I. IN DREAMS I RUN TO YOU

I walk the same way every morning. Out the heavy backdoor and through the garden. Past the lone cypress our groundsman says has been there since Troy was sacked. The cypress is ancient and wonderful. Much taller than our villa or any other tree on the property. I like to imagine all the people who’ve walked by it throughout time. Maybe a thousand years ago it was a Greek soldier. He walks by this cypress to meet his lover before going off to war. Wrapped up in their crisp sheets they make love one last time in the blue dawn light. His lover knows he won’t return, but she still thinks of him every day. Even when she gets married and spends her life rearing five children. Even when she’s an old woman sitting in a rickety chair and staring off into an olive grove. She always holds onto the hope that she’ll meet him in the next life. 

I walk by the neighboring villas along the dusty horse trodden path. I live on the edge of Corinth where affluent people settle. The rich officials, like my father, live closest to the sea and have enough money to excavate the rocky terrain and build a large villa. I remember I’ll be married tomorrow. I feel a weight on my chest, my throat is constricted and I’m no longer certain I’ll see the sea when I make it to the end of my walk. I imagine I’ll be met instead by a mass of dead bodies instead of the ocean. 

A rabbit sprints across the path. I’m approaching the largest hill of my walk. Once I crest it, the path winds down to the most stunning beach I believe exists, although I’ve only seen a few in my life. My legs ache and I feel cursed by my body. Constantly contained within dresses and made up with accessories of the most popular styles. I’m so pathetic to be upset by expensive dresses, there must be an empty hole in the center of my chest where all of life’s meaning spills out from. My misery goes on for a few moments longer. The sea feels so far away I want to lay down on the rocky path and rot away like a piece of fallen fruit. Then, a peculiar feeling overtakes me, there’s a subtle drawing forward of my body. I have an increasing desire to move forward, a call I must answer. The only thing that will make me feel free, it suddenly seems so simple. I lean forward to the point where I must start running to keep myself from falling. My mind speaks to my body, coercing me along the path in language only we can speak. I am running and there is nothing but this act. 

The salty wind whips at my face and my hair is loose behind me. I run with the wild grace of a child. I feel a hidden part of myself unlocking. I reach the top of the hill in what feels like a second. The ocean appears, it’s a pulsating heart among piles of Greek rock. I no longer know where I end, I expand infinitely past the horizon line of the sea. I could dissolve into the water, certain it wouldn’t mean death, but a union with the deepest part of me. I run until my lungs burn and I need to stop. I walk for a bit then start again, all the way down the steep path and to the rocky beach. At the water’s edge I tear off my dress. Only for a moment do I feel exposed before my ecstasy returns. The sea beckons me. I tiptoe across the stony shore. The cool water laps my feet. Water reaches my thighs and I dive in. It’s cold since it’s early spring and the sweaty heat of my body amplifies the chill. I splash around in the waves with the freedom of an animal. 

After swimming for a bit I look back at the shore. A figure stands at the top of the hill. It’s dressed in all black and although I said the figure is standing, its posture is actually closer to a stoop. I can’t tell if it’s a man or woman, let alone a human. I’m surprised I was even able to spot the figure. It moves oddly from side to side, like a pendulum’s rhythmic swaying. 

My limbs are shaking from the cold water and fear as I make my way cautiously to shore. I am uncomfortably aware of my nudity and rather unusual behavior. I’m not forbidden to be alone in the sea, but it’s not something “normal” women do. Being alone is something a crone does. I cover myself with my hands as best I can as I exit the sea. The figure doesn’t seem to be paying attention to me. It’s hunched over moving mechanically from side to side while its feet remain firmly stuck to the ground, unnervingly firm, like it has rocks in its shoes weighing it down. It moves to the beat of a silent song. A beat, which I feel in my soul, to be the song of death. 

The rocky beach is in a cove, surrounded by high rocky walls with only one way in or out. The small steep path is blocked by the shadowy figure. I’ll have to face it to move forward. I quickly put my dress on. I’m still wet so it sticks to my skin. I’m carried forward by a small feeling of intrigue. I walk across the rocky beach and scale the path. Weakened by my anxiety, my knees almost buckle under me. My head is hot and my pulse thumps loudly in the space beneath my collarbone. I’m compelled to continue moving forward. The figure’s rhythmic swaying calls to me. 

I reach the top of the hill and the figure is now less than 10 feet away. Its black cloak pools around its feet. It’s bulky in size and nearly my height. Any courage I had to climb the hill is gone. I’m frozen in the face of this evil. It ticks away to the beat of a death march and I feel my life draining out of me with each sway. My vision blurs and the world flashes in front of my eyes like I’m blinking quickly. When everything straightens back out again the figure is right in front of me. 

The figure isn’t scary at all and has transformed into a very handsome man. He’s tall, with dark flowing hair and tanned skin. He looks at me as though I’m as beautiful as him. His desirability feels larger than life, a thing to bask in, not contain. He's the sun and I let him come to me. He walks toward me with just the right amount of pace. Quick, but not a presumptuous speed, as if he anticipated the amount of time he needed to wait before putting his lips on mine.  When he wraps his arms around me all I can do is part my lips. Then he pushes two fingers into my mouth. My tongue welcomes his touch and he pushes his fingers deeper down my throat. It feels more intimate than any sex act when he’s in my throat. His slick fingers press against a hidden part of me. I feel him touching somewhere I distrust yet covet like a jewel—the place where my voice lives. He tries to push farther and I gag. He pulls his fingers out and softly smiles at me, looking impressed. I bathe myself in the feeling of his approval as he holds me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. 

Off in the distance I hear someone calling me. 

“Alexa, Alexa,” someone says in a fevered tone. 

The vision is starting to slip, but my hands still grip his body.

“What,” I say, though my mouth sounds muffled by fabric.

“You were supposed to be up an hour ago,” someone says. 

I finally felt my body and sat straight up in bed. Chiara came into focus. She was standing at the foot of my bed. The sun was already coming in harshly through the window. 

“The wedding’s tomorrow, though,” I said. My head felt stuffed with cotton. 

“No Lexie, it’s today.”

“Fuck,” I said, the words slipped out of my mouth. 

“Don’t let your father hear you speak like that,” she said, though she looked amused. I’m usually silent and obedient in the morning.