Anonymia Eoptenia

"Theo, your grammar is atrocious,"

Theodore grinned stiffly while his hands were clamped tightly together in an awkward fashion in his lap. He shivered strongly. James Harvey Matthew's office was arctic in its temperature. On the Irishman's fine mahogany desk was a minuscule, white fan that was outputting air on its highest level. Theodore thought of it as appropriate.

With a head of neatly combed dirty blonde hair, an overly serious deposition and hawkish face-James was known as an intimidating presence in the British publication industry. He was also one of Theodore's closest friends from his naive college days. Theodore had assisted him in acquiring his business with some money he had received from his father's untimely demise. He had been newly fresh from his graduation from Birmingham when the mournful news reached his ears. He remembered the day clearly-an unwelcome stamp on the pleasant memories of his early graduate days.

In the twilight years of the eighties, Theodore lived in a modest flat on a modest street in London. He weaved through his apartment like a man on a mission, his eyes darting about taking in his various things and trinkets . In the background on a metallic radio, was the soft melody of an old jazz song, known to only those who had memories of the decadent twenties. Outside in the streets of London, there was a light drizzle and the rain fell like pellets onto his transparent windows. Gray clouds moved about aimlessly in the heavens, pushed by an invisible wind.

Content with his inventory check, Theodore zipped up his burgundy suitcases and set them up against his living room table. A relieved and ecstatic smile now grew on his face, slicing it in half and flashing a bit of glowing handsomeness seen only by those not blind enough to see it. His once ancient histories professor had called upon some of his best students to join him on an archaeological dig on the boot molded country of Italy.

Although he had obtained his Bachelor's as a Greek History major, he couldn't resist the temptation. It was Rome after all, the once ancient empire spanning from Europe to Asia that suddenly collapsed without a sign. The phone began to ring solidly and Theodore's mouth went dry. It was his father.

His father had been suffering from lung cancer for a while, a product of his life long love of cigars. Theodore visited him weekly and drove him to the hospital for treatments. However, as time went on the treatments no longer worked and he watched his father waste away silently until he was but a shell of the man he once was. Theodore had no mother, she had supposedly died when he was very young. His father had been all he had, it was them against the world. He couldn't lose him as well!

Still, the phone kept ringing with that dastardly cheerful ringtone until it stopped, giving him only seconds of relief before it started up again in earnest. Mechanically, he moved towards the phone, his feet dragging against the carpet every step of the way. He trembled as he piled up the phone, almost dropping it with his sweaty palms. The person on the other side was a female and had a breathy voice as if she had just ran a marathon.

"I'm sorry Mr. Lowsley, but your father,"

The nurse went on and on but Theodore had long since then closed his ears. After a few minutes, he hung up the phone and called his professor. He wouldn't be going on the trip. The next few weeks, had been filled with funeral preparations. Theodore had held back his tears for as long as he could at the funeral itself then, in his car on the way back to his apartment, he sobbed and cried out to the man he had called father.

His father's lawyer met with him for his inheritance, several thousand pounds and an old fifties bottle opener. He didn't want the money, he wanted his father back. He clutched the bottle opener close to his heart. His father used to carry it around with him everywhere.

As a young lad, he would always ask where his father had squired the thing and his father would always get this strange, far off look in his eyes.

"It was a gift from someone." and he would leave it at that.

The opener was painted with golden paint, that was chipped from age and wear, with a detailed map of Greece on one side and the Parthenon surrounded by a small heavenly glow on the other. It wasn't his father, but it soothed the pain, having a piece of him no matter how small. A month after the funeral, he moved back to Birmingham, and bitterly remembered why he left in the first place.

It was a lonely place without his dad's bright smile and amazing talent to find the adventure in everything. Only one of his friends visited him, his friend James Matthews. Theodore called him Jimmy much to his chagrin. He didn't talk much, as a matte of fact he didn't really talk at all, but his eyes said it all and that was all Theo needed.

He had been the one friend at the funeral, the rest had sent their condolences but he had gotten the message quite clear. No one wanted to be around him now that he was a depressed mess and he didn't blame them at all. James had sat next to him as he cried for his father and things left unsaid between them.

A year later, when James asked for help with his publishing company, Theodore was more than happy to oblige and sent him his inheritance. James sent back half and told him to quit being a fool.

Theodore shoved away the bittersweet memories and adjusted himself in his chair while James speed read through the manuscript.

"Damn it Jim, I'm a historian not an English teacher!"

