heracles and Theseus were enamored with her. How could they not, when both admired strength and leadership?”
“You sound as if you have a girl crush on this ancient queen,” Mickey laughed as he leaned his head back to gaze upward once more.
Did he forget that he once loved her, too?
Instead of asking that, I changed tactics.
“What made you start using?”
“Jesus,” he muttered.
“And don’t blame it on the rock star lifestyle,” I pushed back.
“I had dropped out of college to pursue music full time and was partying a lot,” he told me soon after. “Late nights, hanging around in bars til the sun came up. Despite what you might think, I never had much money in those early days. My dad was way too pissed at me for dropping out of school to send me any, and I never asked. But there were always plenty of drugs and booze around. Still is, actually.”
“But what made you start? Just the availability of it? Or something else?”
It took a while for him to speak again, however, when he did, it was what I had expected.
“The drugs just quieted my thoughts, Dandelion. I don’t even know if that makes sense. But, I was young and stupid and couldn’t handle the near mania that comes with making art. There was just no break from the constant need to sing or write or grab my guitar. We’d play a show for hours in some smoky dive bar, and my throat would be raw and aching, yet I’d still be wide awake considering what I could do better. I’ve probably written 300 songs over the years, even if I trashed most of them. I had too much to say, too much to do, I guess. And was only able to come down with help from the drugs.”
“Do you remember what it was like to be on them?”
“I was at peace,” he laughed awkwardly. “But it was temporary, and I always felt worse after.”
“Have you ever felt as if you don’t belong here, Mickey?” I asked, the question having been on my mind since I met him.
“All the time,” he laughed.
There was so much that I needed to teach him, but he did not seem ready. Not yet. His past hovered at the edges of his memories, clouding them and drumming with thunder against the silence of the present. Such was the fate of the demi-gods, those caught between the world of life and death. I had been able to listen to the rising storms that battered against my consciousness and follow the path to who I once had been. It was not easy, and few can find the threads that weave our past lives with our present ones. Do not think that I do not know how lucky I am to have been able to view the full tapestry of my existence.
I am one of the chosen few.
But I believe that many of us, perhaps even many of you, my friends, are more than just whom you see in the mirror. Who were you once? Who will you be 200 years from now? We live and die and are reborn. But most of us forget. Or we choose to ignore our pasts because of fear or uncertainty.
It is even worse for the demi-gods.
When I saw Mickey on stage that first time in Cincinnati, my suspicions had been confirmed. What suspicions, you may be wondering?
Well, in that gray gravel parking lot outside the clinic, I saw him true. Hera long hated us both, you see. How could I not take interest in the man who defied her and overcame her challenges at every turn? I watched from Olympus as he defeated beast and man, as he visited the gates of hell and the gates of heaven. When he married Hebe, the goddess of youth and brides, I might have raged. However, I attended as the others did, for Hebe had long been the cupbearer in Olympus and had offered me ambrosia and nectar many times with kindness and joy, despite our contradicting natures. After their marriage, Heracles ascended to heaven, finally one of the undying and allowed to live among the other gods.
There, in Goodale Park, lying next to me as the hour neared midnight, he did not think of Hebe or of the Twelve Labors.
He thought of Dandelion Jackman, orphan, photographer, and murderess to be. And I no longer hid who I was. How could I with so many of them watching from the stars above?
“Do you recall what I texted you soon after we met? That first night I saw the Moon Kings.”
As he reached for his phone, I grabbed his hand, and chastised him. “Stop relying on other things to record your thoughts and memories. In doing so, you have paralyzed your connection to the past. Think on it, Mickey, and tell me what I said.”
Our fingers interlaced as he considered my challenge. His were hardened at the tips, calloused by years of guitar playing. My own were smooth, but strong; built up by a career holding a camera.
“You said you were a god.”
Smiling and teasing his grip, I said, “Close. Be more specific.”
Just then, at the corners of his blue-gray eyes
, I noticed the seeds of recognition sprout.
“An old god. You said that you were one of the old gods.”
One more confession, my friends. Beneath that black-blue sky where so many of those I once knew were immortalized, I dared the ire of Zeus and Hera once again. Let them all watch, I thought, as I pulled Mickey close. Let Zeus punish me. Let Hera pursue me. Let them call upon creatures great and small to torment me, if I so deserved it.
