One sour grape, p.2
One Sour Grape, page 2
Hercules interrupted, “Bigger problem, brother.”
There we stood, with our heads cocked at an odd angle as my lady neared, her gait clumsy.
Hermes floated above us and asked, “Do you see what I see?”
“A sing-along. Splendid.” Apollo went into an excited golf clap and began to belt out a children’s song from decades past. Me thinks my brother has had more wine than I have today.
I grabbed his jaw and pointed his face in the direction of my bride’s tootsies. “Focus! Please? Is her father grandstanding again?” Apollo slapped my hand away.
“When doesn’t the king?” Hermes added. A collective bobble-head nod went down the line of groomsmen.
Laughter erupted from the guests watching the bride’s father being dragged down the path as he clung in desperation to my bride’s ankle sobbing. This could very well be the highlight of the day. “Unbelievable.” I looked at my bride. Her face strained in an agonized portrait, she simply tossed her red-scalded hands in the air, palms up, her expression glowering, unknowing whether to console the insolent man or shake him off her. I turned to one of my groomsmen. “Hercules, you’re up.”
Without further ado, my colossus half-brother clomped down the lane. He greeted my beloved bride with a cordial, “You’re going to be insanely miserable later. Don’t make my boy the same,” as he bent over to pry her father from her leg.
“I already am, Hercules,” she answered scoring marks into her skin with bloodied fingernails.
“Justified!” Hercules gave an all-out tug on the back of my soon to be father-in-law’s robe. The motion sent my bride and Hercules sideways. Hercules caught both their balances and then crushed the king’s wrist under his foot until the father of the bride yelped. “King Minos, let go.”
“Father, do it. Let go,” my goddess begged while her mother, Pasiphae, helped steady her daughter, cursing things I’ve never heard a women say aloud. After a futile struggle the King hung over Hercules’ shoulder. He pleaded, “Ariadne, no! Please daughter, do not go forth with this alliance.”
Perfect! Her family is against us as well. And here I thought the man adored me.
I gave my index finger a discrete waggle towards a huge black hole where one can see into other galaxies. We call this phenomenon Heaven’s Gate. Those not so fortunate call it walking the plank even though there isn’t an actual plank. Hercules and the ankle-biter vanished. Not a moment passed before a dwindling, “Nooo,” echoed from the great beyond. Hercules returned wearing a smile broader than his massive shoulders.
If asked what just went down, I’m rather certain the answer is the King, but I shall not inquire any further, for ignorance is bliss.
Within a few awkward moments we, the golden goose—my bride, and myself, two love-struck kids, stood beneath a magnificent structure of marble and moonstone blended of what others now call Medieval Gothic and Victorian design, where two high peaked columns disappear into the stars. The half-brother I have no feelings for other than contempt, Mister perspiration himself, Hephaestus, designed the elaborate building. His head swells when people compare him to DaVinci. I wish one day it would explode. Each intricately carved column is a tower built with a thousand steps where a bridged arch connects the two structures in the center. There is a small room midway that holds our version of the Hubble Telescope, except ours is light years ahead of Earths’. We can see into people’s lives, galaxies far beyond a human’s comprehension. Voyeurs yes, but it keeps us apprised of our surroundings.
As we waited for the arrival of our divine elder to arrive my blushing bride looks to have ants in her pants, if she’d worn any. She has not stopped scratching since she arrived by my side.
“Ariadne?” I too rubbed my head because watching her squirm seems to have a trickle-down effect.
Ariadne glared at my half-brother. “Allergic reaction to the gold dust.”
If looks could kill I believe Apollo would be missing out on the rest of the day. Good thing she isn’t a Gorgon girl. Speaking of, Medusa is stood quietly alone near the exit of the grove. Guess Poseidon had more urgent matters ten leagues below the sea than to keep his lady company and come to see his nephew finally get hitched. Medusa has a new look. She’s wearing sunglasses so she doesn’t stone anyone accidentally, and a coiffure covering her head. This is a blessing because I for one, run like a banshee from snakes. I took a second to see if Athena and Hercules noticed her. The three do not play nicely in the sand box. I feel a war coming for them.
