“Shopping with me this weekend,” she says with a gleam in her eye.
“Uh, I’m not sure about that,” I say hesitantly. “I don’t have any money except the tiny amount that Janus gives me whenever he feels like it.”
Vani quirks her eyebrow at me as if confused. Ms. Petraki’s squeaky voice takes over with the day’s lesson. “Let’s talk about it later,” I say. I can tell Vani has no concept of what it’s like to not have endless funds available for shopping whenever she wants.
“You at least need a decent dress for the dance!”
“Oh, I’m not going,” I whisper. I can’t even begin to verbalize the reasons why not. Let’s see…my dead mom is alive, and I need to find her. Oh, and as if that weren’t enough, no one has asked me to go to the dance. And since it’s only a week away, I’m sure it’s not going to happen now. It’s too late.
Vani forms a W with her fingers and mouths the word whatever.
The class is discussing ancient Greek mythology. Ms. Petraki draws a flowchart on the dry erase board that defines the twelve key Greek gods and goddesses and their relationships: first Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, and then the other eight – Hera, Athena, Artemis, Apollo, Hermes, Hestia, Demeter, Aphrodite, and Ares.
Suddenly, something distracts Ms. Petraki, which causes her to stop short. She looks down in confusion at something on her laptop. Eyes wide, she rushes over to turn on a large computer monitor on the wall. As she flips it on, the screen blares with breaking news:
A group of mountain climbers have accidentally discovered the ruins of what looks like an ancient archway in a cave on a plateau near the summit of Mytikas Peak on Greece’s highest mountain, Mount Olympus. This is an incredible archaeological discovery for historians. Initial estimations place its construction around the second millennium BCE.
My heart stops. This “ruin” looks almost identical to the Gate on Gaea…my Gate. The hieroglyphs, or more likely logograms, etched into the top of this Gate appear to be in some unknown ancient writing system, presumably some precursor to ancient Greek. Maybe like Linear A? If so, this is exciting. Some argue that deciphering Linear A holds the answers to the origins of early civilization.
Ms. Petraki freezes the screen to pause on a picture of the Gate with the logograms displayed clearly. Giddy with excitement, she turns to the class, still looking down at her laptop from time to time as she reads the news to us. “Experts from all over the world are gathering together in an effort to understand this incredible discovery. They are calling this treasure the Olympus Arch.”
I glance down at the mythology workbook on my desk. When I look up again, I gasp in surprise. What appeared as ancient logograms just a moment ago now become visible to me as words: Only one of the lumite may pass.
I must have said it out loud because Ms. Petraki responds, “I’m sorry, but Helene, what did you just say?”
All eyes are suddenly on me as I’m singled out in front of the class. I croak, “I think it says, ‘Only one of the lumite may pass.’”
The whole class stares at me like I am a complete idiot. Ms. Petraki laughs and says, “So you can read unknown ancient words, then? Nice try.”
But there’s more. On both sides of the arch, I can now clearly see twelve symbols, six on each side. I recognize them immediately. These are the same symbols that were etched into the tree branch on Gaea.
As the teacher continues the lecture, she asks us to open our workbooks to page fifteen, so I do. There, right beneath my eyes, one of the symbols appears…the hearth.
This is the sign of the goddess Hestia!
Excited at this revelation, I eagerly flip through the workbook. Page after page show another god or goddess and the symbols that typically represent them in mythology. A lightning bolt for Zeus. An owl for Athena. A dove for Aphrodite. A bow and arrow for Artemis. A lyre for Apollo. A hearth for Hestia. A trident for Poseidon. A sword for Ares. A hammer for Hephaestus. A winged shoe for Hermes. A peacock feather for Hera. A grain cob for Demeter. A helm for Hades.
The gods and goddesses of Olympus!
Something is strange about this. I can’t quite figure out why. My thoughts shift back to the image of the tree branch sitting in my arms and the eerie glowing of my mother’s cypress tree necklace. Why would it glow? Maybe I was imagining it.
The bell rings and class is over, but the teacher asks me to stay behind. She’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “Helene, what is lumite?”
“Um…” I start to tell her that it is a mineral that is mined on another planet called Gaea, but then I realize that Ms. Petraki might think that I’m insane. No one knows about Gaea here, so I quickly backtrack. “I mean, never mind. I just made it up.”
Ms. Petraki’s face drops in frustration. She must have wanted to know. Maybe she had heard of it somewhere before. Then she says something interesting. “I’ve been to that cave on that plateau before and have never seen anything like this there. Many people have been there. I wonder how those climbers suddenly ‘discovered’ it? Very odd.”
PART II: Synchronicity
“Every heart sings a song, incomplete,
until another heart whispers back.”
–Plato
Old Olympus designed by Nasia Kalokerinou of Kinari Design (www.kinaridesign.com)
20 – Ballerina
The startling discovery at Mount Olympus leads to more questions. If the gods from our myths are in fact real people and their symbols are carved into the stone of this Olympus Arch gateway, is it possible that this is how they came to Earth thousands of years ago? If so, then one very important question remains:
If, as Xonos and Serina said, the gods are not immortal, how are they still alive on Gaea after so much time has passed?
