A Girl Named Hera

Hera was born at night. The moon was new and her mother was alone save the nurse who said the doctor would be there soon. Her mother knew the doctor wasn’t going to make it. Her mother knew that the family wouldn’t make it. Her mother knew that Hera herself was barely going to make it into this world. Hera was born with a head full of curls matted across her forehead and an ear piercing scream. It was foretold and it was done.

Olympia arrived in time to hold her newly born granddaughter in one hand and her fading daughter’s hand in the other. Olympia arrived in time to kiss her pale daughter’s forehead and dictate a name her granddaughter would wear into the world. Olympia arrived in time to tell off the doctor on call for not arriving sooner and to tell them they couldn’t have done anything anyway. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera was a relatively happy child. She enjoyed the night over the day, reading over the sound of the whir-click of the television, and braiding her grandmother and cousins hair while stories were told. The little corner of the world that grandmother called her own, called her family’s, was lush and perfect for children. Her many cousins taught her how to be a child. It was foretold and it was done.

She understood the fact that her mother had passed on, that her father was missing, or gone, or forgotten. She was able to continue onward because the house of her grandmother was so rarely quiet, never empty. The absence of quiet made time outside a blessing and a curse. The breezes and trees conspired to gift Hera time and breath. But the stream and frogs often shared more than she could handle. It was foretold and it was done.

The house was large, or it seemed to be. The grounds vast, or they appeared as such. The world and the family of the estate was unsure of itself, ever changing. Ever growing, or so it would look. To young Hera, the land held magic. The house sang, the river shimmered, and the creatures paused to speak with her when they had the time. They called her the Lady, though she didn’t know what they meant by that. They called her rebirth, and beginning, and princess, and breath. Hera told them those weren’t her name. But they knew. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera blossomed into her names. She grew and she was beautiful. Her dark coils were abundant and ridged with gold. She hummed when she was happy and sang when she was sad. She brought home many creatures, many of which her grandmother pursed her lips and turned her head at. Her kindness was well known. She was brilliantly intelligent and gathered knowledge like precious gems. It was foretold and it was done.

Her first year of school was later than most. Her cousins had been bussed into town for years, one by one hugging her goodbye as they boarded the dusty yellow vehicle. She was fifteen when she first placed her own sandaled feet on the browned steps. Her grandmother watched, hands clasped tightly against her stomach, as Hera embarked. Curls tied out of her face and billowing dress already dust-stained around the hem. It was foretold and it was done.

She was odd, or so they said. She was too pretty, or so it seemed. The other kids knew more about tv shows than her. None of them knew how to listen to the grasshoppers or the willow trees. Her teachers thought she was simple, or they did until she spoke. Everyone called her Hera here, there was nothing in the concrete to say she was named anything more. It was foretold and it was done.

Chelsea was jealous of Hera’s name, though she hadn’t said as much out loud. It bubbled around her head and the breeze carried it out to the trees and the water. She was a friend, but not family, so the gossips didn’t care to ask her opinion on the sharing of her thoughts. Hera thought it was silly to be jealous of names. Carrying the weight of them wasn’t something she would think of as being worthy of jealousy. Chelsea often looked at her differently across grandmothers kitchen table, but the nature would not tell her those thoughts. Some are meant to be private, or so they said. It was foretold and it was done.

They called the year “Junior” though Hera couldn’t tell you why. It was a year of becoming older, of feeling older. Her breasts had made their entrance, filling her figure out well. It made grandmother smile at her with a pinch around the eyes sometimes, sometimes their little corner of the world told her how much she looked like her mother. It was this year that Hera recognized the face appearing in frames around the mantle place, because something similar stared back at her from the bathroom mirror. This was the year that Chelsea changed her name to Artemis. The earth seemed to fall quieter than usual when she came around. It was foretold and it was done.