I nudged my half-brother. “Apollo, there must be a salve to counteract this irritant my bride slathered all over?”
Apollo shoved his glasses back on his head with his middle finger saluting the bride to be, taking away stray blond curls from his face. With an immoral gleam in his eye, he smiled and gave a little jiggle of his head no. “Has to wear off on its own time. Not sorry.”
My lady moaned, “I’ll be fine,” as she bounced from one leg to the other.
“Will you make it through the ceremony?” I felt horrible for her. I wanted to scratch all her itchy parts, but at the same time my aversion to anything resembling poisoned sap coiled within me.
Seeing her agonize brought back memories, bad memories, of the time I’d been drawn and quartered for someone’s giggles and… I made a promise I would not curse for a while. We’ll see how long that lasts, anyway whilst I lay subject to torture, those who delighted in my suffering decided to add insult to injury by including the sap of ivy to my body. As if looking like a jigsaw puzzle whilst vultures nibbled upon open wounds wasn’t bad enough, let’s put an itch, oh say, right there out of reach.
I have waited for this, my wedding day, for more than a millennium and to see her so uncomfortable is arduous. I’d love to help her, but I am no healer. The true healer on the team is fighting back tears of laughter and losing. I stomped on Apollo’s toes to let him know how distasteful his attempt to halt my union is.
Through taut swollen lips, Ariadne scanned the guests. “Where is your father?”
She sounded anxious, but not the same anxious I felt. The anxious thrumming through me wanted to marry the love of my life. She wanted to get this over with and move on. If I resembled roiling magma, I do suppose my motives may be in alignment with hers.
“Here,” Zeus responded as he sifted down from thin air, his iridescent wings shimmering in the sun, his balance slightly off. His first reaction seeing my bride mirrored mine. Like father like son.
“Oh. My. God!” My father swallowed hard as he tapped his fists to his chest, his signature move. “It is better to enjoy the view of the golden rays of Helios than to try to emulate them, Ariadne. Senseless girl. Dionysus, last chance son to walk away a free man. Take it.”
“Father!” I snapped. Disappointment weighed my tone.
Apollo clasped his hand on my shoulder in a tight grip. “For once in your life think before speaking, Dion. Use your head instead of your heart.”
Zeus gave a humored nod to my half-brother. “Apollo? I’m guessing you are the mastermind behind this metallic muddle?”
Unrepentant, Apollo boasted, “You bet your moonbeams I did. I am not a fan of this fusion. Look at her. She is one juicy abscess with or without the paint. Have fun with that Dionysus.”
Ariadne spoke up, “Can we please wrap this up?”
“Nothing spells out true love with more endearing words!” Please note my sarcasm as it nudges its way between the bride and me.
Zeus leaned to me, placed his lips to my ear and whispered, “Dionysus? Honestly, are you certain?”
I tossed my hands up and looked down at my feet in disappointment. I couldn’t look at my father. I needed him to be on my side, happy for me, trusting my decisions, celebrating his son marrying the love of his life, not being his usual all-judgmental self. “Not you as well, Father?”
“An answer,” the god demanded.
Frustrated, I tugged my fingers through my unruly curls and straightened my crown. Two more grapes shriveled and fell to my feet. I looked down at the dried-up fruit and then to my bride. A bolt of panic abraded every nerve in my body. What would my life be without my crown? It’s all I am. My entire life has evolved around my grapes, wine, parties, and beautiful women. My bottom lip twitched before answering. “Ninety-nine-point-nine percent.” Hearing gripes and grumbles from my guests, I turned to face them. I surmised, “Is anyone ever truly one hundred percent?” Noting Ariadne’s entire demeanor stiffen, that one line would forever go down in history as the one that painted me the fool. I looked out to the crowd and saw many a heads bob while money changed hands.
Nice. Really nice.
When my father said, “Do you Ariadne, daughter of the late King Minos of Create, take my son, Dionysus, son of the greatest god ever, to be your lover, your confidant, your one true friend, probably only friend, the keeper of your heart as your husband,” I didn’t dare move a muscle, not even to spare a glance left or right.
