Eléni & M Move to Athens - Part 21

This new series has its history in the form of several short stories, several poems, and a 13-part series that is linked at the bottom via Part 20 of this series. Anthi Psomiadou has graciously agreed—I have it in writing—to play the role of a fictional character also called, Anthi, as she already did in the first series, but with the full name, Anthi Kanéna, in this series. I feel like another brick in a wall of Greek flowers that have begun to surround me with no way out.

There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible—magic to make the sanest man go mad. Homer, from The Iliad

O Anthi! I could start every part from now on with these two words. Anthi toute entière (whole), from her head to her toes. What a dream she is! And when I now look at her in reality, I want to scream. I did in my mind and she heard me.

“Please, do not, M!” Anthi beseeched me. “We have the night. Let us enjoy the day as well in the company of all those that we love.”

She was right, of course. Anthi will always be right. I told her in her mind and she smiled. O flowers! I see you everywhere, of every colour, but my favourites are blue and white. I see her dipping her feet in their blueness as they become sea water. I am daydreaming, but such dreams are brief yet beneficial.

We should pay a visit to Anthi’s grandparents, I suddenly suggest to everyone. I miss Grandpa and Grandma and I cannot wait to kiss and hug them.

“What a great idea!” Anthi replies, pleased like a woman in love.

All I want to do from now on is please her. Athena, Eléni, and Patrick agreed as well. We were going to see our grandparents. In a way, they are. We all love them and their granddaughter.

We left the yacht before noon, did some shopping for various provisions, and knocked on Grandpa’s and Grandma’s door. They were beaming with joy to see us. We all kissed them but I also hugged them and did not let go. They were pleased, this time. They knew that I was strange. They knew that we all adored their granddaughter. How could we not? How could I not dream about my nighttime Anthi? I am deeply in love with her. But during our waking hours, I have to pretend that I only like her, or only love her as a friend. By Zeus, it is almost impossible. I often cry inside, but keep it to myself. I think that only Athena knows. She seems to know everything that I feel. It must be because of Patrick. What a prick! (I can already see the highlighting.)

We asked Grandpa and Grandma to relax as we prepared the feast, but Grandma refused, wanting to help and prepare her specialties, which she boasted of more than several but agreed to prepare only two: dolmades (stuffed vine leaves) and kolokythokeftedes (courgette balls).

We all did our part, even our Goddess Athena. She knows how to cook. What a goddess! I can never praise her enough. Believe it or not, she prepared the grilled meats, namely the chicken, fish, and beef souvlaki, a few of them even mixed. Grandma watched her with love. We all did at one point, as if mesmerized.

Eléni and I prepared the tzatziki (a yogurt, cucumber, and garlic dip) and the olives in olive oil (rosemary-flavoured Kalamata and green olives in pure virgin olive oil). Patrick made an enormous salad consisting of Romaine lettuce, endives, watercress, and walnuts, bathing in an amazing ketogenic dressing made from lemon juice, garlic, almond flour, Dijon mustard, and nutritional yeast.

And Anthi, O Anthi, prepared the moussaka (sautéed aubergine, minced beef instead of lamb, fried puréed tomato, onion, garlic, and a panoply of spices), with Grandma helping her, of course. The kitchen smelled like heaven, and we were all in the middle of it trying to remember how air smelled before. I could only remember Anthi’s dream fragrance.

Tsipouro and red wine flowed like the Haliacmon river, with Athena helping again to lessen their effects. We were joyous and full of love, singing both in Greek and French, and several songs in English for good measure, all of them from past Eurovision contests. Save Your Kisses for Me by the Brotherhood of Man, the winning song from 1976, easily coming to mind for Patrick and M, I mean me, reminding us of simpler times, though, and here I can only speak for myself, I preferred this present time with Athena, Eléni, and Anthi. O Anthi! You are both the sky and the sea. My mind is overflowing with our dreams.

We learned that Grandpa and Grandma have been together for 59 years, ever since they had met in primary school and promised to each other, later in high school, to be together for the rest of their lives. They had kept that promise, had two daughters and three sons, one of which, the younger daughter, had our Anthi. How wonderful life can be when the stars smile, the Moon is getting pregnant, and the Sun keeps on sending its rays of life. My writing has changed since I met Anthi. Anthi Kanéna has awakened in me the yet unsettled questions of what if.

What if we continue after death. Not our bodies, of course, but some unknown part, though I still dislike the loaded word, soul. Some imperceptible whole, that goes on to tell its story to some universal oracle. Yet, a nagging problem surfaces with such a scenario. I could never accept such parts coming from Nazis, for example, and other purely evil individuals. That reality destroys any such possibility, and there is no way to redeem it, even in infinity. But it may be only me. Some may see this as negligible. I cannot and will not even if Goddess Athena asked me to, and I know that she will not. She could not stop crying when she learned of our perpetrated horrors. A Goddess who cries is extremely significant. I will let you ponder over it.

Nightfall finally fell upon us, though only Anthi and M, I mean me, rejoiced. Athena was surely happy for us as well. We could see it in her eyes. She even kissed us before we went to sleep, like children being put to bed, except that I felt her love, and Anthi surely too. We were both asleep within a few minutes, already holding hands, but we were all hands. We each became a hand, rubbing against each other, creating heat. And then we became two feet. I am not sure which one of us was right. We were running towards something. It looked like a blue door. And then we were breasts. I was a breast. What a privilege. Nipple to nipple. And then we were mouths, kissing each other with no end in sight (I even felt those kisses after I awoke). And then, the most amazing thing, we became two pussies, rubbing against each other, clit to clit, moaning in synchronicity until we both exploded inside. And then we became eyes, one eye each, looking at each other, seeing our full reflection. Anthi saw me and I saw Anthi. We could suddenly even think within the dream. I only remember saying, Anthi, again and again until the Sun’s rays touched my face. O Anthi! I exclaimed. This could never be enough. She replied to my mind from her room upstairs, I had slept on one of the sofas again, that she felt the same.

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I thank Anthi Psomiadou for her continued support and kindness, which involve comments, suggestions, and insightful additions that augment this series’ reach for both real and fictitious unknowns. I write between four to five pieces each day, and this unending story is the most demanding within, where laughter and tears seem to coexist mixed together like in a dream or one’s lifelong experience.

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