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Once upon a time, there is a girl named Sally Jackson. She is completely alone in the world, and now sits on the beach pondering a selfish existence. With no one else to devote her life to, she must finally live for herself.
The beach is deserted except for a man, walking the shore with deliberate steps, examining the coast as one might examine their own hands. His age is indeterminable, seemingly young but aged by wisdom, sun and sea air. His skin shines like bronze in the sunset, and he is beautiful.
Though a lover of the sea, Sally had not often indulged in allowing herself to walk in it. Her uncle did not want her to traipse sand into his home no matter how many times she swore she would brush it all off. But he is with her parents now, and there is no one left to complain about sandy carpets.
She removes her shoes and walks into the sea.
When she does, the man notices her, as though the sea is his blood and he can sense her presence within it. Sally wades in to her knees, giggling at the rush of coldness that washes over her. She yearns to swim, and the man draws closer.
“Excuse me,” She calls out, attracting his attention. “Do you know if the sea is safe to swim in today?”
Sally knows tragedy, has witnessed it ceaselessly in her short life. If she dies at sea tonight, there is nobody to mourn her, and she goes unrecognised by the world, novels unwritten and stories untold. This man has the look of someone who knows the sea, and she feels, strangely, as though she trusts him.
He smiles at her; his eyes are the exact shade of the water. He assures her the water is perfectly safe, and as he does so, the waves seem to still into a gentle rhythm.
Perhaps the sea truly does run in his veins.
“Would you like to join me?” She asks him, emboldened by her luck. A little bit of company would be nice, after everything.
“Why not?” He responds, charming in every word.
They shed their clothes onto the shore, unencumbered by self-consciousness and worry. The man looks at her with an appreciation she is yet unable to identify, but flattered by all the same. If he sees her as she sees him, there is cause enough for her rosy blush.
“You are radiant,” He tells her. “Forgive me, I had to tell you.”
Such words are rarely used to describe Sally. It leads her to wonder if he’s joking at her expense, but there is a sincerity in his eyes that she knows cannot be artificial. To him, she is radiant.
They swim, and the sea seems to almost part for them, their efforts a mere formality as they navigate the waters. Above, the sun hangs low and glints a dark orange, showering them in golden light. Perhaps she is foolish, perhaps impulsive, perhaps tired of lingering on what it means to live for yourself having never experienced it, but Sally makes a decision right there as she watches him dip under the water and spring back up, shaking the droplets from his dark hair with an intoxicating grin. If the opportunity presents itself, she will spend the night with this man and she will not regret it.
She is young and her life is finally her own. She must live it.
“I’m Po,” The man tells her, effortlessly treading water to stay beside her. “What should I call you?”
There are a million different identities she could assume, ones where she has droves of loving family across the globe and friends around every corner. She chooses the grim truth instead.
“Sally,” She replies simply. “It’s nice to meet you, Po.”
-
He is at the beach every day. From dawn til dusk, whenever the urge seizes her, Sally knows that she can wander the sand and find him, sometimes swimming, sometimes fishing, sometimes staring out across the horizon with an otherworldly contemplation. She wonders what ancient conundrums haunt his mind, and how she can help him escape from such thoughts. They are beautiful together, and every moment with him is like a reprieve, or even a blessing.
Sally has suffered, and Po is her reward for her endurance.
Tonight, he is staring off into the distance again. He must’ve been swimming, as his torso still glistens wet from the sea and drips down. His body is carved from marble in the image of a Greek statue, both human and godly in one. She approaches with a soft touch to his shoulder.
“ Sally.”
He breathes her name like a release, his tension like the waves of the beach crashing into the sand and dissipating into nothing. Before she can say anything in response, Po is holding her chin and kissing her.
“I was hoping you’d come.” He admits.
She is honest. “I have nowhere else to go. I like it here with you, anyway.”
He wraps an arm around her. “I shouldn’t - I don’t normally do this, but I feel that you have a right to know. I haven’t been completely honest with you and I don’t feel right keeping it from you any longer.”
