Forgotten Gods

The gods of yore living in the world of today

It was raining in Seattle. A bank of rather dreary depressed clouds had settled over the city. In the distance there was a rumble of thunder and s brief flash as lightning streaked across the sky in a hurry to get to wherever it is that lightning gets to. It was a typical day in the city that was home to the world’s most recognizable coffee shop chain and mediocre-at-best sports teams. If you could find one person that would tell you they remember a clear sunny day in the last six months you’d have also found a bold face liar. That’s just how things were in the Pacific Northwest. It rained for months on end. People lost hope and killed themselves. The sun would come up for a day or two. Rinse and repeat.

That’s how Thom liked it. Clouds made him feel at home. Overcast weather was his milieu. Plop him down on a beach or in the desert and he’d feel like he was on an alien planet. He’d be that guy walking down the beach in a pair of jeans and a jacket praying for rain while everyone else is in their swim attire playing beach volleyball and surfing. Seattle was Thom’s kind of city. The sun could go screw itself. Clouds were the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas. Of course, when you’re a retired god of thunder, you tend to feel that way.

While Thom had rather enjoyed Seattle, he’d spent several hundred years of human history wreaking havoc in the skies above Scandinavia. He’d gone by Thor then, and the Norse people had loved him. Well, loved him as much as any terrified peasant can love one of their gods. Especially one of the gods that could sink their ships out on a raid with the wave of his hand. Not that he was ever that ruthless, but still, he could. Keep the slaughtered sheep and the virgins coming, and Thor was happy. Nowadays, all it took to please the former god of thunder was an apple fritter and a tall cup of coffee from anywhere other than freaking Starbucks. Thom had instantly hated the coffee chain when they adopted the mermaid as part of their logo. He’d known a few mermaids in his time, and he could tell you that they would be the last creatures you wanted to serve you coffee. Devilishly mischievous, mermaids.

Thom left his studio apartment that looked out onto Puget Sound and took a good long pull of the damp morning air. Another rumble of thunder sounded in the distance and Thom smiled. Music to his ears. Sure, he wasn’t the conductor any more, but he still liked that sound. In Thom’s personal opinion, the lazy Christian god wasn’t quite as good as him at making a good thunderhead, but what can you expect from a guy that rested on the seventh day? This thunder was utilitarian. Thunder for the sake of thunder. What Thom did was art; thunder to strike fear into the hearts of men. It wasn’t fancy anymore, but it would have to do. And don’t even get him started on the lightning.

Thom set off north towards a small open air market located just a few blocks from his place. He met Andy there every Wednesday morning and they walked to group together. Thom passed a small group of children, presumably from the local elementary school, that were walking hand in hand in a single file line behind a heavy set woman in purple pants. Each child was wearing some version of a rain jacket, and Thom heard the woman say something to the children about hurrying back to school to beat the storm. Thom chuckled to himself. Humans were always so scared of a little rainfall, of getting a little wet. Thom hadn’t even bothered to put on his jacket before he left the house.

Olympus Farmer’s Market operated from ten to three Monday through Friday, and from noon to two on Saturdays. It was a bustling mass of hippies and yuppies all pretending that eating organic food was actually going to make them live longer or have better health. Thom knew the truth. Didn’t matter what you ate or how often you ate it. Your personal health was laid out in your genetics before you were even born. You could be the healthiest a*****e on earth, there was not a thing you could do about preventing lung cancer or HIV. That’s what humans truly didn’t understand. They illnesses they contract aren’t viral or bacterial, they’re genetic. It would be centuries still before they would realize it, and centuries more before they developed a way to cure them. Thom didn’t know if he’d still be around for that particular development, but he doubted it. Immortals can only hang around for so long before they just give up and let The Council remove them.

Andy was standing next to a stall selling plantains when Thom walked up. Andy was holding a particularly large plantain, prodding and squeezing the fruit to check for ripeness. Andy was well over six feet tall with dark skin and a face that was vaguely dog-like. He was wearing a tattered jean jacket and a pair of blue and white Reebok Pumps. Thom thought his old friend looked for all the world like an out-of-date hipster fondling a large brown penis at the farmer’s market and he laughed.

“What’s funny,” Andy asked as Thom approached.

Thom whispered what he was laughing at into Andy’s semi-pointy ear.

“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter,” Andy chided. “How old are you?”

Thom took a moment to think. “A few centuries, I think.”

“Few?” Andy said, giving Thom a disbelieving look.

“Give or take…” Thom thought again, “six or so centuries.”

Andy shook his head. “And yet you still act like a child.”

“Oh come on,” argued Thom. “It’s not my fault you were fondling the plantain, nature’s dick.”

Andy sighed. “Are you ready to go? We’re going to be late.”

Thom nodded and Andy picked up a cup of Starbucks coffee from the table next to him. The scent of Arabian mocha java rose from the small opening in the lid with a health amount of steam. Thom spat an inaudible curse and slapped the cup from Andy’s hand. The small cardboard cup hit the ground with a healthy amount of force, expelling the contents all over Andy’s shoes and pants.

“What the hell, man,” Andy shouted and pushed Thom.

“You know what you did,” Thom stated bluntly. “Don’t drink that s**t around me. Starbucks is responsible for the downfall of western civilization.”

Andy grumbled and tried to brush the coffee off his pants with no effect.