Senior year came up like a flash flood, sudden and deadly. Hera found herself struggling where she’d never had problems before. Where Artemis was lauded for her work, Hera found herself barely acknowledged. Her skin became ashier and grayer the more she pushed herself to be good enough for gray-headed men. The art teacher told Hera she was good and grandmother said to hold onto the praise that came. Grandmother said to enjoy everything and ignore the white men who said Hera wasn’t enough, to ignore any man who told her she wasn’t enough. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera could not let it all go. She felt her subduedness in the way she glowed during the time by the stream, during the times at grandmother’s. She felt herself dull like the dust accumulated on the bus stairs as soon as she began to ascend them each day. She began to become a different person for school, shedding the mask like snakeskin when coming home. She let herself fade in and out like waves on a shore. It was foretold and it was done.

Artemis became less of a friend and more of an apologetic ghost. Her appearances were only ever late and always had a story to tell. “I’m sorry, Mr. Halloway wanted to talk about my short story”, “I’m sorry, Mr. Lester was asking if he could use my essay as a student example”, “I’m sorry, I just lost track of time”. Artemis faded out of Hera’s life like the night falling and came back like the sunrise. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera let herself be tired and then she let herself sleep. She let herself become quiet in a way that worried her grandmother. She allowed herself space to mourn for everything she’d ignored before. She spent most her free time wandering amongst grasses with a book loosely held, escaping into one world or another day after day. She spent the time that used to be for Artemis learning to enjoy being alone. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera let herself be talked into prom. Her cousins flitted around on the day, pulling her hair up. Lining her lashes. Fluffing her skirt. Hera’s family said it was a rite of passage, a time to enjoy being young. Artemis said it was a chance to play princess, or goddess, or queen. Artemis had no way of knowing that the grasses and butterflies already called Hera those things. And she didn’t need to be covered in tulle and glitter for them to say as much. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera was born at night. The air was cold outside the prom. She had lost Artemis quickly and the glittery gown didn’t stop her classmates from recognizing the odd girl. She leaned back and enjoyed the breezes nip, its quiet whispers of teenage hopes on prom night. The barely there sliver of moon bright despite its size, making the cars glimmer on the asphalt. The stars look unending here, the venue just a few miles further from their high school than grandmother had been comfortable. It was foretold and it was done.

The kiss was unexpected and came when Hera let her eyes slip closed. She recognized the fabric pressed against her shoulders when the kiss was made stronger. It was pressed against her in the pictures that had been taken earlier that evening. Artemis took a breath too close for Hera’s comfort and tried to press back in. Hera pushed herself into the wall behind her, trying to make space between them. Artemis moved as though to meet her eyes and Hera angled hers down to the floor. The breeze softly saying ‘careful, careful’. The fabric at her shoulders left in a rush. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera didn’t see Artemis again until graduation. She didn’t know if it was intentional on Artemis’ part or her own. Or if it was somehow unintentional on both. She couldn’t say. Her cap and gown were scrunched in her hands as she stood in the midst of her happy family. Artemis tried to meet her eyes across the room and Hera met them. When Hera could detach herself from an excited family, they met in the beige hallways. Artemis begged her for love that Hera could not give her. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera spent the summer in the trees. She would wake in her grandmothers house, make her cup of strong black tea, and slip into the willows along the stream. The trees gathered information from the breezes and the grasses and the creatures of the earth for Hera. She knew whatever she needed from what the willows and stream could tell her. She immersed herself in the nature around her. The youngest newest cousins called her a witch, or a fairy. The nature added these to her many names. The nature liked the way fairy sounded even though it wasn’t quite right. It was foretold and it was done.

Hera was mostly left to her own devices, like most summers. She spent her time hanging from the willow branches or sitting waist high in the water all alone. She would wander back in, covered in leaves and mud, just in time for dinners. Grandmother was the only one who really visited her this far from the house. Which is why Hera thought the shadow that fell over her around midday was Grandmother. Her surprise flitted quickly across her face when her gaze fell on a sun-backed Artemis instead. They stared at one another. It was foretold and it was done.

***

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story. If you enjoyed it please consider liking, subscribing, and/or sharing to socials and with friends.

If you enjoyed reading this story you may like this one.