This night, this one night, I would be Dandelion Jackman. I silenced my thoughts. I tethered my wings. I sipped on Mickey’s lips in place of a goblet of ambrosia.
Here, in this hidden corner of the park where the light posts could not reach, I was woman and not goddess. The rules no longer mattered. His kiss did. My preparations unraveled as my shirt slipped over my head. For months, the goddess in me had taken over.
For an hour, no longer than that, I allowed Dandelion to bloom.
The Lake House
Idon’t think I’ve ever been so happy as I was that night in the park. However, three weeks later, I laughed and sang along to pop songs with Toby as we drove to pick Alison and Tessa up from the airport. Once they joined us, we met up with Maisie and Olivia, William’s cousins and also my bridesmaids. My own cousin Alexis and Todd’s wife, Mel, had met us at the lake house, and the eight of us readied for a weekend of wine-drinking, elegant dining, and sunbathing. In addition, we shopped and chatted, played a few games and listened to music – all perfectly normal mortal activities.
(I was quite pleased that, as Dandelion, I could enjoy the wedding.)
More than anything, though, I sipped wine all day long and tried to forget those few hours with Mickey.
Would I have slept with him if I hadn’t spotted William’s car at Elizabeth’s house? Frankly, I just don’t know. But I did expect to be punished for the decision, and when that punishment had not come by the day we left for the lake house, I realized that the gods had something special planned. Not special in a good way, my friends, which you must already suspect. Would you not drink as well knowing that such a fate awaited you?
The first night developed without incident. The eight of us drank several bottles of wine before going to dinner at a restaurant within walking distance. Once there, we drank more and ordered every small plate offered, all of which we shared. Many lemon-colored plates lined the table as we feasted, and I remember thinking how much the wine and pleasure god Dionysus would approve of such revelry. Did that make us the Maenads – those crazed, sex-loving devotees of his? Perhaps.
I could think of nothing else, so that conclusion seemed the most likely.
Many examples of ancient pottery feature the Maenads dancing about with complete abandon, drunk and wild. Kraters – ceramic jugs used for wine – have survived intact, and, most often, they feature Dionysus and his cast of impassioned Maenads in some type of merriment. The women hold staffs tipped with pinecones and wear robes that flow freely as they dance and spin. Their hair, long and untamed, curls across their often-bare shoulders, and their eyes shine with intoxication. Always without sandals and often with dresses made of fine fawn skin. Search for them, my friends, and you will think just what I did: when we women gather in celebration of love (exactly the concept of bachelorette parties), we honor those who came before us. The Maenads have long acted in just such a way, and, now, we continue their traditions. Across thousands of years, that thread has not unraveled.
Before we marry, we party. Madly, freely, and without boundaries or shackles. Across the ages, women were not allowed such freedoms, and, when they did live by their own rules, accusations of madness and witchery followed. For the Maenads and other Nymphs, those accusations mattered little. With such knowledge, I enjoyed myself twice over and drank more wine than I had ever done before; just as Dionysus and the Maenads would have wanted. In exchange, they offered what protection they could when the moment of reckoning for my past transgression came.
The next morning, we all woke late. Eventually, we gathered blankets and snacks and wine and made our way to the taupe-hued beach. With such a northern, lakeside location, the sand was not the bleached sands of the Caribbean and the water did not reflect the sky in vibrant blues. However, none of us cared. Above, the sun shined gold and warmed us with welcome. Only Toby and the waiter from the previous night – whom we had drunkenly invited to join us all weekend – swam. The rest of the group napped and sipped for hours; I cannot speak for the others, but I greatly enjoyed the idleness. Matt, the waiter, proved to be a fantastic addition, strangely enough. And since he, too, was gay, none of us felt uncomfortable with him around the house. Later, I had reason to regret how easily we accepted him.
“You’re dripping bacteria all over me,” I heard Olivia whine.
When I shifted my sunglasses-covered eyes over to where she lay, I saw that Matt stood nearly on top of her towel. Both Maisie and Olivia had grown up much like William, and, as a result, had a natural selfishness that they could not control. I did not dislike either of the women, however, I did not find them to be particularly enjoyable. As quickly as I could, I called Matt to sit beside me, for no other reason than to prevent a confrontation.
