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She hasn’t thought about him in exactly seven hours and ten minutes, give or take a few seconds.
Sighing, Mary sets her mental clock back at zero.
Is it habit? Is that all? Has it just been so damn long of thinking the same thoughts about the same person – so long that it probably has nothing to do with him at all, anymore? It’s neurology: the brain creates pathways, connections. She’s crafted an addiction.
She rolls her eyes to herself and goes back to fixing her eyeliner. Doesn’t matter either way. Her new year’s resolution has been an utter failure: Chet Wakeman ceaselessly comes to mind. She has been patently unable to stop.
Her reflection glares back at her, and Mary tries to relax her forehead. She’s in a foul mood: her lab time is more a headache than ever. That idiot Patrick Brown’s always there, racing to uncover a more efficient genomic mismatch scanning technique before her. Today was particularly frustrating – thus the seven hours of relative mental freedom, actually. Nothing else occurs to her, not even Chet Wakeman, when she’s trying to win.
But now she’s home, away from Patrick’s condescending jabs and her supervisor’s ineffective advice. It’s Friday; like a normal grad student, she’s meeting Kristen for a drink at the Anchor. Though – she finishes her makeup and looks at her watch – she’s home early enough to catch the last bit of that Classics symposium Kris has been talking about all week. Something about Greek mythology.
Check the hair, one last time. Out the door. Normal grad student.
Except that she’s thinking of him; she can’t stop thinking of him. She remembers bedtime stories of Athena ripping open her father’s skull, Daedalus crafting wings, lying with her eyes wide open as he sat at the foot of the bed. Mythology was never her favourite; she preferred his dramatic recountings of the dark original fairy tales – but nonetheless, the stories have stayed.
“God,” she mutters to herself. “What was that, forty-five seconds?”
It’s going to be a long night.
“…so to what extent was Persephone active in her choice to remain?”
Mary hears the tail end of the question as she slips, quietly, into the auditorium. It’s surprisingly full, so she stands at the back, leaning her shoulder against a pillar. She spies Kristen near the front, sitting with a few other Literature students she’s met once or twice.
“Good question,” the woman at the podium is middle-aged, in flowing clothing and grey waves of hair. Mary squints to read the name on someone’s program – Dr. Elsa Caraway. Raising an eyebrow, she notes the title of the lecture: Going Underground. “There are multiple interpretations. Some scholars suggest she was pleased – even relieved – to return to her mother and bring spring to the upper world, but – ” and there’s a band of murmurs near the back; Dr. Caraway raises a hand authoritatively, and the sounds stop. A pin could drop in this room; Mary’s never seen this in her science lectures.
“But.” Dr. Caraway continues. “As we saw, Hermes discovered her as a happy queen. She had found her calling, as it were – she loved ruling and particularly loved doing so in the Underworld. In many sources she is referred to with gloomy epithets, even as she remains the goddess of spring – she belonged beneath. She was feared there, stronger there. Generally, it’s believed that Persephone was complicit in eating the pomegranate seeds, insofar as she was not forced, but chose. She wanted to stay. So to what extent was she active? Significantly, I would say. Yes?” Caraway moves smoothly to the next question, gesturing to an undergrad in dark lipstick.
“Why did she love the Underworld?”
“Hades,” Caraway responds instantly.
“Oh, sorry,” the undergrad blushes. Vaguely, Mary recalls that Hades was the true name of the Greek underworld.
“Oh – ” Caraway laughs. “No. Not trying to be pretentious. I simply mean: she loved Hades, the god, and so she loved his domain.”
Mary’s heart beats a bit too fast. Zero seconds. What’s the Hades and Persephone myth again? He was her uncle, wasn’t he? Fell in love with her, kidnapped her, asked her to be his queen, and then they ruled together. She may have been interested in springtime before, but it changed to greeting the dead once she realized his interests. Zero seconds.
“There aren’t many examples of healthy relationships in the pantheon,” Caraway continues, pressing her fingertips together. “Zeus was only one of many philanderers, male and female. Hades and Persephone stand apart from that, in many ways. Hades loved her, and so ensured his deal for her hand was honoured. In fact – ” Caraway pauses to take a sip of water. Mary realizes she’s holding her breath and forces herself to exhale. “There have been suggestions that Persephone was even complicit in the kidnapping.”
Another murmur from the crowd; Caraway lets this one go.
“Remember, after all: the myth is an allegory for the natural cycles of life. Persephone must grow up. She cannot remain with Demeter for eternity; her maidenhood is impermanent. Given what was to follow between the two, it is logically possible that Persephone and Hades desired each other from the start – and so found a way to be together.”
Zero seconds. Zero seconds. Constantly.
