by C. J. Anaya
“That’s correct, Ms. Bellingham.” Ms. Mori wrote the name, Aphrodite, on the board in big flowing cursive.
“At last. A mythological being I can finally relate to,” Angie said in a relieved tone. I chuckled with the rest of the class.
“Isn’t Eros connected with Aphrodite?” asked another lowly freshman.
“I think you students will find these figures from mythology are all connected in some way. For example, Cupid is the Roman god of love, and his name comes from the Latin term cupido meaning desire. He was a winged creature capable of shooting arrows at people’s hearts in order to make them fall in love with whomever he wished.”
“Handy, that,” I whispered to Angie.
She scoffed. “As if you or I would ever need an arrow to make a guy fall in love with us.”
“I’d probably need a few,” I said under my breath.
“Eros, on the other hand was Cupid’s Greek counterpart. He was the Greek God of love, and his legend is pretty much identical to Cupid’s,” Ms. Mori continued.
“If Cupid means desire, what does Eros mean?” asked another student who seemed to know the answer from the lewd look on his face.
Ms. Mori leveled her own look at him and continued on as if she hadn’t heard his question. Ripples of laughter erupted throughout the class.
“The most well-known legend of Cupid and Eros involves a beautiful woman,” Ms. Mori began. “She was a mortal princess named Psyche. Psyche was so incredibly beautiful, men soon began worshipping her instead of the Goddess of love, which could be Venus or Aphrodite depending on whether we are talking about Eros or Cupid. You see how the stories and characters relate to one another?”
There were mumbles of agreement and a few nods as well.
“The Goddess of love and beauty was so jealous of Psyche, she instructed her son to make Psyche fall in love with the ugliest creature she could find, but when Eros tried to stick Psyche with his arrow he accidentally stuck himself, saw Psyche, and he fell in love with her. Soon they became lovers, but Eros forbade her to look upon him. He was afraid his mother would find out about the affair.”
“That is sooooo typical. Guys are always hiding me from their mothers,” Angie said to no one in particular.
“Wait, who is Eros again? I thought we were talking about Cupid!” said another freshman.
“Freshmen are such a disease!” Angie muttered as she picked at her fingernails.
“Cupid is Eros’ counterpart, remember?” I said to the bewildered freshman in the seat beside me.
He looked at me gratefully and sneaked a terrified look at Angie before sinking backward into his seat.
“As I was saying, Eros, or Cupid if you will, ended up leaving Psyche after she unmasked him. Psyche went searching for him, and the Goddess of love tried to destroy her by making her accomplish dangerous tasks in order to find her lost love. Eventually, Eros discovered what was going on and rescued Psyche from a sleep induced coma brought on by an item from the underworld.”
“Huh? When did she go to the underworld?” asked the same clueless freshman.
Angie sighed dramatically. “It was one of the tasks set forth by Venus you tiny worm.”
“Isn’t Venus supposed to be Cupid’s mother? I thought we were talking about Eros now.”
The look Angie gave the kid was close to apoplectic. “Are you still speaking?” she asked in disbelief.
I put my hand on his arm and eased him back in his seat where he was out of Angie’s line of vision. “I’ll give you my notes after class,” I said to the bewildered boy.
He again looked at me gratefully and avoided eye contact with my best friend.
I considered Angie as she daintily picked at her fingernails. She could be abrasive, but I’d learned a long time ago to cut her some slack. Though she looked put together on the surface, her sarcastic remarks and indifferent attitude hid years’ worth of repressed pain, anger, and sorrow. I didn’t understand where those volatile emotions came from, and Angie was never forthcoming during her dark periods when she called me in tears and begged me to come over and spend the night with her. I was the only one who could bring her out of it, and I was the only one who Angie willingly had physical contact with during those periods of time. Both of our parents had come to an understanding long ago. Whenever Angie got like that, I stayed at her place until things were better.
