The Long Lost Legacy: Revenge of the Cretans

Greece; A paradise to those in upstate New York, when the winters are biting and the summer’s heat is sweltering. But if I had started by mentioning Boarding School, well, what a bitter, icky word that sounds to be. Boarding school. Starched pleated skirts barely to your knee and black sweaters itchy enough to rub a rash. But, Greece. With the delicious perfume of marinated olives, the rubbly dust of ancient buildings, and the tempered language of the old world’s greeks. Who wouldn’t want that? Me. Yes, yes, I know. How! Why? It’s Greece for goodness sake! Well, when the good and the bad are mushed together, you could send me to Boarding school in the Bahamas and I still wouldn’t want it. But perhaps it’s not the idea of school at all, but the people in which I’m pressured to stay with. “Thea, the discussion is over. The tickets are already purchased and the room is already arranged. They are thrilled to have you--I talked to them just this morning!” The dishes clattered in the sink as she scrubbed each one, careful to observe every smear and smudge. “Mom, but it’s Greece!” “Yes, and say that again! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity that you should be grateful for! Honey, really I don’t see how terrible this could be? It’s not like you love school here all that much.” “It’s not about school, Mom. It’s about them.” My mother pretended to be oblivious as always. “Come one. You know who. Stepmother and her brainy son.” The scrubbing stopped, the sounds of suds popping and the hiss of hot water all more apparent. “Thea, they have names. And you better be nice to Aster. You already know he has learning incapabilities.” “MOOM, they’re not even married yet. Why do they have to live with us! It wouldn’t be so bad if it were just Dad and me.” “Because they found a life together, just as Rob and I have. And we’ll be over there come Christmas. That’s less than five months away, dear.” I stood there, crossed armed with a soured face. “What type of mother ships her kid halfway around the world?” And again the dishes stopped, this time my mother choosing to turn and face me. Her hair, regardless of the ponytail, still caught in the corners of her lips, and the look of defeat was drawn in her eyes. “You use that claim one more time, and I swear--” “What? Gonna send me away?” I grabbed my book off the counter, my feet ready to storm away. “Cause you already did that.” “ALTHEA GALANOS! You come back here! We’re not done speaking!” “SAY THAT TO THE PLANE TICKETS!” My room, like any other teenager, is my safe haven. The closet cluttered with a collection of junk over the last 15 years and the walls a collage of pictures, old assignments, and hospital bands. The furniture was simple; just a bed, nightstand, and desk, each one covered with colored pencils and scrap notebooks, a pile of books in the corner. Truthfully, it’s more a wobbling pyramid of books, five or six stacks, heavy towards the bottom, but nonetheless coming to a pinnacle as if the Egyptians erected it in my room themselves. But my favorite possessions, besides my books, are my birds. The Canaries, one strictly yellow, the other a swirling mess of orange and white. He mimicked that of a coy fish, trapped behind the bars of a cage instead of the pebbles of a pond. Eros and Anteros, they’re named, after the myths my father used to tell me as a child. He used to sit me on his leg, right in the corner lounge chair of their old living room, and paint pictures with his words. Stories passed down for generations, all factual according to him. I remember it clear as day. He would say, “Eros, what a loving one he was. Born to the Goddess, Aphrodite you know, he had the ability to make you fall deeply in love. Till your eyes were goggled wide and your words became a slur. Haha!” And she would laugh, imagining that of a drunk man, dancing around, spying openly on their lover. “But Anteros, well, he was a bit more mischievous. He, instead of causing love, caused misery! But he chose only to inflict such morbid fates on those who deceived the hearts of others.---Those who did not reciprocate the love in which they were given.” “And what would he do?” I would find myself saying, attached to the story suspensefully. “Oh, all sorts of things! He could make you fall gravely ill, or your teeth fall out! Or even worse, die!” The horror on my face was just as strong as ever, no matter the number of times he told the story. “That is why we love, no matter the case, my little Thea-bug. Because what do I always tell you?” She recited his words exactly. “Love will always prevail.” “That’s right. It is stronger than any evil force this world has to offer.” I was seven when he last sat me on his knee. The divorce was finalized a year later and his job permanently moved him 3 states away. By the time I first saw him again, I had convinced myself that I was too old to listen to little greek fables. But maybe I was just too afraid to try and love him again. Learned helplessness, as they call it in psychology. “Jess, you’re never gonna believe it.” “What!