Story Time!

this is a story i thought up while i was driving in between san antonio and victoria. there’s a little town called pandora there.

Pandora

I don’t know for sure who came up with the idea of naming the girls in our family after Greek godesses, but I’m pretty sure it must have come from our surroundings. From the time our family had settled in this country, we have always lived near the towns of Arcadia and Pandora, and beyond them was the city of Athens.

So that is why I came to have a grandma Phoebe, my mother Demeter, and my sister Persephone. I am called Adicia.

Ours was a close-knit family, and mom was our world. Dad worked in Athens, doing big important things with important people, and he made sure we had everything we needed, but mom was the one we went to when we needed a hug, or words of endearment, or a shoulder to cry on. From the time we were very small, she let us help with every aspect of her life. We helped her fold the laundry, wash the dishes, dust the mantle, and tend her garden.

How mom loved her garden! Every day she’d take us by the hand and show us the different leaves and flowers, the trees and shrubs. Her garden was her own world, and we were all part of it. My earliest memories are of walking down the path and touching all the petals and stems- softly, so as not to disturb them.

Every weekend we would drive to Athens to pick up new bulbs or seeds, or anything else we needed. Mom always cut through Arcadia, even though it was quicker to cut through Pandora. She said it was because the roads there were bad, but I thought it was more to do with all the foliage to be seen in Arcadia.

When we returned from shopping and had worked in the garden for a few hours, mom would have us wash up and eat lunch. Then she’d take us to her room and we’d open her jewelry box and try on all the bracelets and necklaces. We had to be very careful with them, because every piece told a different story and had been in the family a long time. The sapphire and diamond necklace dad had given mom on their first Christmas as a couple, the golden earrings great-aunt Iris had given grandma on her wedding day, and most important and delicate- the thin silver chain grandpa had given grandma before he left for the war.

Mom always let us play as long as we liked, but we were never allowed to take the jewelry back to our rooms, least of all that thin silver chain. Persephone was fascinated by that chain from the time we were very small. It was so delicate and simple, and she loved the way it felt around her small wrist.

Our life was always happy, and we were always content.

Until, that is, Persephone fell in love. She was 17, and her passion for the young man was “unlike any other! the love of a lifetime, the beginning of her life as a woman.” Mom told her sagely that it was only puppy love, but Persephone insisted they would get married and have many children and grow old and die together, as so many besotted teenagers have avowed.

I was 14, and thought it must be wonderful to feel so completely in tune to another person. I had no loves, not even maybes. I lived in a fantasy world, in a garden of my own, with imaginary friends I’d never grown weary of. Mom spoke of me as her “sensible” daughter, but in my heart I knew I was the odd one.

That year was a turbulent one for mom and Persephone. Mom set more and more boundaries, and every time Persephone would rise up and defy her. She’d break curfew, sneak out, drink, smoke, and mom really hit the ceiling when she found birth control pills in our bedroom.

Mom was deeply saddened, and Persephone alienated herself from us with each passing day. She wouldn’t even speak to me, except to complain about how unfair mom was being. I knew mom was just trying to protect her, but I missed my sister, and heartily agreed with all her rants.

The more time Persephone spent with her boyfriend, the more time mom spent inside. She watched t.v. all day, ate less, and cried often. As a result, the clothes often went unironed, the dishes piled up, and the flowers began to wilt.

Around the end of that year came time for my first school dance. I was going with a friend, and mom spent hours styling my hair and doing my makeup. Persephone watched jealously, having been grounded from any extracurricular functions for staying out all night the week before. Right before I was to descend the stairs, mom called me into her bedroom, where my sister sat cross-legged in an armchair, waiting to ambush mom with more pleas to be let out. Mom pulled me over in front of her dressing table, and opened her jewelry box. From it she picked up a thin silver chain. Persephone leaped up and cried out that I shouldn’t be allowed to wear it, that was her favorite bracelet, mom had promised her she could wear it. Mom, not even turning around, said quietly that I had earned it more than she had. I blushed, wanting to wear the bracelet but wanting my sister to be happy so much more. Mom closed the clasp around my wrist and smiled at me. Persephone screamed that she hated us both and stormed out of the room.

I was shaken, but mom told me Persephone would get over it. Mom went downstairs to warm up the car, and I checked myself in the mirror once more. As I passed out room, I heard Persephone crying on her bed. Feeling a wave of regret, I entered the room and sat down next to her. I put my hand on her shoulder and told her how sorry I was, that I hadn’t even asked mom for the bracelet. She sat up, clasped my hands in hers, and said she understood, and didn’t really hate me. She told me to have a good time, and that she just wanted to sleep.

I went to the dance and had a wonderful time. I took pictures with friends, danced with a boy for the first time, and talked to teachers. At the end of the night, I got a ride home from a friend, and looked forward to resting after such an evening.

When I got home, I found mom sleeping on the couch and a note from dad syaing he was gone for the weekend, so I tiptoed up to her room to return the bracelet to the jewelry box. But when I grabbed my wrist- it wasn’t there! I went outside and checked the path leading up to the door, the kitchen, the living room, and every stair, but it was nowhere to be found. I had lost my grandma’s silver bracelet.

As I drew near the staircase with a heavy heart to face the music and tell mom what I had done, I heard a knock at the door. I thought it might be my friend, that she might have found the chain in her car and wished to return it, so I hurried downstairs to beat mom to the door- but it was too late.

Mom opened the door and I held my breath, but it wasn’t my friend. It was a police officer. Confused, I hurried back to my room to wait until he left.

I heard hushed toned downstairs, and then, the sound of the door closing and my mother weeping.

I crept downstairs to find mom at the dining room table, weeping as though her heart had broken. I got closer, and caught her eye. She gazed up at me with red-rimmed eyes and told me to sit. She took my hands in hers and the next words out of her mouth chilled my heart.

Persephone had refused to speak to her anymore, and shut our door in her face. Apparently her next move was to phone her boyfriend, who soon after picked her up, and they left to his home in Athens. Mom drew a great shuddering breath, and said “She cut through Pandora.” Just as mom had always feared, they had an accident, and were run off the road. Persephone died that night.

Mom picked up her keys and told me to come with her to identify Persephone. She couldn’t bear to do it alone.

As we walked into the bleak building, I realized I was still carrying my purse. I sat numbly on a chair and fiddled with the clasp while mom talked to a receptionist. Inside the purse, which had carried only lipstick, mascara and a comb, there was now a hastily scribbled note.

It was my sister’s handwriting.

“I’ll tell mom you didn’t lose it- P.”Lose it? Lose what?

Before I could gather my thoughts, mom bade me follow her into a room where my sister lay. She was so still, so quiet. She couldn’t be my sister, who had been so full of life and vitality only hours before. My eyes left her face, and traveled down, and I let out an audible gasp- around her wrist was a thin silver chain.

Years later, the garden is only seldom kept up. Mom doesn’t spend her days crying, as she did the first few months, but she isn’t as she was. I don’t think she ever will be. I helped her plant lilies and a patch of rosemary in Persephone’s memory. The garden is much the same, just a bit overgrown in places, and not as well watered as before. There has been one significant change, though.

A willow now blocks the view of Pandora.

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