The late king Minos? Plausible deniability wearing thin if I move a muscle.
In constant motion squirming, the bride seemed to miss that line.
My heart plummeted when she answered with a miserable outburst, “Oh I can’t do this right now!”
I staggered backwards into Apollo’s arms. He steadied me with his arm over my shoulder and across my chest. He pulled me close and whispered, “It is for the best. Trust me, brother,”
Breaking free from him I got right in Ariadne’s face. “You mean you can’t get married right now? Or ever?” I had to know.
“I am about to burst, Dionysus.”
Did I need to point out the unmistakable? Probably not, but Captain Obvious giddy-on-upped and blurted, “You already have.”
Through puffy, red eyelids the woman’s glower gave me goose bumps. Fabulous, any second now we would match in attire.
“Must it always be about you?” Pretty certain she doesn’t want my answer. I stifled a chuckle. Ariadne twisted from me frantically pointing over her shoulder to her back. “Scratch right there. I can’t take it another second.”
Hand gestures amuck, I yelled, “Oh ladies in waiting? My bride needs you. This instant!”
A healthy dose of, “No way,” and, “your bride, your blisters,” echoed through the grove. Guess I didn’t pay the ladies enough to stand up for her.
Her voice drenched with hostility Ariadne exploded, “Just scratch it now, Dionysus.”
I gave my groomsmen an agonized glance. Each of them shook their heads no. “I have been instructed not to touch that. I am sorry. While we wait for this to resolve why don’t we just get on with the I-dos?” I had to turn my head away while a few blisters splattered, some hitting my cheeks.
Apollo reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of swimmer’s goggles and dangled them in my face. “Protective eyewear.”
“Very funny,” I muttered as I strapped them on.
Unable to contain his delight, Apollo touted, “I thought so too.” God bless the man even though the moron created this mess.
A quashed grunt escaped my father when he noticed the goggles. He rubbed the smirk from his lips and cleared his voice. “Ariadne? Answer yes or no to my question. Will you commit to loving my son?”
Loud enough for everyone to hear, Hercules whispered to Thor, “Or, just commit her?” Chuckles rose from the wedding guests seated on my side.
My shoulders slumped. My heart ached for my bride. Today should have been epic, not an epic disaster. I think my father had a change of heart seeing me defeated. Zeus’s conviction changed. He now donned a choleric mask about him. He is the one person you don’t keep waiting. Ever. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it to the point I almost cried uncle. “Regardless of the outcome, it will be fine, son.”
The bride spun to me, looking worse by the seconds. I’ve never seen gold dust turn someone inside out. I’ll have to remember this.
With a scathing, “Oh for the love of all things evil, yes,” I was officially married. All that was left to do was kiss the bride. I went to pucker up and then thought better of it and backed away.
Maybe later. Her bottom lip is split wide open and bleeding profusely.
Regardless of my endeavors to remain free of poisonous body fluids, my wife planted what I can only describe as the opposite of true love’s kiss on my lips, nicking my forehead with an arrow popping out of her veil. No romance behind the gesture. No loving, lingering gaze into my eyes. No, “I love you.” No, “oops,” or, “sorry,” came as she turned tail and bolted into our wedding chamber, just a shallow grumble to sum up our true love, “All good things come to those who wait. Don’t hold your breath.”
Well, that was fun.
All in all, I’d say the shindig came off without so much as a hitch, and… I won a wager or two. Betting against your own ceremony—good times!
I may have performed the Shuffle Dance or as others call it, the Bacchic Jig, quite well if I do say so. Thor calls it the Bacchic Jiggles because of my eight-pack abs. He believes he is the funniest god ever. Someday, some woman will put him in his place. I hope.
All the female guests joined me on the dance floor. Their companions did not seem to enjoy the show. No accounting for taste these days. From the floor, I hear a few hecklers. Not certain whether this pertains to the blistering bride, coupled with the awkward father-daughter moment, or my mad dance moves. My hubris steers me to believe they speak of the little misses. I am a god on the dance floor. I’ve got moves. If you ask me, I am the personification of divine perfection without need for intervention. Just don’t take a general poll until the wine is gone. Speaking of… I held my hand out and within a blink of an eye my favored cherub swooped in with a new goblet.