Dread coils itself in Sally’s stomach like a snake, poising to strike. He will shatter their beautiful illusion of eternity, he will confess something that will change them forever.
“I am Poseidon, God of the Sea.”
Sally is silent. She wants to laugh, but where is the humour when it almost seems that it could be true? What game is this, what is her role? Is she the player, or is he?
Po seems to sense her uncertainty. He flicks his wrist, a jet of water rising up from the sea before them and twisting itself into the image of a woman. It looks like another Greek statue, posed and sculpted into a thing of beauty, but a closer look reveals curls that resemble hers and she is acutely aware that its shape matches her own.
Sally’s boyfriend is a god, the god of the sea. She should feel more afraid, but the sensation is more of completion. A final puzzle piece has been slotted in, and now she understands Po to the fullest of her ability. He is a god, and she is his.
She kisses him to convey what words can’t.
-
The fling should end with summer’s death, but it doesn’t.
Sally takes a job at a local store, just to keep her head above water - so to speak. She stays in the cabin in Montauk, and Po is there as often as he can be, straddling the line between his urge to stay forever and his desire to keep her safe from the wrath of his Olympian family.
The beach grows cold, so Sally wears thicker layers and cuddles in close. Po shields her from harsher winds in his arms, lifts her up when the sea splashes too viciously against the rocks to ensure she doesn’t get wet. They run laughing with their hands entwined, hastening to the warmth of the cabin and the familiarity of the other’s touch.
They are well into autumn and the affair continues. Sally, a lonely woman with no one left alive to miss her, and Po, a lonely man with an eternity of heartache and infighting behind him. Their love is at once refreshing and doomed. It cannot last, no matter their mutual wish for it to be true. He will stare morosely at the ocean long after her death, she is sure.
Mid December arrives with icy sea air and the inability to visit the beach. She longs to, but even just watching the waves crash in and out endlessly onto the shore sends her stomach rolling. Next to Po’s smile, it is her favourite sight in the world and she must avoid it.
He is away for a short while on business, presumably managing his responsibilities undersea. With no other distraction, Sally is forced to confront the reality of her situation, to burst the blissful bubble she has lived in since the summer.
She is pregnant.
The world she lives in does not take kindly to black single mothers, and she knows more than most the dangers of raising a black son in America. Her son will face adversity from the moment he is born, the fruit of an affair that should have never been, otherwise fatherless, born to a mother of no prospects.
Sally is young and has lost everyone. In just a few short months, she will have a family again.
Po returns a couple of weeks later, his old self restored. He makes her laugh like no one ever has, and he enters the cabin ready to bring joy to the woman he has fallen in love with. Sally prepares to shatter his good mood, her small but burgeoning belly sure to ruin their perfect romance.
“You’re…”
He trails off. He cannot say it, for fear of punishment. But there is no fear in the eyes of the ocean. Po surpasses all expectations and lights up, his gaze sparkling like sunlight across the sea. He is joyful.
“I can’t raise the child with you, not here,” He tells her, regret hanging from every word, “But if you came with me, I could build you palaces underwater, I could make you immortal, I could be with you both until the end of time. Please, let me do this for you,” and Sally knows it is the end.
Her son may be half God, but more importantly than that, he is half human. She cannot accept his lavish palaces when she was never truly his, a soulmate at heart and a mistress by definition. Her son must be raised in humanity. Po’s devotion is touching, but she cannot let it cloud her judgement.
“Po,” She warns, and he crumples before her. “Please, just help me keep him safe.”
His expression turns grave. “He will never be safe, my love. As soon as they find out about him, they will hunt him down. They will see him as a threat.”
“I have to protect him.”
“Send him here.” Po produces a card, a New York address printed on the front, showing the location of a summer camp. “They will train him to defend himself, protect him from the dangers that wait for him. He straddles two worlds and he will fit in neither, but this is the best option.”