There were some days when she would come to school with gloves on. Her on-again, off-again germaphobic tendencies were par for the course. No one batted an eyelash at this bizarre behavior. Of course, anyone who did would be at the receiving end of Angie’s quick wit and sharp tongue. She was always the last to leave a class and the last to show up for class. She didn’t like the crowded halls and sweaty, unkempt bodies bumping into her so she generally waited for the halls to clear and the bell to ring.
Due to her special phobias, her tardiness was brushed aside.
I didn’t push her or prod for information anymore. She had helped me through some of my darkest times after I lost my mother, and I knew she had my back. I didn’t need to know more unless she wanted me to. When she attended my mother’s funeral, I was startled by the look of guilt on her face which so perfectly mirrored my own. She stared at my mother’s peaceful features and mumbled a comment about it being her fault because she never saw it coming. It made very little sense to me, but when I asked her about it she just gave me a fierce hug, told me she wouldn’t let me down again, and then seated herself on the front pew of the viewing room waiting for the services to start.
Our loyalty to one another was, without question, the very thing that kept us anchored to reality. She battled her demons while I battled mine, and we had this unspoken agreement to never talk about it.
I blinked a few times to clear my thoughts as the classroom discussion fought for my attention.
“Aphrodite was so impressed by the love that Psyche had for Eros, she made Psyche immortal, gave them her blessing, and Psyche and Eros lived happily ever after,” Ms. Mori finished.
“Really? I always thought these legends ended tragically,” I said before I could stop myself. I must have lost my senses with that trip down memory lane. I didn’t usually participate in class discussions.
“Well, Ms. Fairmont, some of them do. Do you have one in particular you would like to share with us?” The intense, almost probing look Ms. Mori gave me made me feel uncomfortable.
I wondered why I’d decided to participate at all. I couldn’t think of one single, tragic legend with everyone giving me such expectant looks.
“You said that the Roman and Greek gods and goddesses are counterparts to each other. Do other cultures have a god or goddess of love?” I asked hoping to turn the attention back to Ms. Mori.
She smiled at me as if she knew something I didn’t.
“Let’s talk about Freya, the Norse Goddess of love and beauty. She was so beautiful, in fact, that she had many suitors and an infinite amount of lovers even though the only man she truly loved was her husband Od.”
“That is odd,” said a senior football player.
The room once again erupted into laughter.
“She loved him so much, when he was transformed into a sea monster she stood by his side and comforted him instead of turning away from his hideous form. Are you guys beginning to see a theme or pattern here?”
“I’m still trying to figure out how Cupid ties in with sea monsters,” whispered the freshman seated next to me.
My smile grew. He was beginning to remind me of Kirby. Angie raised her hand to address the class. I wasn’t sure why she bothered. She usually just blurted everything out.
“Okay everyone, I think the theme we are discussing here is that love conquers all. Am I right? When you love and care about someone, you’ll go anywhere, do anything to find the person you’re supposed to be with, and once you have them you’ll fight to the death in order to keep them with you always.”
Whoa! I gave Angie a puzzled look, tryi
ng to figure out how such a serious answer had found its way out of her mouth.
“That’s exactly right, Ms. Bellingham,” Ms. Mori agreed, seeming a little taken aback by her outburst as well. But Angie wasn’t finished.
“I also think that love, if it’s true love, is totally blind. I mean, it’d have to be if you were willing to sleep with a sea monster. That Freya chick was in need of some serious Lasik surgery.”
And there it was.
The laughter seemed to fill up every available space in the room.
“What other culture has a god or goddess of love?” asked another student in the back.
“My culture does,” replied Ms. Mori.
“The Chinese?” asked my clueless freshman.
“Idiot,” Angie said to herself. “Any fool can see she’s Korean.”
“I’m actually Japanese, and in my culture the god that is pertinent to this particular conversation is Musubi-no-kami, the god of love and marriage.”
My head grew heavy at the mention of that particular deity’s name.
