/yesod

Tag: Persephone

  • Winterly

    My wife, her best friend, and I decide to drop acid for the first time.

    We lay back on the couch and each of us take the squishy pink pill and chew slowly.

    I only eat half of mine. I’m worried about what might happen if I take a whole one.

    In time, I stand up and feel my balance shift and sway like I’m on a boat.

    There are stars, drifting in the air right in front of me — like dust motes. I wave my hand and watch them scatter and dance.

    My wife has fallen asleep. So her friend and I decide to go outside and let her rest.

    We walk, talking of little things that I no longer remember.

    When I look over to her, she is no longer who I thought she was. She has become an actress that I know well from movies in the 80’s and 90’s.

    I note that this is odd but I am distracted by the little village we’re walking through and I say, with some excitement, “I need to remember this so I can include it in the book I’m writing.”

    “Yeah, you should.” Her voice is wry and I realize that’s why she brought me here.

    We go into one of the little stucco bungalows. It is dark inside, Spanish tile floors and deep red wall hangings. Little faux candles flickering in wright iron wall sconces.

    I feel a little self-conscious being with her. People are coming up to her and asking for her autograph. One woman, bursts into tears when she recognizes her. “Is it really you?”

    My companion takes it all in stride, gracious and kind and gentle with each of them. She gives the crying woman a hug and the woman’s handbag falls open, spilling out onto the dark tile floor.

    I stoop and collect the scattered items. I don’t remember much of what was there. A wallet, I think — pale leather with a gold clasp. But I do remember the handful of jelly beans, picking them up one by one.

    I also remember feeling the actress’ approving gaze on me. And I’m a little proud of myself for being chivalrous.

    When we go back outside, the actress inspects a little scrap of paper the crying woman gave her and says something I don’t quite understand about pie.

    “How sweet,” she says. “She said I can have it on my wheels.”

    I realize it’s a joke. Not “pie” but “Pi” — there’s a bicycle there, leaning against a low concrete wall.

    As she swings her leg over the seat of the bike, I ask the actress if it’s hard having all those people know who she is?

    “Who do you think that I am?”

    I’m flustered for a moment. There is a frankness in her manner and I’m embarrassed by it.

    “Uh, you’re my wife’s best friend?” I say, faltering at the end as I start to realize…

    She gives me a pitying, kind look. She steps off the bike and comes back to me. Placing her hands on my chest, she stands up on tiptoe to kiss me.

    It’s a light kiss, brief and gentle. The kiss of a sister or something an old flame would give you, long after your time together.

    And then she is gone… Away on her bicycle I suppose. I’m not sure because I’ve woken up, wondering why I would have a dream about Winona Ryder of all people.

    Then I realize who it really was.

    It hits me like a blow… but the thought is surprisingly comforting.

    Winterly

     

  • statues

    …and we’re walking together, my son and my youngest daughter, on the grounds of the local university. It is late afternoon, the sun just beginning to set behind the hills.

    I stop for a moment to inspect a statue. My son continues on, leading his sister by the hand up the pathway.

    After a few minutes, I catch up with him only to discover that he is alone. My daughter is nowhere in sight.

    I panic. He tells me she’s fine, that he can see her up ahead. He points to where people have gathered at an archway leading into the amphitheater.

    I cannot see her.

    I tell him that he has to be more careful and then I rush to find her, elbowing my way through the crowd.

    She is there, on the edge of the gathering, and I pick her up in my arms . . . relieved, still furious with my son.

    He joins us and I give him an earful.

    He is sullen, silent.

    A woman next to us overhears and says “You’re being too hard on him. There were plenty of people here to watch her.”

    “I don’t think this is any of your business.” My reply is all teeth.

    “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She moves out of range of my anger.

    Beyond the archway, people are gathered in small groups along the floor of the amphitheater. I set my daughter down and take her hand, wandering among them.

    Some socialize, chattering and gossiping together… Some play music together on handmade instruments — lyres, carved pipes, tambourines… Some squat around antique game boards, moving stone pieces back and forth and casting dice…

    We make our way up a sloping ramp to one side. At the top, we find a bust of Persephone set into a little alcove. There are little offerings on the ground in front of her — candles, bowls of flowers. At the center is a large silver bowl holding a pomegranate split in two. The seeds like jewels in the evening sun.

    We continue on through a smaller archway, finding more statues and offerings. I recognize Hermes and Athena.

    I kneel down next to my daughter. “Mama would love it here,” I tell her. She nods and we have a little moment there with our gods.

    Behind us I hear a woman snort. I turn to see a small group of people accompanied by a security guard.

    “I’m not sure this is appropriate,” she says, interrupting our quiet moment and not caring one damn bit.

    The guard shrugs. “There was some controversy when the idea was proposed. They thought some people might be offended.”

    They move off.

    I think of the pomegranate and suddenly I remember: “That’s right,” I tell myself. “You’ve been here before. You left that for her, the last time you dreamt of this place.”

    A brief, lucid moment before I wake…