“But in any case, Persephone returned willingly each year, and excelled in her role as Hades’ queen. She had autonomy, but remained partially incomplete at all times – needing Demeter, needing Hades. Her old role, her new role. In both, she was a counterpart – but in the Underworld, she could be herself. And so she would go, each fall – sailing down the Styx again,” Caraway waves her hand, smiling. “Happy to return to the god she loved and the work on which she thrived.”
This is straight wishful thinking, Mary bites her lip, but it’s hitting a bit too close to home.
Because Hades wears a tie.
Hades went to Yale, walked these halls; took classes in biology. Could have cloned a three-headed guard dog but didn’t. He turned his gaze upwards, instead – started watching the stars. Not out of jealousy – Zeus could pretend he had all the control in the world. Hades just wanted to know what was up there, to understand how it worked.
Zeus’ daughter watched him.
Little Persephone, held back by jealous Demeter when Hades came for dinner, but with eyes wide and desperate to meet his. Talk to me, uncle: tell me about the underground. Tell me about the stars.
And he did. He told her everything.
And then he started watching back.
Or at least, Persephone thought he did. But she is so young, and he is the king of the Underworld, and she is surely mistaken.
Hades leaves, one day, without notice, without real explanation. The stars hold no more secrets, and California is full of riches. Persephone does not cry.
But she waits for him. Too young to claim him, but hoping that one day, he will claim her.
She is no queen of the Underworld – at least, not yet. But her blood calls out his name.
“Mare!” Kristen’s voice cuts in, and Mary jolts aware. People are filing out around her – the lecture is over, and Kris is beside her with another girl, buttoning her coat. “Hey, you made it. Didya like?”
Mary smiles a hello to the other girl (Sarah? Sandy? something), who returns it. “I only caught the end. You two?”
Kristen nods emphatically. “Caraway’s amazing. She sticks up such a huge middle finger at all the pretentious assholes in Classics; I love it. Holy shit, were you here when she cut down that jerk from my Nationalism seminar?!” Kristen complains about most people in her classes – the ‘Yale type,’ she calls them – but this one is Kristen’s equivalent of Patrick Brown, so he’s of particular vicarious interest. Mary shakes her head. “Ohhh man. It was golden. I’ll tell you later. Ready to go?”
“Ready,” Mary smiles again, her stomach still in knots. Sandy and Kris start chatting excitedly about representations of Orpheus in Russian literature, and Mary steals a glance back at the podium. Elsa Caraway is surrounded by various admirers, looking centered and cheerful, completely unaware that Persephone is just steps away.
It ends up being a good night; a long one. Sandy, whose name is actually Sandrine, falls in the arms of some cute piece before last call. Mary drinks too much too quickly, but stops altogether when someone tries to pick her up. She’s finished with that. Instead, she and Kristen whine about their supervisors, laugh at the undergrads with fake IDs, compare high school stories.
And then it’s 1:30 in the morning and they’re outside, coats open, Kristen smoking a joint. “You want?”
Mary shakes her head, the last of her wine metabolizing. “Enjoy. I have to get back to the lab tomorrow.”
“Brown still riding your ass?” Kristen makes a sympathetic face, but there’s a glint in her eye.
“Patrick Brown remains infuriating, yes,” Mary rolls her eyes, a corner of her lips raised. “And don’t even start: I don’t want to sleep with him.”
Kristen laughs, taking a drag from the joint. “I said nothing. You sure?”
“Yes.” Mary says sharply.
“You’re not into anyone these days, are you? Not since Martin. Hey – you’re not carrying a torch, are you?! Not for that dick?”
Mary rolls her eyes again – no smile this time. “No, Kris. That was a serious error in judgment, and not one which I’ll be repeating anytime soon. I’m just…focusing on getting out of here.”
“Right,” Kristen raises an eyebrow. “All work and no play, though.”
“Hey, I’m here now, aren’t I?” Mary tilts her head, playfully pushing Kristen’s shoulder.
Kristen shows her palms in agreement. “Alright. No dudes. I got it.” But Mary can feel her eyes cloud and her expression turn, goddammit that alcohol isn’t gone yet, and Kristen is nothing if not perceptive, and she catches it. “Wait, wait – who?”
Mary looks at her plainly.
‘And so she loved his domain.’ She is at Yale, walking his hallways, taking the same classes, drinking at the same bars. If he offered her a pomegranate she would eat every last seed.
Kristen waits expectantly.
Mary suddenly feels exhausted. There’s no point to this. If Hades was coming to get her, he should have come years ago.
“It’s a story for another night,” Mary shrugs. “I’ll tell you. Just not now.”
Kristen knows when not to push, so she just nods and takes a last toke, crushing the roach under her boot. “I’ll hold you to that. Wanna hit the road?”
“Sure.”
They start walking, conversation shifting to silence. The air is warmer than it’s been for months. Spring is coming.
She must miss Hades already.