A Shrine to an Unknown God

EMPTY PROMISE

AFTER WE SAY OUR GOODBYES to Evadne, we sit together outside her house beneath the shade of a peach tree. Ezra gathers several of the fruits and holds them bundled in his arms. He takes one and bites into it like an apple.

It strikes me that there's nothing else that must be done. Apollo is defeated. Marisol's a god now. We died and came back to life. We can go back to simply living. But how can we go back to the mundanity of everyday life, after everything we've been through?

So I ask: "What do we do now?"

Dahlia, laying flat on her back, shrugs against the dirt. "I'm just gonna go with the flow, man."

"I'm going home," Marisol announces, climbing to her feet and brushing her hands off on her thighs. "I have nothing to tie myself here." Not looking me in the eye. "And there's nothing that says I have to remain here. So I'm going home. I don't really know what my life is going to be like now that I'm a god. I just know I miss my mom and I really want to just try to go home and try to be normal."

"Me too," Ezra agrees. "I'm going to try to... get my life back on track. Dying really put things into perspective. Like, I've really thrown my whole life away."

"I'm coming with you," I decide. "This island is stifling. I want... " I trail off, struggling to find the words. "I want to experience the world. And I've gotten rather used to air conditioning."

"Then let's go," Ezra offers. "Right now. Marisol, you can teleport us, can't you? Now that you're a god?"

"There's a slight chance we might land in the Atlantic and drown."

"I want to say goodbye to my mom first," I say.

"We'll be right here, then," Dahlia replies. "Whenever you're ready."

Ezra offers me one of his peaches. "Want a peach for the road?"

***

THIS IS HOW I'm going to remember my mother: at the temple steps, raising a ritual knife over the throat of an unsuspecting animal. Her eyes full of wild fury and piety. The smell of blood and smoke in the air. Wine on her tongue.

Most of the time, this is not her reality. It's not how she is when I say goodbye to her. She's in our neighbors' vineyards, gathering grapes to press in a woven basket. There's a straw hat on her head to keep the sun out of her eyes.

"Mom," I say.

"You're back!" A gentle plop plop plop as she tosses a handful of grapes into the basket. "I heard all about what happened from—"

Word travels fast on Apollonisi.

The longer I stay here talking with my mother, the harder it's going to be to leave her. I rip the bandage off. "Mom, I'm going back to America."

She freezes. "For good?"

"I think so."

She drops her basket of grapes. "Antigone Katsaros, why on earth would you—?!"

"Because I want to."

Tears spring to my mother's eyes. She throws her arms around me. "Oh, my baby, my baby."

I cry into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mom. I just—I don't think I could ever be happy here. Not now that I know what else is out there."

"You need to do what's best for you," she tells me.

"You're just letting me go?"

Leaving Apollonisi is taboo. More than taboo. If I leave out of my own free will, I'll never be welcomed back amongst my people. But maybe, if my people shun me if I leave them, they were never really my people to begin with. Maybe my people isn't the community I was born into, but the one I went out and found for myself.

"Of course I am. It's your decision. I just want you to be happy."

"I'll try to visit." Though I know it's an empty promise. "I'll miss you."

"I know, honey. I know."