29. Mother Pucker
29
MOTHER PUCKER
MALLORY
“Ok everybody, let’s talk tragedies. Can anybody tell me what the most tragic Greek tragedy is? In all of history? How about you, Miss Grace?” I look up from my screen to find Professor Cain staring right at me. He, and the rest of the class.
“M–me?” I look behind me briefly before pointing to me, further clarifying if he did mean me, or if he meant the person behind me, whose last name I don’t know, but I know it’s not Grace.
“I want to find out how much you already know about Greek tales. Enlighten me, please.” He makes his way from behind his giant wood oak desk to stand in front of it, leaning on it slightly. He takes his thin glasses off and places them in the inside pocket of his green tweed blazer.
“What do I think is the most tragic? Or what I think history thinks it is?”
“What do you think is the most tragic?” He folds his hands together and places them on his knee. Looking at me. Not next to me, not above me, not through me, right at me. If looks could kill, I would have a thousand holes in my body right now. He’s doing it on purpose, putting me on the spot so I’ll purposefully falter.
“Well, uh,” I subtly glance around the room and yep, everyone is still looking at me. I can’t tell what the look is, but I don’t like it. The only person’s look I can pick out is Oliver’s. Who is in the seat directly next to mine, in the next row. He’s wearing a light grey hoodie with our university logo in the top left corner, with light blue jeans, trainers, and a cream baseball cap. A backwards baseball cap. When I met him outside my apartment this morning my knees almost gave in. His hands are placed in his lap, his back firmly against the chair, and he’s looking at me like he can’t wait to hear what I have to say. I really hope I’m not blushing.
“Probably the story of Oedipus,” I start. The professor’s head shoots up faster than a firework. That sure got his attention. “He just wanted to live his life, you know, as his own, but couldn’t because he constantly lived under the shadow of the curse that couldn’t by any means be avoided. A curse that is completely gross, by the way, but one that lasted all the way to his final days.” His forehead is decorated with creases caused by his eyebrows that currently live in his hairline. He hasn’t said anything, so I continue, playing with the hem of my sleeve. “It’s sad if you think about it. He never had any control over his actions, so no matter what he did, the outcome would always be the same. In the argument of fate versus free will, fate will always win, especially in a time when fate was considered the holiest of objects. That’s why it’s a tragedy. But...” I look up to find him watching me, eyes boring into me. But this time it’s different. He’s listening to me. He gestures with his hand for me to go on .
“But, if we’re scraping labels completely and just focusing on the tragedy aspect of it all, then to me, Orpheus and Eurydice is the most tragic of them all.”
“Orpheus and Eurydice isn’t a Greek tragedy,” he says.
I frown. “Yes it is. It’s arguably up there in the top three of the most tragic” He curls his head to the side as if he’s thinking about it. Like he hasn’t thought about it.
“They are the origin of the word ‘tragedy’, the very definition of it. They overcame so much to be together, to find each other. Their story teaches us to be patient, and if you keep your faith, you will be rewarded for it. He travelled to the Underworld for her, convinced Hades to let her come back to the mortal world, all because he loved her. They had to leave the underworld, but walk separately. It was days, professor. Days of Orpheus not knowing if Eurydice was alive or unharmed. He had to turn around. People say that it’s not hard to keep walking, but if Orpheus didn’t love her enough to turn around, then he wouldn’t have gone to the underworld in the first place. But he did turn. And she died. Tell me that isn’t the most tragic thing you’ve ever heard?”
He goes to speak, but I cut him off. “But then again, if you’re talking about tragedy then Patroclus and Achilles also need to be up there.”
“There’s no evidence in Iliad to prove that they were lovers.” He comments.
“There’s also no evidence to prove that they weren’t either.” The room is silent. Like waking up from a coma in a zombie apocalypse silent. The pilot episode of The Walking Dead, kind of silent. Driving at 3 am in the middle of nowhere, kind of silent. I can feel my cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink, so I pull my sleeve further up my hand and sink into my chair .
“A very interesting take. I look forward to reading your essay about it.”
“Essay?” Someone from the back says.
“Your assignment is to write an essay about what you think the saddest Greek tragedy is. And if you’re bold enough,” he looks right at me, “write about one that’s not classed as a ‘Greek tragedy’, but a tragedy nonetheless.”
I start typing on my laptop when an iMessage pops up on the screen.
Olive Oil
Does being my girlfriend mean you’re obligated to help me with assignments?
Is that one of the requirements?
If not, then I think I need to add an amendment.
Me
I helped you before I was your gf, what’s the difference now?
Olive Oil
Now you get special gifts for helping me.
Me
What do I get if I help you with this?
Olive Oil
unlimited access to all of this.
He sends me a picture of his chest, shirtless.
I laugh at the words that pop up on my screen, maybe a little bit louder than I should’ve. In the corner of my eye, I can see he’s covered his mouth, trying his best to silence his laughter. I’m not trying as hard as he is. The only reason I haven’t forcefully slammed my screen down is that the boy who normally sits behind me has gotten up to speak to the professor. I turn to face Ollie and his phone is in his hand, smiling at me with the cheekiest–toothed grin I’ve ever seen, like he’s so proud of himself.
Two can play at this game, Ashby.
I close my laptop screen and take out my phone, deciding to send him a picture too. I lock the screen and place it face–down on the desk. His phone pings, and I can’t hide the grin on my face. He opens the message and immediately crushes his phone against his chest. I place my arms on the desk and rest my head face down against them, silently dying of laughter. I turn my head to the side to see he’s staring at the photo, with wide eyes, and cheeks as red as cherry juice. He’s blushing.
It's very satisfying to know that I can make him blush by just sending him a picture of my breasts. Boys are too easy to please.
My phone pings again.
Olive Oil
No camera on earth can do them justice.
Nothing compares to seeing the real thing.
Me
Too bad you won’t be seeing the real thing anytime soon…
I look up and see him frown. He turns to me, still frowning.
Me
You're leaving tonight for your away game tomorrow.
Ring any bells ?
I raise my head to the sound of Oliver slamming his head into his desk. He forgot about his away game against Oasis University, about a five–hour drive from Covington, so the team is leaving right after class, to arrive at around ten pm tonight. As soon as the bell rings, the class empties faster than a bar after happy hour. I swing my tote bag over my shoulder, and walk out the door. Oliver comes up behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders.
“What can I do to convince you to come to our game tomorrow? I’ll literally do anything.”
I smile, still walking forward. “I would, but I have a volleyball training session with the Westbrook high students, and they’re breathing down my neck for more sessions.”
He sighs loudly, resting his head on my shoulder, groaning loudly. Still walking forward.
“What are you whining about this time?” Shawn says, approaching us with Tommy and Courtney, threading his fingers through hers.
“Will you at least come and see me before we get on the bus?” We stop in the middle of the quad, he waffles our hands together, staring down at me, ignoring the snickers from his friends.
“Geez man, we’re not shipping off to ‘Nam,” Tommy says, earning a snicker from the entire group. I look up at Oliver, laughing, but he’s serious, which just makes me laugh even harder.
“I’ll try,” I drop his hands, stand on my tiptoes, and plant a soft kiss on his lips, caressing his cheeks. “I have a shift at work, I have to go” I plant another kiss, this one longer. He grabs my waist, refusing to let me go, and honestly, if I didn't want this to be a surprise I would. I’m cutting the session short so I can drive down to surprise them. But next time he hugs me, I'm holding him tight as I can, and I'm never letting him go.
Until I have to. Until California.
I need to tell him.