“Musubi was a god who delighted in bringing young lovers together and encouraging their happy union. Musubi’s legend occurs in the province of Mimasaka in a small kingdom called Kagami where a shrine and temple exist solely to pay homage to Musubi-no-kami. If there was ever anyone who wanted a blessing placed upon their marriage, it is said these people traveled to the temple and knelt before the shrine asking blessings and favors to be poured out upon them.”
“What did the shrine look like?” I asked. I felt this strange desire to know every detail. Ms. Mori’s eyes alighted on me with that same knowing look.
“The shrine was a Holy Cherry tree. If Musubi felt it was in a person’s best interest to pursue the one they pled for, then he’d appear out of thin air and hand them a single cherry blossom. This not only signified his blessing, but it also ensured that the person receiving the blossom would fall madly in love with the giver of the blossom.”
I felt my throat close up at the mention of cherry blossoms. They’d been my mother’s favorite. My father and I had accompanied my mother to every cherry blossom event known to man. At least that was how it’d felt to me. I hadn’t been to one single festival since my mother’s passing.
“One day, a beautiful maiden came to the Holy Cherry Tree because her father wanted her to find a husband. When she arrived, she saw a handsome man holding a cherry blossom. He disappeared quickly afterward without giving her the blossom in his hand.”
I felt pressure building in the back of my head. What in the world was wrong with me?
“The maiden went home and found out that her father had arranged a marriage for her, but she was unable to forget the young man she’d seen earlier. She later discovered the man whom she loved was no mortal, but a god. The god of love and marriage.”
The pressure escalated to a hammering crescendo. Sharp, needle-like pains shot from my jaw to the roof of my skull. I was certain my head would burst if I didn’t leave the room as soon as possible.
“Her betrothed found out she loved another and sought to fight him, not realizing it was a god he’d challenged. He attacked Musubi when he appeared at the Holy Cherry tree again. Musubi disappeared, and the priests of the temple were angry for her betrothed’s interference. The legend then goes on to say that the maiden refused to marry her father’s choice of husband and dedicated herself to a life of celibacy as a nun in the temple of Musubi-no-kami. At least, that’s what the text books say,” Ms. Mori finished.
Kind of cryptic.
“You mean, that’s not what really happened? Did Musubi love the maiden in return? Because if he didn’t and she became a nun for him then that’s totally messed up,” Angie replied as she pulled out a file and began hacking away at her manicured nails.
“What do you think really happened, Hope?” Ms. Mori asked.
I couldn’t respond. The pressure had come to a head, and all of a sudden I felt this popping movement like a bubble bursting within my cranium, and a bright, white light blinded me to everything else. I wasn’t in the classroom anymore, but in an entirely different place altogether.
The room I stood in was large and rectangular. It looked like some kind of receiving room, but was much more ancient in its structure. There were several different paintings strategically placed along the wooden walls. Each painting held different oriental looking men in light robes and topknot hairstyles. There were several ornate looking statues painted in shades of gold, green, and a sort of coppery color. I looked down at myself and saw folds of sea green silk encircling my body.
A middle-aged Asian man entered the room and walked over to me. His air of authority was unmistakable. Without understanding why, I immediately bent forward from the hip into a reverent bow and stayed like that until I was allowed to rise. He studied me, clearly displeased with what he saw. I didn’t recognize him, but my dislike for him was immediate and intense. He sniffed and then spoke to me in a language that should have been unfamiliar to me, yet I understood everything he said.
“You will meet him this evening, my child. Your engagement ceremony will bring joy and happiness to our people. Of this I am certain. I am proud of you, young daughter. Fulfill your duty and your destiny.”
He didn’t appear too proud. His look of disdain spoke volumes. All I managed to offer him was a blank stare.
What’s happening to me?
A loud voice broke into my confusion, pulling me backward and away from the man standing before me.
“Hope? Were you going to answer the question?”
I was immediately thrown from the oriental looking room back into my hard, uncomfortable chair. I had no idea what had just happened, but the term “losing it” didn’t even come close to how I felt at that very moment.