“Here’s an extra towel,” I told him as he hopped along the sand until he stood near my outstretched hand.
“My thanks, Dandelion,” he hummed, already half-drunk I guessed.
He set the tie-dyed towel so near to me that I rolled to my side and sat up, pretending to need more wine. Once my plastic glass was filled, he called my name.
“In my spare time, of which there is plenty, I like to study mysticism and astrology and things of that sort. Let me see your hand.”
In the hours that we had known him, Matt had shown himself to be unafraid to offer his opinion. There was no hesitation or shyness, yet he had not been too overbearing or demanding, either. So when he made the request of me, I played along, extending both of my hands for him to examine.
“Only the dominant one,” he stated before accepting my right hand when I offered it to him.
“First,” he explained, “I must determine what element your hand corresponds to by the shape, size, and length of your fingers.” From there, Matt began studying my hand at close range as he twisted and flipped it over.
Nodding, he continued, “Your hand is oval as opposed to being rectangular. And your fingers are long. Most definitely a water hand.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hold on, girl, I’m getting there,” he growled.
As he traced the length of my fingers with his own index one, I tried to stay still, despite the tickling sensation his touch evoked. Toby, intrigued by what he overhead, sat beside me, and my cousin Alexis came nearer, too. The others paid little attention to the newcomer as they prepared lunch from what we had carted to the beach.
“Emotional and artistic, perhaps the most well-known traits of a water hand. But that is not all, and only the lazy would end a palm reading there. See how your fingers round into tips? Well, that suggests a connection with the other world.”
“The other world?” Toby chided and laughed.
After shooting a glare his way, Matt went on.
“Many psychics are water hands themselves because of their ability to see and hear what is beyond this plane.”
The amateur medium was getting too close, but, fears dulled with wine, I let him continue.
“But that comes with trouble, as well,” he warned. “Empaths feel too much, and it can drive them to drink or abuse drugs to numb those thoughts. Some are driven mad by their abilities.”
“Top off my wine!” I called out happily as I lifted my cup with my left hand.
Alexis did just as I asked, quietly, as she often went about. Her father was my father’s half-brother; however, my uncle had been born several years after my father, and the two did not spend much time together in large part because of the age difference. I had reconnected with Alexis through social media, and, despite the two of us having little in common, I
talked to her weekly and tried to help her whenever I could. A few years before, she had had eye surgery to correct a lazy eye that she had been born with, and I had paid what her insurance would not cover. The balance due had not been much, but she still thanked me regularly for my help. Years of living with the condition had shaped her, and, even now, she only reluctantly made eye contact. Unlike William’s cousins, I very much liked my own, although I knew her brothers far less. Alexis was sweet and gentle, much like how I imagined my father would be if he still lived.
When I had asked her to be a bridesmaid for the wedding, she had paled so quickly that I thought she might faint. Only when I assured her that I would take care of everything and she would not need to give a toast did Alexis finally agree. She was of a similar size to me, so Toby had ordered her a dress that I had tried on and paid for, neither of which concerned me. To be honest, I just hoped that she would not bail out in the days before the wedding if her nervousness increased too much.
So far, she seemed to be improving and had even spoken with Alison and Tessa at length about her job as a daycare worker and about the upcoming wedding.
Beside me now, she whispered, “Let him read your life lines, too. I’m dying to know if you’ll have kids soon.”
Matt paid no attention to her, but pulled my hand closer to his face before laying it across his lap.
As he traced the largest line at the center of my palm, he said, “This one is your head line, and runs in between your life and love lines. It is not particularly long as it just reaches your ring finger, which is an average length. It tells me little. However, it does slope downward, which suggests you are highly imaginative, as I would suspect from a water hand.”
His voice lowered as he asked for a glass of wine. I handed him my own, and he emptied it before staring at my palm once more.
With a tap at the middle of my palm, he muttered, “Here, we call these chains. I have not seen them in the middle like this, but read about that somewhere. I’ll have to look on my phone to see what it means. Something with headaches or the brain, I think.”