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It was astounding how much something could change in twenty years, and yet at the core remain the same. The sapling that Odysseus had planted when Penelope had first come to Ithaca had grown into tall, fruit-bearing trees. The rocks that lay scattered around the forest floor, that had once been so clean and smooth, were now coated in a rich layer of deep green, velvety moss.
In fact, the entire meadow…well, it wasn’t really a meadow anymore. It looked like any other part of the forest, completely overtaken by wild undergrowth and looming trees.
And yet, the little creek that flowed down from the mountains remained unchanged, still white with foam, still chattering over the same water-smoothed pebbles. The same birds twittered among the leaves.
I’ve changed so much, and yet this place…
Odysseus stood over the rushing water, gazing thoughtfully as it swirled over stones, hurrying to meet the sea- a pointless journey that would only offer the creek’s water to the ever-growing expanse of Poseidon’s domain. Why did it go down to meet that monster so swiftly, so eagerly?
Although, he supposed, it is not the only one that for some reason he couldn’t understand is drawn to a monster.
“I always come here when I want to calm down.” A quiet voice confessed behind him. The sweet, gentle voice of his son. Odysseus didn’t turn.
I am a monster. Why do you want anything to do with me? Don’t you know you’re circling too close to the flame, little moth?
“It’s always been here, always the same, always peaceful.” Telemachus stood next to him. Odysseus didn’t move away.
“It grew up with you.” The king said, his voice that had grown so used to harsh commands coming out soft and gentle.
I wasn’t always a monster. Was I? I don’t think so. I was forced to become one, yet no one is born a monster.
“What?” Telemachus glanced at his father, confused.
He can’t see what I see. He is too young. He is too innocent.
“It took care of you, just like it once took care of me.” Odysseus gazed wistfully at the dancing currents, shimmering like polished iron under the dappled sun.
Perhaps there was a reason he and Telemachus had both ended up here today.
----------------------------------------------------
The silvery water bubbled over the pebbles, as swift yet serene as it had always been, and always would be. Unaffected by the world. Not caring for the fleeting history that humans put such weight on. Whatever happened to him, to his life, to the whole world, the creek would never know anything different. It would never be any different.
Odysseus threw a small, rounded stone into the rushing water, a grim spark flaring within him as it clattered against the other stones- a young flame, hungering for more tinder. He picked up another stone.
It’s not fair. It’s not FAIR.
The creek never had to worry about change. Why did he have to? Why did it all affect him so much?
The sun burned from behind, rousing the fire of his anger. Nothing should be allowed to be bright or happy today. Nothing.
The dark shadows of the forest seemed to reach for him. Come to us, they seemed to say. Oh, how he wished he could simply melt into that darkness and disappear from the world.
“Odysseus?”
He didn’t turn around, his hand reaching out for yet another stone. His fist closed around the small object as he raised his hand and hurled it into the creek. How he wished all problems could be thrown away so easily.
“Odysseus!”
“Go away, Polites.” The addressed boy scowled.
“I’m not in the mood for your stupid philosophies.”
He heard footsteps approach him from behind, undeterred but still cautious, as a man would approach a starving wolf.
“I didn’t come to share philosophies.”
“I don’t care what you came for!” Odysseus finally turned around to face Polites, as if he thought that glaring at his friend angrily enough might make him leave.
“I don’t want to hear it!”
Polites stood a safe distance away, regarding him carefully. Most people would have probably decided to leave him alone now, to let Odysseus wear himself out by his own fury. Polites, however, was not most people.
“Odysseus, I know you’re angry. I don’t know why you’re angry, but you are.” He began walking to Odysseus again.
“Is it something I did?”
“It’s nothing to do with you. So I’ve no idea why you’re even here.” Odysseus snapped.
“Is there any way you could do something about it? Or a way I could help?” Polites had reached his friend and placed his hand gently on Odysseus’ shoulder. The prince looked away, but he didn’t move.
“No. There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.” Bitterness crept through the rage in his voice, shadowing the red-hot fury.
“Then there’s no need for you to be torturing yourself about it.” Polites reassured.