“What does it matter whether it happened exactly that way? Haven’t all of these legends been changed over the centuries anyway?” Angie said.
I glanced around the room trying to figure out if anyone had noticed my brief absence. My classmates’ faces exhibited a broad spectrum of expressions, ranging from slightly sleepy, bored, and comatose. It looked as if others had finally succumbed to unconsciousness. Relieved, I sunk into my seat, figuring I’d simply hallucinated again. Not that that particular alternative was any consolation.
“That’s true, Ms. Bellingham, but despite the different variations you may find in all of these myths and legends, there are similar patterns and themes connecting them all together. Don’t you think?”
“Well, in each situation there are gods of love who get people to love one another through different objects like arrows or cherry blossoms,” Angie replied. “What about Freya, though? Did she have something that made people fall in love with each other too?”
“Actually, there are some similarities there as well. Freya acquired a necklace that was made by four dwarves. This necklace was called the Brisingamen, and some have referred to the necklace as the necklace of desire. There isn’t much folklore that supports my own theory on what the necklace was capable of, but I’ve always suspected that it symbolized Freya’s abilities to bring young lovers together in much the same way that Cupid’s arrows and Musubi’s cherry blossoms did.”
“But it isn’t actually bringing people together. It’s forcing them to mindlessly love each other,” I said.
“Interesting, Ms. Fairmont. Please continue,” Ms. Mori said.
It really was weird how she kept waiting for me to have some kind of strange epiphany. She always tended to rub me the wrong way—nothing I could put my finger on—but today her intense scrutiny unsettled me.
“Well, Cupid is shooting arrows at people to make them fall in love with each other. He wasn’t even in love with Psyche until he was stupid enough to stick himself with his own arrow. And Musubi is playing with fate by handing out cherry blossoms to people who will then turn around and give them to the person they desire, forcing that person to fall in love with them. How is that love when it isn’t even y
our choice?”
“So you believe that love is a choice? Surely you’ve read books and watched movies where people fall in love with someone and wish they hadn’t, as if they could choose to stop simply because they wished it.” She looked like she didn’t agree with my opinion.
“I’m not talking about stopping once you’ve already started. I’m talking about not being forced to fall in love with someone in the first place. What if you love the wrong person? What if the person you are supposed to love isn’t the person you end up with all because some stupid, over-privileged god thinks he has the right to shoot you with an arrow and completely change your fate?” I was upset, but didn’t understand why. How weird to feel so passionate about something I’d never really considered before.
“Do you think you could actually be forced to love someone if those feelings weren’t already buried deep within you? I’ve always assumed that Cupid’s arrows and Musubi’s blossoms merely bring out the love that humans are afraid to confront and explore. They ensure a happy ending. If your destiny is your soul mate, why fight it?”
“All I’m saying is this: forcing someone to love anybody isn’t doing anyone any good.”
“So you think the arrows and cherry blossoms are actually symbols of blindness, stripping one’s ability to choose.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” I realized the class had become very quiet during the last few minutes.
“I think they symbolize second chances, personally,” someone said directly behind me.
At the sound of that new, distinct voice it felt as if time slowed to a halt. My insides ignited and my heart lurched within my chest, beating like it never had before, as if it had been dormant for a while, but had found a new reason to awaken. I slowly turned myself around and saw a pair of cold, calculating eyes looking at me with a surprising amount of familiarity. Not to mention an uncalled for amount of hostility. His eyes were ice blue, his hair was golden blond, and his demeanor…definitely chilly. His tanned skin deepened the color of his eyes and his square jaw jutted out proudly. He was an absolute Adonis.
In all honesty, I was having trouble looking away from him, but from the way my body reacted to him it was clear that I needed to. I was hyper-aware of the affect he had on my beating heart, and the smug, knowing look on his face made it obvious that he knew it and didn’t think it a big surprise.