I don’t get it.
My mind spins. I look down at my watch: time for lunch and siesta. I make my way to the cafeteria. The gymnasium is completely dark. It looks like the yoga studio is not in use. A perfect time to dance. The sudden urge to move once again comes over me. I haven’t been in here since the last time I danced, when I injured myself and Ever came to my rescue. Was that just last week? It feels as if months have gone by since I first arrived here in Athens and started school.
Someone flips the lights on and a group of boys charge inside. Looks like basketball practice. The noise level rises in the gym as the boys pass the ball back and forth and then start running laps around the perimeter. Disappointment hits me hard. There’s no way I can dance in here with all these boys watching.
I look down at my leg that I injured and study it carefully. Slowly, I gingerly step down onto it. I feel nothing…no twinge…no dull ache. I run my finger across the place where my old scar resides but then quickly pull my hand back when I realize that there’s nothing there. My scar is gone. God, this is exciting! My body tingles in anticipation. My need to dance is so overwhelming now that I no longer care who is watching me. Nothing can stop me.
Nothing, that is, until I see Ever Sarantos saunter into the gym. What is he doing here?
I feel the heat rise inside as my frustration grows. Why does he have to show up every time I want to dance? The coach marches over to him, clearly upset, probably because he’s late to practice.
As I close the door to the yoga studio and look out to the gym through the windows, I see Ever gaze in my direction. His eyes light up when he notices me, a huge smile crossing his face. He must know that I’m in here to dance because he nods in encouragement before turning back to his practice.
Standing at half court, he effortlessly shoots the ball with one hand. The ball travels through the air in a high arc, then swoosh…it travels swiftly through the basket and down to the floor. He turns my way with
a satisfied grin, then winks at me, like he was showing off and wanted me to see how amazing he is. Everything always seems so effortless for him.
But then he points to the empty studio and holds his arms up like he’s trying to be a ballerina, then nods as if this is his way of letting me know that he’s on my side. He wants to see me try again…to dance.
This is all the encouragement I need. No longer do I feel fear, pain, or anxiety about anyone watching. It’s time to fly high and free as a bird, to soar through the boundaries that constrained me before, to dance again…for real this time.
Humming softly, I scan my iPod song list. Some unseen force moves me to stop at one of my favorite ballets ever – Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet. I dim the lights so all I can see is my silhouette in the full-length mirrors that grace all four walls of the room. Delight etches my face when I see the bouncy wooden floor beneath my feet. I strip off my oversized flower shirt down to my camisole and leggings, plug in my iPod into the overhead sound system, and hit play.
The deep sound of the viola fills the room, then the strings of the violin begin with a slow, soft vibrato that awakens something inside of me, an inner energy deep down in my core. I reach for the barre on the wall and find myself startled by my image – long, lean legs, thin waist and torso, strong wiry arms. My body is no longer that of a ballet dancer since I have curves now. I feel so strong and alive, vibrant and beautiful. At long last, I’m comfortable with the girl who stares back at me in the mirror.
The high arch of my foot extends to a perfect point down to the end of my toes. I sweep my leg back up into a graceful attitude, and using my hand to hold my leg up, I extend it out into a perfect split with my back arched. This is shocking, as I am more limber now than ever before, even when I danced several hours every day.
Absolutely amazing.
I lift and extend my leg out in front of my body and lay it flat up on the barre, and as I gracefully stretch my body down over it, my back flattens to lie completely on top of my raised leg. The bold sound of the clarinets begins, which is my cue that it’s time to let go…to live in the moment…to dance the famous balcony scene that I know so well in my heart.
The first beats of the flute call out, and I’m transported back in time. I envision myself back on stage at the War Memorial for the San Francisco Ballet Student Showcase.
I’m up on a balcony staring out at an empty stage, visualizing my long, sheer skirt billowing in an artificial breeze. My hand cups my cheek as I gaze into the blackness of a fairy-tale night…and that’s when I see him, my imagined Romeo. As he sweeps into my view, and I will myself to become Juliet.
My world shifts to one where I absolutely adore him. I’m consumed with utter and desperate love, the kind that I would die for. As the music pulses, my breath hitches in my chest when I see my Romeo run to me. Giddiness fills my whole being as I run to him. And he sweeps me away into the most incredible dance of my life. He spins me towards him, and I feel the softness of his face warm against my cheek as we waltz together in effortless grace.
As I arch my back and swing my leg up behind me into a dramatic arabesque, I imagine him lifting me high overhead, swinging me down into a graceful arc, ending on my toes. My body moves effortlessly as I wrap my arms around my imaginary Romeo. Only he’s no longer imaginary.
In the low light of the yoga room, I see the dark silhouette of a beautiful man standing in front of me…
Ever.
I’m so swept up in the moment, in the fantasy of this dance, that Ever becomes Romeo for me. In the splendor of the dance, I completely give myself to him, and in this moment, I feel so alive. As the music draws to its end, I feel the perfect center of gravity when I turn in a pirouette once…twice…three…and four times, ending in a gorgeous arch of my body in magical alignment with his.
