— Dora Maar
Last month, Mrs. Reed taught Greek mythology and the theories meant to explain the unexplainable, to free people from their fears of the unknown – hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, the structure of the stars. Heroes, heroines, goddesses, the gods of the poets, the gods of the city, the gods of nature.
Clyde could not write poetry, but he knew how to be noble and fight for what he cherished and so he grew intent upon emulating Perseus. In protecting his love, he would don an invisible cloak and slay visible and invisible dragons both, creeping from the floorboards of the city, climbing out of drains like raccoons the size of baboons, which he’s seen ambling on two legs down Venice Boulevard, a gang of them, although no one believes this story.
She is his Andromeda. He calls her this secretly. She prefers the nickname Cherie, “like from the Stevie Wonder song.” Clyde believes that one day soon as their lips meet, their iconic and unassailable love will be suspended in time. Maybe they’ll be transported, catapulted into a shimmering night sky, a coupled constellation. Or forever imprinted upon a city building, their immortal image emblematic to all passersby that love is possible.