Sally’s bump is small but it is there, and she already loves her son too much to send him away minutes after his birth. She cannot do what Po requests - she will defy a God armed only with a mother’s love.
“How do I keep him safe in the meantime?” She begs for something, anything that will allow her to cling onto him for a little while longer.
Po falls to his knees, kisses her belly, and then stands to wrap his arms around her. He cradles her bump, and they are both aware that this is as close as he can get to holding their baby. Neither of them say it, the words too painful to voice.
“Mortality can mask godliness,” He explains, “But it will be extremely difficult. Our son will be powerful, his scent will be potent. He is the first of his kind in many years to be born.”
There is a glimmer of hope. “I can mask his scent, then?”
Po laughs gently, kissing her temple. “No, my love. You are as close to divinity as a mortal can be. Your clear sightedness may help, but it will not shield him.”
Their son will be in danger no matter what - at the mercy of America, at the mercy of the ancient Gods who forbade his very existence. He cannot change his skin as much as he cannot change his blood.
For her safety, Po visits less often. Drawing attention to her only endangers her family more, a truth she accepts with the knowledge that it was never going to last regardless. Every time he comes, he marvels at her size, kisses her senseless, and begs her to reconsider sending him to Camp Half-Blood.
Her mind is made up, she will not budge.
Still, they make advantage of what little time they have left. Po loves to stand behind her, affectionately kissing her neck and splaying his hands across her belly to connect with their baby. He kicks extra hard when his father is around, and Po chuckles merrily at every single one. He is enamoured with their child before he has even entered the world.
“Have you thought of any names?” Po asks her, a delicate look in his eyes. Time is fleeting and before long, he cannot visit her at all.
“I’ve done a little research,” She says mysteriously, grinning at his indignation and relenting. “I like Perseus?”
She had spent weeks poring over classic texts, textbooks and scouring libraries, searching far and wide for Greek heroes. Perseus had risen from a troublesome beginning and defied the odds, succeeding on his quest, marrying for love and living a relatively long life, a fate almost unknown to other demigods. Sally’s son will be a demigod, and if his life must emulate one of theirs, she hopes he has the happy ending that Perseus does.
She does not put any of these thoughts into words, but she does not need to; Po kisses her his approval, and her belly flutters from her baby’s movements. In this brief moment, they are a family, and they are in agreement.
-
Perseus Jackson is born at 2.39am on August 18th to an exhausted Sally Jackson, following a labour of 29 hours. He is a small bundle in her arms, with his father’s features and his mother’s colouring, black curls already warming his head, and he shrieks and shrieks to let the world know that he is here.
Percy is the most beautiful baby in the world. She wonders if, somewhere, her parents and uncle are proud of the newest addition to their tragic bloodline. He will defy the odds and live happily, and she will too. She will work to afford the apartment and she will cuddle away his nightmares and he will grow into a good man, like his father, even if he never knows it.
The night is long, and Sally is tired. Her baby boy falls asleep in his cot and she drifts shortly after, and when she wakes, though she is still alone with her new son, there is the smell of sea salt in the air.
Po is with them even when he cannot be.
-
As a toddler, his hands can strangle snakes that would otherwise end his life. He is strong, more so than a child usually should be. Sally notices that accidents follow him, that trouble is hot on his heels, and prays to any and every god that he will survive a world which is determined to do him in.
She moves him a lot. Part of her thinks he will be harder to trace if he moves from school to school, area to area. Another part of her knows that she can only protect him so much, and when seemingly impossible things happen to him, there are not a lot of schools that will keep on a troubled black kid. The only way to give him the best shot is to keep on going.
It’s almost as if she blinks and her boy is nine years old, still little and sweet-looking as the first time she held him. She has a little extra money and a little extra time, and so finally indulges her little boy’s request to get his hair done in twists, a green bead at the end of each one. He shakes his head in delight to hear the beads clack and his excited, gap-toothed grin makes up entirely for the stress of finding him a new school after the marine incident.
