Son of Peleus
The only good thing about fame is dreaming about having it. Having it is nothing. They give you this choice when you’re too young and stupid to know what it means.
Yes, this place is beautiful. Peaceful. If you can really call something beautiful that you see every day. Or peaceful if you can no longer feel what not-peaceful was. The olive groves, the sea, and over there the river, which is not nearly as gloomy as people believe, at least not in these environs. It’s just a river, and rather picturesque. What’s gloomy is not being able to re-cross it. Believe me, I would rather be a slave than free to sit here noodling on this lyre and looking out this window forever.
Famous. Yippee.
What does that actually mean? It means forget about what you are, whatever that is, you are now what a few billion people, who have maybe seen somebody’s idea of what you looked like on a vase, need you to be. They all want your soul, and they want it for nothing. That’s right—nothing—that’s what you get.
Yes, I got help. Mama, of course. These days she drops by occasionally, but there are issues. She’s always into some new drama, and to be blunt, she’s moved on. I mean, we’re good, but the truth is I was always a little too human for her. Speaking of all too human, I don’t see a lot of Dad either. I mean, the man has some baggage of his own. I think he hangs out with Jason a lot, and I guess Mama checks on him from time to time, but she tells me nothing and I don’t ask.
The truth is, I owe it all to Chiron. More than anybody else he made me the person I am. He knew everything. Everything he said was brilliant—and I didn’t need to remember it, it all became a part of me. Of course the fighting, but also the healing, the music, the vision. He was kind and noble. Terrifyingly strong. What a creature. Those were the best years of my life. I was a force of nature, and I myself had no control over it. He made no attempt to govern it either—he just let me become who I was. He was strong—but you don’t need to prove it if you always seem to know something funny.
If you ask me, being told your son would out-do you would be an honor. I mean—right?Hearing that about Neo would have made my day. My life. But that’s not how they thought. I can honestly say, sitting here enjoying the view, making these little melodies in the air, that being a half god is a total bore.
You’re strong, people think, you’re swift-footed, you’re so bad-ass when you get worked up you can clog a river with corpses. And don’t forget drop-dead pretty. Look at these wavy tresses—I still turn heads. Or I should say, would turn heads if much of anything turned heads around here.
An afterlife crisis—who knew?
Nobody cares if I wear what I like. I was never afraid of being in touch with my inner woman. I mean, it did save my life. Plus, when you’re all dolled up, you get in the locker room, so to speak, which has its advantages. And at least one really good surprise. And it was fun. And it’s fun now when I’m in that mood. Nobody says a word. Who would dare? Well, I say that. All the same, I’m a knockout in a peplos, as you know.
Yes, Pat is here. Great-hearted as ever. But honestly I don’t see that much of him. He’s more sociable than I am, but lucky for him, not as famous. In fact, he wouldn’t be famous at all if not for me—and that goes for a lot of other people too. Not that you get anything for that either. I see him sometimes down by the shore with his friends. I think I can still feel something like anger. If one of those immortal gallants were to touch him . . . I feel something, but like all the old lusts it just dissipates in the peaceful haze. They say the real gods get to keep enjoying their lusts. Over and over. I mean, look at Mama. But how many times can you experience the same thing and still feel it? What good is something you’re not hungry for?
Sure, it’s pleasant here. But maybe not exactly pleasant so much as a feeling like something hasn’t worn off yet. You have to work to feel the beauty and you get—I won’t say tired, because you’re never really tired here—which happens to be one of the things I miss most. Bone-tired after a strenuous day, when sleep is the sweetest thing you can imagine, like death. I’m just saying, sometimes you don’t feel like putting your energy into it, and believe me this place has all kinds of ways to monopolize your energy, if you let it.
I think of a long obscure life filled with hobbies and love and a welcome peaceful death.
The blessing and curse are one: the stupid but glorious youth who refused that.
February 5, 2022