---Wait, let me guess.” The static voice of my best friend of seven years radiated through the speaker phone. “Uhhhhhh, you and your Mom got into an argument, AGAIN?” “Alright, point taken.” “Thea, I’m sorry, but it’s all you talk about! I don’t want you to go either, but if we only have a few days left together, do they have to be consumed with your dreadful reality?” “I know, I know, I just don’t see it as fair! I mean, come on, don’t you think I ---” “UGHHHHH, Thea! You promised!” I flung myself belly first onto my bed, my doodles fluttering up in response, and pencils rolling onto the floor. “Sorry. Okay, what do you want to talk about?” There was a shrill of excitement on the other end. “GUESS WHAT!” “What?” “Nooooo, guess!” I flipped over and stroked Eros’s wing through the brass cage bars. “Uhhh, i don’t know. You finally finished that book I lent you?” “Ohhh, no, I forgot about it to be honest.---Wait, hold up, I gotta find that. What’s it called again? I’’ll write it down.” I was monotone, still waiting for this supposedly exciting news. “The Depths of Esthgard. When you finish it I have the sequel too. There’s supposed to be a third one coming out soon, I think.” “Oh, nice. But no, that’s not the news. Ready?!” “Been.” Her words were a rushed slur. “My Mom said I can visit you in Greece over Spring break! AHHHHH! Isn’t that great!” It was, but for some reason, I didn’t share her sense of thrill. Personally, the idea of moving was still a distant reality. Not even the plane tickets tacked to the fridge door convinced me yet. I was too determined to avoid it altogether. “Thea? Did you hear me? Thea! You still there?” “Oh, yeah, sorry, I spaced out.” “Well, what do ya think? Isn’t that great?” My clear lack of acknowledgment disappointed her. I could hear it in her voice. “Oh, yeah, totally. Great news.” But here’s the difference between a best friend and Jess; she’ll go that extra mile for you, always, but sometimes her pettiness gets the better of her. “Fine, if you don’t want me to come, I won’t.” Obviously, my blatant response didn’t disguise my void care very well. “Stoooop, I do, I just don’t want to think about Greece. All everyone does is congratulate me as if I won some jackpot with my parents divorce.” “They’re trying to find the positive, Thea, which, to most, Greece sounds pretty great. It’s been, what, how many years since you were there?” “Since he moved back for YaYa when she got sick.” Her voice took a heartless tone. “He dedicated his entire life to his career, ruined his marriage over it, but when his mother got sick first thing he did was quit his job and move back home to take care of her. Been there ever since.” “I guess a son forever, but a husband when wanted.” “Unfortunately.” There was a sharp purring chirp in my ear. The kind that called for attention. “Alright, Anteros, your turn now.” He nestled beside Eros, their wings snug and heads slanted as if waiting for the stroke of her fleshy forefinger. The birds were already eight years old, a gift from my father after the court officially severed my parents marriage. Jess and I’s conversation was cut short by her mother’s wail to help with gorcceries on the other end. After a back and forth argument while I sat there silent, Jess lost, her new backpack purchase being threatened if she refused another instance to carry in the milk. So I hung up, just laying there for a minute unmoving, my Canaries staring back. With my head hanging over on one side of the bed and my feet on the other, I squinted at the scrappy doodles flooding the carpet beneath me. There was a drawing of a 16 year old girl with blonde hair and a soft pretty face, her best friend just a cloudy blur of smeared graphite and crayon. It was a character from the book I lent Jess. We weren’t all that different, the character and I. She also didn’t want to accept a bizarre future, but at least her’s was a bit more interesting. She got to befriend dragons and wield a sword and was stoic. She was a princess. Aside from our similarities in personality, our appearances were quite opposite. Except our blue eyes. That we had all the same. But my life isn’t a fictional story. I have brown hair, an archipelago of acne and am barely close to 5’5’. I don’t get to fall in love with handsome werewolves and outwit soldiers and run from monsters with a g**g of godly friends. Instead, I get to go to boarding school, in a country I know little about, a family who knows little of me and a language I’m foreign too. Not to mention, no mother in sight. Which to some might sound pleasant, but who am I to consult when my uniform tears, or when I attempt to bleach clothes or I just need a shoulder to rest on? My mother is my best friend in disguise, a mask we both know well of when arguing; one we used quite frequently this past summer. I cried. I didn’t mean to nor wanted to, but I did. It seems the stronger I appear, the weaker I become until all that is left of me is broken. And so I cried on. Cried about my parents, about changing schools, about leaving Jess behind. And all that was there to comfort me were my Canaries. Eros posed himself between the bars until I gave in and took him out. He propped himself on my curled finger, his glossy eyes staring back into mine. They were dark, just like my mother’s. It was odd, but it brought ease to my racing heart. “Hey there, little guy.” I smiled through puffy cheeks and red, swollen eyes. “It looks like we’re really going……..How ‘bout that?.... Greece.” Eros chirped in response, as if solidifying their one way conversation.