My real-life Romeo silently pulls me up. Moving slowly behind me, his hands encircle my waist as he draws me in close against his muscular frame.
Oh my. His breath is hot on my neck just under my ear, sending shivers up and down my neck and spine. “That was amazing,” he whispers. “You’re amazing.”
I’m still partially lost in the fantasy of the dance, but a real tear streams down my face. I begin to cry for real. I imagine Romeo in the story leaving me now. As I feel him start to pull away, my body screams, Don’t leave me!
The music ends. I collapse on the floor, panting and sweating in elation as I envision the applause from my imaginary audience.
A sound startles me. As I slowly come out of my trance, I look over and see Ever standing there, concern filling his sea-green eyes. He’s worried about me.
I sniffle and wipe the tears from my eyes. I’m sure I look like a mess.
“Are…you okay?” he asks hesitantly. His smile is warm but slightly worried.
“Yes, of course!” I stammer, struggling to catch my breath. “I’m fine.”
“Okay, good.” His eyes are wide as if he’s perplexed, thinking about something. He walks over to the other side of the room and comes back a moment later with a tissue. “Here.”
After I wipe my tears away, Ever extends his hand to help me up.
“How did you get in here? You were playing basketball,” I whisper. I feel so totally exposed, as if he just read my diary and now knows all my innermost secrets, my walls torn down in one fell swoop.
Totally unacceptable.
“Are you upset?” he asks. “You look angry.”
“When I dance, I let my imagination take over, as if I’m not really here in this room. It’s like a fantasy for me. Your being here was …unexpected.”
In front of us, the entire gymnasium is illuminated through a long row of windows. The scene before us sharpens into pristine focus when I notice that the entire basketball team is cheering with applause at us, whooping and hollering. Some are laughing.
I turn about five shades of red.
“See? They enjoyed your performance,” Ever says with a smirk, pulling me up to my feet. “Time to own it. Take a bow.”
Still blushing, I only slightly acknowledge this is happening with a little wave to the crowd. I hear the loud ruckus of the boys’ stomping feet on the indoor bleachers. While I’m annoyed, part of me is pleased that they liked my performance.
Ever grins, clearly happy as we walk out together through the throng of rowdy basketball players, past his coach, who stands glowering at us with his arms crossed. “Sarantos, I need you back here ASAP!”
“Five minutes!” Ever scoffs indignantly.
The coach shakes his head. “I’m watching the clock.”
As we walk out into the hallway, I pull my sheer flowery shirt back on over my head. Ever turns on the charm as he smiles sweetly at me. He seems a little too confident, as if he’s up to something.
“So…you’re going to the spring dance with me, right?”
Wait…what did he just say? I halt in the middle of the hall. The corridor is bustling with kids coming and going to their classes.
The dance, with him?
I should be ecstatic, but instead I’m confused. The nonchalant way that he asked the question was so presumptive. He must think that he’s my Romeo in real life now, that I’m going to fawn over him like all the other girls. He thinks he knows all about me, who I am, but he has no idea.
“Dance? I don't recall you asking me to go.”
“Well, I am now.”
Backing up, I shake my head. “You really are something, you know that?”
He smirks. “You didn't say no.”
“Definitely no!” I say in a mocking tone, shaking my head. We turn and walk outside onto the grass and into the bright, sunny aftern
oon.
I hear Ever say, “Great! See you there next Saturday at eight, just after the band gets warmed up.”
I pretend not to hear him as I walk straight ahead and across the circle driveway in front of the school. How could he not hear me say no just now?
Shouldn’t it have felt more special when he asked me to the dance? It’s as if he expects me to meet him there. This is a formal dance. He should pick me up at my house. I start to ruminate about this. Perhaps he’s just asking me to go as his friend. That’s how it seems. I bet he would pick up Samantha in a Rolls Royce.
I’m overcome with disappointment. I don’t want to go as his friend! Despite the long trail of girls who follow him everywhere, I can’t shake the feeling that he’s special to me, maybe meant to be something more, especially after he became the Romeo to my Juliet just now in the studio. Not “just friends”!
Besides, I’m frustrated that I’ve made very little progress in my search for Mom. Why not?! I came to Greece to find her, and for what? I feel like I’ve been spinning my wheels, getting nowhere. Too many distractions. That settles it. I’m not going to the dance. No matter what.
A big shiny black Mercedes squeals to a halt next to us. Alarm fills me for a second, but when the driver’s window inches down, I hear a familiar voice call out, “Ever! We need to go now. There’s an urgent matter with your mother.”
I instantly know that voice, that smooth Greek-English accent. It’s the driver who saved me at the airport when I first arrived in Athens, my first friend in Greece, and now my science teacher. Dimitris.
“Mr. Paxinos?” I say, not able to help myself. “Shouldn’t you be in class? Working? Science is my next class.”
Dimitris turns to look at me, but he’s clearly in a hurry, so he responds in a cool, clipped, professional tone. “I am working. There’s no time to explain now, but I’m not teaching here anymore. I work exclusively for the Sarantos family now.”
Protogenesis: Before the Beginning Page 19