Over two weeks, he loses three teeth, and his smile is all gappy like when he was a baby. There is no tooth fairy, however, as Sally never knows when she might need those dollars. For example, in getting a new toaster after theirs started belching smoke and threatening to torch the entire apartment. Losing her deposit was not exactly an option.
She heads towards the first member of staff in the store, a short white guy with thinning hair, dark brown stubble, and a friendly face. He greets her with a smile, a rare treat for Sally these days.
“Hi, how can I help you?”
Sally smiles back gratefully. “I’m looking to get a new toaster, would you be able to help me?”
They talk a little as he leads her to them, all shapes, sizes and colours lining the shelves. He jokes about irritating customers and she laughs, knowing his struggle all too well. Admittedly, though, he makes better money than her, so it’s definitely more of an incentive to keep calm in front of the morons.
“My son, Percy, he loves these toaster waffles at the moment, he just can’t get enough of them. When our toaster started acting up I knew he’d be upset, so I wanted to do this for him before he finishes school today,” She tells him, caught up in conversation. “I’m Sally, by the way, Sally Jackson.”
The man directs her to the best appliances they have. “Gabriel. You can call me Gabe.”
Gabe suits him better; Gabriel is too fancy for a man like this. He’s nice, but after a few short months of Po’s charm all those years ago, no one can compare.
She winces as a price tag catches her eye. “Ah- I’m sorry, Gabe, I’m sure you’re supposed to upsell these things, but I have a really tight budget, if there’s anything reliable and inexpensive-”
He cuts her off with a gentle hand. “I can make an exception for a beautiful woman. Besides, I’m the store manager. Who’s going to yell at me, the teenage part timers?”
Sally laughs. Gabe is true to his word, helping her to locate a toaster that works for her family’s needs at a half decent cost. He even slips his number onto her receipt, promising to take her out to dinner, and assures her he’s more than okay for Percy to come along too. He pays for dinner like a true gentleman, helps them all into his car, and drives them home.
They kiss at the front door, Percy having run off inside to go play as soon as it had been unlocked. Gabe is not Po, but perhaps he will be good for them.
Five months later, she moves out of her small, one bedroom apartment into Gabe’s, who welcomes them with a takeout pizza and a movie. Percy is just excited to have his own room, and Sally feels like less of a terrible mother now that he’s a little better provided for. Besides - Gabe is mortal, well and truly. He will keep her son safe.
Nine months later, they are engaged. There’s no big wedding, no white dress, but Gabe tells her he can’t have her and her kid living in his home for free if they’re not even married. He knows Sally can’t provide for Percy on her own, he must know. She is reliant on him - she accepts the proposal. Percy needs a home.
Ten months later, she is not living in his home for free. Sally pays all of her wages into rent, and if he’s feeling generous, Gabe gives her a pitiful allowance for groceries and clothes.
Sometimes she is tired from working all day and caring for her son, and just wants to relax on the couch or sleep, not slaving in the kitchen to make a meal while her husband sloughs off work.
It is around this time he starts to hit her, his gentle hands a thing of the past. Sally does not feel radiant, or close to divinity. She has fallen victim to her family’s curse, another young tragedy. But Percy is safe and they have nowhere else to go, so Sally will tread lightly and obey her husband’s whims and do what she needs to do to survive, just as women like her always have.
-
She has never met him, but Percy’s friend Grover sends her a letter one day, out of the blue. They go to Yancy Academy together, and Percy talks highly of him. It’s crazy to think her son is twelve already.
Dear Ms Jackson,
My name is Grover Underwood - I go to school with your son Percy and I’m a protector from Camp Half Blood. We’ve sensed him as a demigod so we’ll be keeping our eyes on him to make sure he’s safe. Chiron wanted me to tell you that you may have to reconsider your choice, I don’t know what he meant by that so don’t shoot the messenger. Percy is in good hands though, don’t worry.