Chapter Two
Hopeful
The chunky cherub hovered in front of me, his wings flapping so fast I couldn’t detect movement. “I do not know whether congratulations or condolences are in order, Dionysus, but either way, opa.” The cherub then smashed the goblet of wine.
For the record, he is no longer my favored cherub. Who does that? Smashes a perfectly delicious goblet of wine on purpose? I am baffled. “You have thirty seconds to replace that, or I replace you.” The cherub zipped off to the barrel and returned with a replacement. Goblet in hand, I chugged the way teenagers do their first beer, with reckless abandonment. A second cup went faster than the first.
Noise in the background amplified as my squad whooped it up as only drunken deities can. Apollo is the only one missing. I asked him to tend to my wife. My wife! Flutters filled my chest. This could also be due to Apollo slamming his fist into my heart after I begged him to look in on her.
I have loved my bride from the moment I caught my first glimpse of her. I’m one of those who believe in love at first sight. The moment your gazes connect, your body burns with desire, your mouth goes bone dry and you’ve lost your breath because she’s stolen it. In a twisted manner I have been told this phenomenon is reminiscent of a witch tied to a stake as she stares into the eyes of the person tossing the lit match onto her pyre. For a single moment their lives connect, their bodies infernos, hers from being roasted, his from being hexed. I believe this is the epitome of a heated gaze. Some tried to warn me this would be my future. Phooey to them all. Me? I am the embodiment of a hopeful romantic. The new bride thinks she is funny always calling me a hopeless romantic. Her intentions I believe are not meant with malice. She married me. She must love me. I still can’t believe it. I married the most beautiful woman in the cosmos. The mother to four, maybe five of my sons. Rumors abound one, maybe two aren’t mine, but I am raising them as such and believing in our union. Like I said, ignorance is bliss.
Stood there, chest heaving, I attempted to catch my breath. Easier said than done. Misting lightly, I swiped beads of sweat from my forehead while I took in everyone enjoying the festivities. Something niggled my senses. By all rights, I should have looked like my cake topper, statuesque, sporting a ridiculous, white-blocky toothed grin, sugarcoated up to my nuggets in frosting, blissfully mounted on top of the world. Mounted by the bride would be idyllic, alas the little minx basically told me good things come to those who wait…
Tick tock, tick tock.
Physically I stood there, at the universe’s summit, yet a part of me felt detached. Really not feeling so great. My stomach has a mounting rumble to it. Mounting… used to be my favorite word. I roll my eyes. I know it isn’t food poisoning. Haven’t eaten a bite all day. Feel as if I am about to be snuffed out. Breaking out in a despicable sweat now. Now I know what Hephaestus feels like. Uncomfortable does not do the word justice. Just how badly did someone want to win this bet? Something is genuinely off because the only time I ever sweat is well, never.
Too much wine. Too much sun. No food. Drinking on a hot day. Poison… Dumb-dumb-dumb. Not entertaining that thought.
I pray, please don’t let me face plant.
Yes, there’s a wager or two on this as well.
Speaking of down… This insidious sensation has me bent at the waist drooling and tooting simultaneously.
It is not pretty. Embarrassing however, exemplifies the moment.
And not a second later something warm and wet assaults my feet.
I did not puke on my feet.
Oh, for the love of God… Apparently the joke is on me.
Lost in my own chaos a heavy hand pads my shoulder. Startles the you know what out of me. I bounced and spun, one whisker away from shifting into my favorite form then tearing out someone’s throat. Catching a glint of humor in his oh-so spectacular blue orbs I am barely able to contain the beast within.
I never heard Thor approach. “What is wrong with me? Rhetorical question. Don’t even entertain answering it.”
“Many things, old friend. Your nose is too big, your personal jewels not worth their weight in gold. I almost won the face plant bet.”
“What happened to the not answering me part?” I manage a wan smirk. Both of my hands inadvertently go to aforementioned body parts. I find my nose without a problem. It is big enough! I believe prominent is a good description. “My nose, thank you, is just fine.”
