Hestia

It could have been you so easily.

Your older sister has always been afraid of small stuff: hair clotting the drain, little beetles
that crawl through open windows, nightmares that could only scare children. You were
always the brave one, plucking the hair out and throwing it away, keeping your bedroom
door open for when she woke up terrified and sweaty.
Shed shriek, jumping on top of her bed, and you would carry a pillbug outside to spare
her nerves.
But in the end, when it comes down to it, she always was smarter.
Shes twelve when she figures her life out, and by the time six years go by youre only
fifteen and still -- still -- lost.
Fifteen-years-old, and you decide its time to start closing your door at night.
I.
A friend. Or at least, an almost friend. You share middle and high school years together,
so it has to count for something. You two were known for missing class together, except
not together-together. There was never a day when youd meet up and bond over a lazy
day. Rather, it was more of just a text at seven AM, asking if she was skipping, too.
Shed respond with a kissy-face, and thats all the reason you needed to roll over and go
back to sleep.
But its tenth grade when you slide beside her in homeroom. She wears eyeliner that
glitters and her hair smells like mousse. Her lips curve, smiling slyly.
Are you -- you ask.
Her eyes are glassy and voice light when she giggles. Tripping balls.
The next time you ask if shes staying home, she says yes.
(I cant even feel my legs, I took some fucked up shit. Come with next time?)
(sure.)
II.
You never go with her.
III.

The thing about being an absent god is that you forget what youre supposed to do. Who
are you? Whats the point of all of this? Where are your believers?
It scares you. Scares you the same way your sister is afraid of black bugs on the wall.
Shes a daughter of Apollo, god of healing and light.
Im going to be in Cleveland all summer, working as a nurse. Dont tell dad yet, she says,
and she smiles.
You wanted to be a daughter of Apollo, too. You thought youd be decent at it, thought
that you could write and play music and be all the good things he is.
But thats not right. There are more things youre not than what you are, so it leaves you
jagged and too barbed to fit.
The Almost-Friend, shes Dionysus child. She loves the pull of madness and ecstasy.
Shes so brave, so foolishly brave. She chooses something she knows she might not
come out of, and you stay on the sidelines, like the coward you are.
IV.
You curve around her, hugging her with one arm. How are you?
Im great, my hoe. Whatd you think? The Almost-Friend throws her head back and
laughs.
You smile wider. No, but really.
She purses glossy lips, lidding her eyes and casting them around the street. Theres no
one, no activity within a neighborhood this suburban, deep in the woods. She doesnt
realize how careful she can be when shes letting herself be wild.
Im fucked up, she admits, laughing, because she always laughs. I need to slow down,
but yknow.
You lean against your car, standing in the cold with flushed cheeks. Youre never going
to be the person to pick her up when shes too wasted to get home, nor are you going to
bandage her hands when she punches mirrors in a fit.
The last time you two spoke face-to-face you were still in high school.
But you are almost always the one she calls, high and wasted and too gone to
remember the exact conversation in the morning. Youve both been reciting the same
things for years.

So you jangle your car keys, tilting your head and laughing along. Come for a drive, Ill
buy you Sheetz.
She blows you a kiss, turning back to the house. Theres lights on, voices carrying
across the yard. Something that sounds like beer bottles clinking together.
The Almost-Friend asks, apologetic, Next time?
Sure, you say. Sure.
V.
The Apollo sibling was always closer to your age, easier to speak with, but shes so far
away at the same time. Your other sister, the eldest one, was distant, too. Except her
distance was due to an age gap rather than personality.
Where Apollo claimed the middle child of your family, Hephaestus should have taken the
eldest.
See, she loves mechanics. When she slept through lessons on Napoleon she ended up
with summer classes, and instead of thinking of college she thought of trade school. She
worked at an autoshop, could figure out cars and tires easier than a history book.
The parents worried about jobs and schooling and where she was going..
Except, the thing was, you understood her better than anyone else. She was like you,
scared of things that couldnt be solved with open doors and fly-swatters. She was
blinded by the Apollo child, and so she tried to be something she couldnt like.
She disappeared into an university, studied fixing bodies and treating illnesses.
(It would take her six years to figure things out. Six years and she leaves the medicine
for cars again. She loses the circles under her eyes, starts paying debts, finds another
footing to try again with.
Six years and youre eighteen, wondering why you dont have a god yet).
VI.
Theres a boy, somewhere in the United States, practicing military drills. He has dimples,
short-cropped hair. A sharp jaw but soft smile.
Back in high school, hed walk with you to lunch, and all you remember was sharing dirty
secrets and crude jokes. Youd make him laugh, and his eyes used to crinkle at the
sides.

Somewhere, in the United States, theres a boy -- Athena or Ares child, youre not sure
-- and hes the first person to steal a bottle of Scotch for you.
You dont know if youll ever remember his name.
VII.
The thing is, though, while the ancient world was screaming about gods and glory, they
forgot the people who werent made of gold or power. They forgot about the people with
ribs of clay and hearts of mud.
Apollo causes women to turn into flowers, brings plagues and spites prophets who dont
please him. He loves men and women and his sister, loves them selfishly. Burns all to
ashes with his light.
(Remember when I used to have nightmares? Apollos daughter says. And I would crawl
into bed with you?
You roll your eyes. When you took all the blankets and shoved me aside, you mean.
She nods, tossing blonde hair to the side. I miss that sometimes.)
Hephaestus was cast down from the heavens, but drug himself up, crippling injuries and
all. Now he takes what he wants to create, because he had things -- important things -taken from him.
(Honestly? We cant all know what were doing. I wasted thousands on a degree where I
cleaned up poop all day, your eldest sister reminds you. Better to wait forever before you
make any shitty decisions. Literally.)
And you remember, as the Almost-Friend rubs at her eyeliner and wipes tears away, that
Dionysus was human before he was a god.
VIII.
Youre a lot like Persephone, you tell a friend.
You know she wont know what you mean, and you should really drop the Greek gods
shindig. They were fucked up assholes, if youre understanding right.
Plus, youve got stuff to deal with. Some days your head is an alcove, arching and
hollowing you inside out. Some days youre bursting at the seams, reading to unravel at
any moment. Its all unreal and unbelievable, but, haha, what do you know? So are the
Greek gods.
Only thing, though, is that seeing the world through legends and tales is worth it.

Cause youre a forgotten god, with a sacred fire burning along your clay ribs and mud
heart, and against everyones better judgment, you still believe.