Honey(64)
“Lu shared it,” her mother says, already leaning back in her chair. Yrsa returns to the original post to see that Cousin Lu shared the image alongside the comment, idiots!!!!!! Who could think that Sam Mack is the second coming of Christ??
“Pretty ironic.” Yrsa gets up and gives the phone back. Candice doesn’t say anything further.
“I’m getting more water. Do you want some?” Yrsa asks, already turning away.
Her mother keeps her eyes closed. “You need to tidy your room.”
“Sure.”
“And I think it would be good for you to cook two meals a week if you’re going to be here all summer.” Candice opens a button on her shirt to further expose her chest. “But no carbs, I want your father to lose some weight.”
Yrsa pushes her nail farther into her palm. “I’m not staying all summer, actually. I’m going to Greece.”
Her mother looks at her. “With who?”
“Uni friends.”
“When?”
“Week after next.”
She holds up her glass for her daughter to take. “Suit yourself.”
XII
The color is blue.
They’re under an olive tree trying to will back the breeze. She drinks Evian and he works out where they are. Over the hill the day swings low into the bay.
“What?”
“You’re just beautiful, is all.”
She turns her face.
* * *
The food is lit bright in the counter but she’s not allowed to order because— “What’s the best?”
“Spanakopita.”
“No, the best?”
“Moussaka.”
“No, the best.”
“Taramasalata!” The old woman bangs the glass.
Joyous.
* * *
The heat is chalk white.
She learns that Gaia (ɡ a ? ?) came from chaos. She gave birth to the sky, the sea, the mountains.
An American in front hasn’t rubbed in his sun cream and it sweats off his neck.
When Gaia had a son he overthrew his father, and the temple was made of concrete. The brightness is startling. They stand on ancient time.
* * *
“Why are there so many riot police?”
“The guidebook says the anarchists riot every Thursday.”
What’s more surprising—the anarchists rioting every Thursday or that he reads the guidebook.
* * *
They eat chips covered in feta and drink wine from tumblers. Tart grapes. The streets are filled with graffiti and they’ve been talking for hours. Today they only left the room at sunset, so now they have to make back time. Couples beside them play chess and, from an upstairs window, you can hear music.
“There are a lot of young people in this city.”
“I’ve been thinking of quitting my job,” he says.
“What would you do instead?”
“That’s the problem.”
* * *
They hire a car and drive to the sea.
* * *
The door is now
open
Wash with our
colors
the city’s eyes
* * *
The beach is edged in green trees. He falls asleep and the tide gets his book.
* * *
The door is—
“Why do they write poems on the buildings?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s odd.”
“Stop being a cynic.”
“I’m in Greece.”
* * *
They walk for hours. Monastiraki, Kolonaki, Koukaki, Metaxourgeio. In Exarcheia she lets him hold her hand.
* * *
“I think we’re lost. Did we bring enough water?”
“We’re not lost and yes, we brought enough water.”
“How do you know we’re not lost?”
“?’Cause look there, the arrow.”
“Right.”
He laughs. “It’s like you haven’t been on a hike before.”
She hasn’t really been on a hike before. “Can I have some more water then?”
He hands her the bottle. As she drinks, he rubs his face with sun cream. The water is warm.
“Here, this path’s more in the shade. God, it’s gorgeous.” He’s talking about the pines, sweet grass, and ricocheting sky.
She tells herself she’s having a nice time.
“Do you think the Spartans used to walk here?” he asks.
“I guess, yeah.”
He’s very into the Spartans. “You know they used to kill citizens by throwing them off big rocks.” He puts his hand to the stone as he speaks, chatting away as he does. He looks like a Boy Scout in his backpack and green shorts. “If you were going to kill someone, how would you do it?”