I was sitting in my favourite patesserie in the Cultural District of Toronto enoying coffee and staring at the rain.
It was a pleasant end to an afternoon of art galley browsing and I should have been delighed to have met the girl of my dreams—I mean that literally because Bliss looks exactly my mystery lady and apparently has also been dreaming of me.
Oh, I know it sounds unlikely, but she described the content of our dream and the chances of her guessing those details are higly improbable and most likely impossible.
In fact, the chance of our meeting go far beyond mere coincidence and make me believe Fate is somehow guiding our steps.
Still, my wise mind tells me to be skeptical, especially when she denies she’s a witch but freelly admits to being a goddess. Her explanation causes me to smile.
“Oh well,” I say tongue-in- cheek, striving to suppress a smirk, “I can see how this deity of yours could complicate your whole day. Mind you, goddesses are really as common as witches—there’s a whole Pantheon of them, isn’t there? So, which one are you?”
“I’m Athena.”
“Oh, the queen of the gods," I chuckle, "wasn’t Zeus your Father?”
“So they say.”
That reply stops me in my tracks. I begin to notice the languid tone in which she’s answering my questions—it’s not boredom exactly—more what I’d call ennui.
She’s making me nervous.
I try a different tack. “Why did you answer like that—surely you know your own father?”
She sighs deeply and then reluctantly explains.
“I was born Thea Warren. My parents are Drake and Emilia Warren.”
“Not the Warrens of Long Island?” I croak.
“The same,” she whispers.
The Warren family is incredibly wealthy, and yet, here is their daughter living under an assumed name in Toronto. Very strange.
“Do you mind if I ask why you changed your name and moved away? Your parents are very well off and you come from a respected family.”
She nods. “I do—I do come from a respected family. But my parents’ views and mine clash. You see, Paul, they belong to a coven of witches and believe I’m the incarnation of the goddess Athena.”
“I see,” I nod and go silent.
Actually, I don’t see any sense in what she says at all.. I mean, who runs away from the lifestyle of the rich and famous?
She seems to read my thoughts.
“You can’t imagine how oppressive my life was. The only one who understood was Uncle Cyril, and I’d run away and stay at his estate for months on end. When he passed, I inherited his estate and realized I had the means to make a complete break—start over in a new life—which I did.”
“I can imagine how you felt, I mean, being expected to possess the attributes of a goddess when you’re really a mere mortal. It must have been hard.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t understand Paul—it wasn’t that I didn’t possess the powers—I didn’t want the powers.”
I gasp. “You’re telling me your problem is you possess goddess powers? I’m sorry, Bliss, but this is a little hard to believe.”
She shrugs as if she half expected my remark.
“It may be hard to believe, but it’s true.”
“So what kind of powers do you have, for instance?”
“What if I told you I could summon a storm at will and have thunder roar after me to agree with what I say?”
“I-I’d say that’s awfully hard to swallow, “ I stammer.
“Are you tired of the rain?” she asks, as if to change the subject.
“Well, yes, I suppose I am…”
The rain stops and the dying rays of the sombre sunset fill the street outside.
I stare at her in disbelief.
She arches an eyebrow as if to say, is this proof enough?
“Now, wait a minute—you’re not going to tell me you did that.”
“I did, Paul. I really did.” A peel of thunder punctuates her sentence.
A rainbow begins to arch in the sky outside.
“I’m afraid to ask what other tricks you can perform.”
Her eyes flash—literally. “I’m not some kind of magician—this isn’t some circus act.”
A deafening roar of thunder accentuates her point. The windows of the small café rattle.
“Okay, okay,” I say shakily, “I was just wondering what other powers you had.”
“I can draw down the Moon, fly through the air, talk to you in dreams, attract fireflies, and command shooting stars.”
“Really?”
“If you want, I can take one of those stars tonight and write our names across the sky.”
A flush of warmth passes through me. I’m intoxicated and captivated by her beauty.
“It’s warm in here,” I say, loosening my collar.
“No problem—I’ll ask for a breeze.”
Almost immediately, the atmosphere changes and a gentle breeze wafts through the room.
I know in that moment that I’m in love.
A goddess… Really!—am I going mad?
The problem is I have the proof—she can demonstrate her powers at will.
What can I do since the girl is beautiful? I don’t want to lose her, but she scares me to death.
But, needless to say, I see her again after that day and every day since. It’s not easy living with a goddess, but she is after all, the girl of my dreams.
And as time goes on, we discover we love the same things—all the way from our taste in music to our love of Chagall.
In fact, what I thought was whimsical in Chagall’s canvases have become part of my daily life.
My day to day reality has become a gallery of charming paintings.
It’s not unusual for a room to turn blue or glow vivid red, or a vase of flowers to float.
Yeah, she can do that.
It’s magical. Sometimes cows even play fiddle and fly.
And we fly too, high and free, above the town…
And our love is immotal as well— not just fantastic sounds and sights,
But we can even fly to the Moon…
and love outlasts the longest of nights.