James gave him an unamused look, but he saw the incline on one half of his mouth and grinned himself. It wasn't a smile by any stroke of the imagination, but when it came to Jim it was close.

"You need to smile more Jimmy," he received a glare. "It won't kill you." Theodore told him.

"It won't, but you will. Damn it Theo you cunt, you haven't talked to me in years and now you come to me with some Greek myth."

Theodore cringed. Since that day of his great discovery, he had spurned all relationships to quickly translate the story. He hadn't fully been aware of how much time had flown by until he had checked on a calendar. Eight years, he thought with widening eyes, astounding. That meant he was now fifty. He wasn't getting any younger that was for sure. He felt older than his own myth.

"How about we talk over some drinks," he offered." There's a really nice pub down the street from my home that just opened!"

"Theodore, that pub has been opened for the past three years," James dead panned.

"Oh, I-"

"But, I agree. We need to make up for lost time. Besides, it's a much better place to talk about your book than this stuffy place."

Theodore almost released a sigh of relief. He was turning into an ice cube in his seat.

"When shall we meet?"

"Six."

"That's far too early for drinks," Theodore exclaimed. "How about seven?"

"No time is too early for alcohol."

"You Irish bastard, was that a joke?"

A small smile worked its way up onto James' face. Theodore thought it was a beautiful sight.

The pub was dimly lit and smokey, giving it a bit of a homey feeling. No one came alone, they all came in little groups and sat in empty booths, or tables. The place was packed to the brim and as noisy as a classroom. Theodore didn't much care for it, but he hadn't talked to Jim in such a long time he figured it was better for them to just meet in a calm setting, a warm setting. The fact that ole Jimmy liked to drink as well helped to pick his location also.

He lit a cigarette and took small puffs before beginning to speak.

"So what did you think?"

James setback in his chair and downed a shot of ale.

"It was good, brilliant even," his praise was hesitant. "I just want to know why it kept you in your house like a hermit."

"I did not stay in that house as long as that! I did go to other places such as the library, the store-" he cut himself off when James gave him the look again.

He sighed and took another drag of his cigarette before leaving it in the ashtray, a small strand of smoke still coming from the lit end.

"I don't know why. I just- I just felt this pull towards it, a magnetic attraction as if I was chosen to translate it." he wished he was able to put his rollicking thoughts into a coherent sentences but that was the gist of it all.

He downed his own shot of ale and asked the waitress to bring them a whole bottle. In his pocket, his golden bottle opener began to burn like a lit up charcoal. He withheld his loud yelp. He usually did not bring it to places anymore. A few years after his father's death he had stopped and threw it into a box with some other trinkets, but tonight he had brought it with him after a strong urge to have it went threw him.

James furrowed his eyebrows.

"Is something the matter Theo?" he asked in a worried tone.

"No, I'm fine. I've just got to head to the lavatory." he got up from his chair and bounded to the bathroom leaving a confused James in his wake.

Theodore opened the door and was glad to find it empty. He had no doubt that after a few hours it was going to be a wholly different story. He shoved his hand into his pocket and took out the opener. It surprisingly didn't burn his hand. Instead, both sides glowed with an ethereal blue light. What the hell is going on, he thought, with his eyes wide.

It began to shake wildly and he pivoted it between his hands before it slipped and fell to the floor. It stopped shaking suddenly, and Theodore stared at the thing with an incredulous expression. This shouldn't be happening, he thought. He believed ancient mythology to be fascinating but never believed it was true. It was unearthly still upon the off white ceramic tile of the bathroom.

Still visibly shaking, Theodore picked it back up and a voice called out to him. A voice that seemed to be as old and wise as time itself.

"Theodore come to Athens," it echoed inside his mind and he scanned around to check if anyone was playing tricks on him.

"No one is playing tricks on you Theodore Lowsley. Do you know who I am?"

The name came to him as swift as the wind.

"Athena," he whispered. "But, why are you talking to me? How do you know my name?"

"Come to Athens and meet me at the Parthenon at night. Then, all the answers to your questions will be reve-"

"Theodore?"

Theodore whittled around quickly to find James standing right behind him with a peculiar expression on his face. Theodore straightened himself, pocketed the opener, and greeted his friend with an absent-minded smile.

"Hi James. I was just leaving."

"Did something happen?" James asked him, his voice laced with concern.

Theodore shook his head vehemently.

"Nothing, nothing at all."

Just that I must go to Athens, he thought grimly.