Apartment Olympus: Lesson One
The gospel according to a 12-year-old (and Aphrodite)
Hi, happy Tuesday!! Welcome to "Apartment Olympus," a series of scenes that take place between episodes of the main Aphrodite audio play. This particular scene occurs after Episode 1 and before Episode 2 (out Friday, 28.02!!), where we'll meet Ares.
“Show up, be bright.”
The first lesson from Aphrodite’s dating guide book.
“That’s how you do it, you know.” Aphrodite flipped her hair over her shoulder and reached into the pickle jar again with long, slender fingers. “That’s how I did it.” She took a bite. Poet watched as the juice dripped down the goddess’ lips, onto her chin. Instead of vinegar and salt, the liquid became golden, almost honey, on her skin.
“I mean, I don’t want to talk about this too much but, as you know, I literally came out of the ocean and was instantly desired. Beautiful. Loved. No one even offered me a towel because that was simply not the point of my entrance.” The crunch from the pickle interrupted her speech. “I just showed up and I was bright. That’s the way to be loved. That’s how you gain affection.”
It’s hard arguing with the goddess of love. And frankly, Poet wasn’t sure she had any valid arguments.
She didn’t speak, still unsure, adjusting to the literal deity occupying the only chair in her studio apartment, eating her food. Poet stared at Aphrodite, her golden hair, the sheen forming a halo around her head. Poet pushed back her sunglasses.
The thing is, she thought, this lesson isn’t new to me, is it?
It was 2009. She was twelve years old. The evening before her first school day in a dutch equivalent of a high school. She picked out her outfit: a yellow crop top with a picture of new york city (a place she hadn’t yet visited), high-waisted skinny jeans, bright-colored clashing sneakers. Twelve-year-old Poet understood the rules: show up, be bright. Be the smartest, the most magnetic, the most effortless and funny and cool. Love, friendship, belonging, they came to those who shone the right way.
But in the morning, it was different. She tugged at her crop top, suddenly aware of the gap between fabric and skin. Her stomach felt too visible. Her words felt too clumsy. The brightness she had tried to invoke the previous evening disappeared the second she was actually observed.
Twelve-year old Poet knew but couldn’t quite conjure the brightness. It wasn’t sustainable. Did that explain her high school years? Her social life after graduation? Her current dating situation? Maybe. Maybe not.
The sound of glass scraping on wood pulled her back. The pickle jar was empty.
“But just wait till we meet Ares on the date this week.” Aphrodite swallowed the last piece of pickle. “Some things can only be learned hands-on.”