“I know, Polites, I- dammit, I can’t be like this, I have to accept it-“
“I never said you can’t. I said you don’t have to.” Polites pointed out patiently.
“If you need to be angry, well, that’s what you need to do. Just try not to let it exhaust you too much. Come, sit with me.”
Odysseus allowed Polites to pull him down until they were both sitting on one of the many sun-baked rocks that lay scattered among the grass. He felt his fury slowly draining away, the cold fire of guilt and grief rising in his chest instead. He felt tears well up in his eyes, burning hot, trying to steal what warmth he still had in his heart. Polites pretended not to notice him furiously blinking them away.
“It’s my father.” Odysseus suddenly blurted out. Polites had that effect on people- you simply couldn’t help wanting to share all your troubles with him, even if you hadn’t ever intended to share them with anyone. Polites hummed, letting Odysseus know that he was listening.
“At least, it started with him. It, well, you already know what it was like before.”
“Has he gotten worse?”
“He- oh gods, I can’t do this, Polites, I can’t!” Forgetting all his previous rage, Odysseus all but fell in Polites’ arms. His friend startled a bit, but soon he was pulling Odysseus closer into a gentle embrace.
“You can, Odysseus. I don’t know what you have to do, but you can do anything if you put your mind to it.”
“But I don’t know how. I-I’ve been taught, I know, and I should know how, but-"
“Hey, listen. No one knows what to do when they first start something, but everyone always figures it out eventually. And you’re way smarter than most people, so you’ll get there even faster.”
“Polites, they want me to become king.”
A brief silence fell over the meadow as the two boys stared at each other, a gentle breeze whistling in the grasses under their feet.
“So?”
Disbelief filled Odysseus’ eyes.
“What do you mean, so?”
“I mean what I said. So what? You could become a god and I still wouldn’t care. You’re my friend either way.
“I think I would know more if I was a god. About what I’m supposed to be doing, at any rate.”
“Well…” Polites glanced at the sky, as if he were contemplating how much he could safely say.
“Not necessarily. I think, Odysseus, that you’re scared. That’s why you’re angry.”
Odysseus pointed his gaze at the ground, which Polites must have taken as a sign to keep talking.
“You’re angry at your father for putting you in this position. You’re angry at the gods for allowing it to happen. And you’re scared because in the end, you’re still only a mortal, and mortals are always scared in the face of the unknown.”
“You’re right, I suppose. I know that. But I just- I can’t get rid of these feelings.”
Polites’ hand tightened its grip on Odysseus’ shoulder, but not uncomfortably so. Reassuringly.
“Then don’t. Remember the feelings. Then one day, you’ll look back and remember how scared you were, and then you’ll be proud of how you managed to overcome that.”
----------------------------------------------------
“You never knew Polites, did you?” Odysseus broke the heavy silence that had fallen over them, walking over to a large, smooth rock- it looked almost silver in the dappled sunlight, and the beams of light illuminated the nearly invisible white specks on the surface. There seemed to be thousands of them, like stars littered across the night sky, bringing hope among the darkness. He sat on it and motioned for Telemachus to sit as well.
“You’re very similar to him, in a way. And yet, not at all.” Odysseus continued.
“”Do you know anything about him?”
“Mother said he was your best friend. You sailed to Troy together.” Replied a slightly confused Telemachus.
“He would have been like an uncle to you. If only we had never left.” Odysseus said wistfully, gazing at the sky.
He had only ever gazed at the water before. Watching the sky had been what Polites came here for. He had always adored the view he had of the clouds from here.
“I can tell you about him, if you’d like.”
“Oh, yes, father! You haven’t told me any stories about anyone yet!”
“I do not tell simple stories.” Odysseus warned.
“But I will tell you. And I can tell you stories of other people later. Of my own crew, of people I met. That is, if you still wish to hear them later- and if my mind will allow me.”
The meadow had changed in the past twenty years. The trees grew old and thick. Shadows rippled over the grass. And yet that one white-specked rock overlooking the gently bubbling creek was the same. It would always be a safe haven for anyone who needed it.
And once again it offered a place of escape, of peace and tranquillity to two people who most needed it.