She worries regardless. This is his sixth school in six years, and Po’s words ring through her ears more and more often these days. He straddles two worlds and fits into neither of them. How long will it be before she has to accept that he needs to be sent away? How angry will he be when he finds out she’s lied about his father dying at sea?
Naturally, she meets Grover under the worst of circumstances. The storm is raging, not unlike the beast that trails them, and as she pours on the speed in Gabe’s Camaro she curses herself for being so selfish. This is Percy’s life she’s putting at risk, all because she wants to keep her boy close to home. A minotaur is chasing them, and it is going to kill her son and his best friend.
The rest is a blur. The car flips, the rain lashes down, raining blows like Gabe’s fists that irritate her hidden bruises, and she is hoisted into the air in the fist of a mythological beast. Then she is gone, and-
Gabe is looking at her and he is furious.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
His voice is dangerous; they are alone. He can do anything he likes to her without someone watching.
“Gabriel!” She tries, hoping her soft tone will sweeten his temper. “I don’t know what happened, I don’t-”
He sneers, like he can’t wait to tell her. “Your son is a fugitive, that’s what. He killed his mom, destroyed my car, blew up the Gateway Arch… He’s a terrorist. I’m sure the police will bring him to justice when they find the little asshole.”
It can’t be true, it can’t, but the TV recordings that Gabe so kindly shows her that it is, and her blood runs cold. She knows he’s not doing anything bad, she knows this is something to do with that god-forsaken camp, but the world doesn’t have her clear sight. This is a young black boy causing trouble and kids like him have been killed for less.
She is at once thrilled he’s alive after facing a minotaur and terrified that he will have to face the police or another, similar monster that will end him.
Gabe seems happy to write him off as a terrorist.
“I gotta return your fucking life insurance,” He grumbles, not at all pleased that his wife is alive and well. “You’re gonna have to get back to work, pronto. I want your missing rent and as much of this payout as possible back in my pocket, you got that?”
“Gabe-”
A slap to the face. “ You got that? ”
She does.
-
No twelve year old boy should have to do for their mothers what Percy wants to do.
His eyes are so big and brave, so bright and green like his father’s. He fills her in on his adventure and Sally realises that this strength is in his blood, and it’s not just from his father. He was born to do this, but she was not born to lie back and take this any longer. Her son is offering her a way out, but she cannot let him do it for her.
Her heart swells to watch him go, eager to return to this camp full of new friends in spite of all the questions left unanswered. It will be easier without him there anyway, she knows.
Medusa’s head sits in the fridge, covered up with a paper grocery bag. Sally knows Gabe is too lazy to ever get his own damn beers, and in all the years she’s known him he’s never cooked for himself, so she knows he won’t discover it by accident. All she has to do is time it right.
As it happens, her soon-to-be late husband is sitting at the table, idly shuffling cards and grunting to himself about all the money he’s missed out on. Sally goes to grab him a beer - one final treat, she supposes - and the smell of sea salt suddenly wafts past her.
It’s time.
The head is surprisingly heavy, but Sally wields it with determination. A plan has already formed in her mind, and if she’s lucky, she’ll end up with enough money to afford the deposit on a new apartment to forget the horrible memories encased in this one. This man has been abusing her for years - this man has been abusing her son .
He will regret it.
“Do you know any two player games?” Sally asks, sitting opposite Gabe with the head still covered, resting on her lap.
He scowls. “Don’t be an idiot. Can’t you see I’m trying to stack the deck?”
Because of course, he can’t even play a game honourably.
There’s no point in showmanship, Gabe hardly deserves it. She lifts the head onto the table and smiles sweetly at him.
“The fuck is that?”
Sally thinks of the sea; unrestrained, free. She will return home.
“Goodbye, Gabe.”
-
There’s enough money from her poker player sculpture to pay for the deposit on their new home, a semester at NYU, and a little extra for new clothes, new furniture and hell, maybe even a skateboard for Percy. She doesn’t like it, but she knows it’s probably the least dangerous thing he’ll end up doing over the years, so she may as well give in to this one.