“Let it go, Thom,” he said angrily. “Just because that mermaid slept with you and never called you back doesn’t mean Starbucks did anything wrong.”

“Those b******s are guilty by association,” said Thom in response. “And she slept with me twice and took my wallet the second time.”

Andy walked passed Thom toward the street. Thom followed closely behind. Andy turned to look at Thom with his inquisitive dog-like face as they moved down the sidewalk east, further into the city.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said to Thom. “How does sex with a mermaid work? They don’t have the right parts down there.”

Thom gave him a surly look. “Oh, now whose mind is in the gutter? Perv.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. It was only a few blocks to the Lower Seattle Community Center, a small brick building that sat unassumingly between a pair of twelve story buildings that were trying very hard to be noticed above the community center. The inside of the LSCC smelled vaguely of peaches and Mr. Clean. An elderly woman was working behind the reception desk, but Andy and Thom didn’t stop to talk to her. It wouldn’t have mattered if they had. Mrs. Overlander had been behind that desk for seven years, and in all that time, no one could say for certain whether the woman had actually moved a muscle. The only reason they hadn’t assumed she was dead was because she would disappear every night without so much as a word to anyone and return in the morning just as inconspicuously.

Room 11-B was located on the second floor in the far northwest corner of the building. Inside were arrayed a circle of chairs next to a table of various snacks and soft drinks. The general fare was junk food with Dr. Pepper to drink. No god had ever drunk any soda other than Dr. Pepper since its invention. It was the modern day equivalent to ambrosia. Several different beers and liquors used to be provided before a leprechaun had moved to town and started attending group. The drunken Irishman stereotype had not come from the Irish people, but the leprechauns. They were violent drunks, and often more mischievous than the mermaids. Anything you could do to keep a leprechaun sober should be done for the sake of your wallet or general health.

A few of the chairs in the circle had been filled. Thom recognized a few of the face immediately. There was Angie, the Greek goddess of wisdom. Next to her was Thom’s brother Lenny. Directly across from Lenny was Hank the leprechaun who was polishing a series of gold coins he pulled from thin air and then quickly returned them there. In line at the snack table were Kenneth, the raven god of Siberia, and Auggie, the evil Inuit sea god who never happened to be in a good mood. Walking in behind Thom and Andy was the Chinese sky deity, Di. His hair had a windswept look and he smelled like a fresh spring morning. Di took a seat next to the leprechaun.

Thom took his place in line behind Auggie who smelled strongly of blubber and salt water as usual. Taking a flimsy paper plate from the stack at the edge of the table, Thom did his best to load as much junk food onto a small paper plate without overworking the plate’s structural integrity and sending the whole mess down to the floor. It was a form of functional art. Nothing could go on bottom that would smoosh and create an unsteady base. Candy bars and the like typically went on first, followed by string candy like licorice, topped with loose candy such as M&M’s or Skittles. Donuts were placed last because that’s just good sense. A seasoned food stacker like Thom knew a trade secret that most were too weak of heart to perform. Instead of dumping a handful of M&M’s onto the plate, he took a single donut, pressed it firmly into the bowl of candy, and pulled it out coated with delicious bite sized chocolate pieces. Plate laden with tasty treats, he moved to his seat next to his brother.

Lenny was always the rambunctious child, swiping things here and shaving cats there. As he aged, his mischief grew to a large scale until whole tribes of Vikings would find themselves on the tail end of a prank, alone and starving in the frozen wastes of Scandinavia. Nowadays, Lenny spent his time as a fairly accomplished pickpocket and grifter. He was wearing a finely pressed suit with a maroon tie. His hair was quaffed expertly and a pencil thin mustache ran across his upper lip. He looked more or less like he’d be at home standing on a street corner in the 1920’s flipping a coin and smoking a cigarette.

“Morning, Thom,” he said, as Thom and Andy took their seats next to him. “Andy.”

“Lenny,” Andy answered him with a nod.

“What are you playing at today?” Thom asked his brother without greeting him.

Lenny gave him a broad smile that oozed tomfoolery. “Meeting a mark up by the Needle. Should score me just over fifty G’s.”

Andy scoffed. He’d never particularly liked Lenny’s modus operandi. “Who are you scamming for fifty thousand dollars?”

“What’s it to you, death boy,” Lenny spat back. “Mind your beeswax.”

Before they could argue further, a woman entered the room. Her presence demanded attention, which had a lot to do with the fact that she was so large she could barely fit through the door. Her blond hair was pulled tightly back in a pony tail and her beady black eyes took in everyone in the room. Her house dress was a fading purple color that did nothing to make her look less like a hippo. Not that she was trying, however. Tammy, or Taweret in her hay day, had spent many years as the Egyptian hippo goddess before moving to America in search of cooler waters and sandier beaches. She found the cooler waters, but the beaches were no more sandy and, sadly, a little rockier.

Tammy squeezed through the door and waddled her way around the circle to take a seat at the head of the group, if a group arrayed in a circle could, in fact, have a head. No one spoke while she took her sweet time catching her breath and clearing the spots from her eyes. She had made many petitions to the Community Center’s director to have an elevator installed or, at the very least, have the group moved to the first floor but they fell on deaf ears. Her only solace was that she would long out live the director and would more than likely take a hippo sized dump on his grave shortly after her was interred.

“Welcome to group everyone,” she said after several heaving breaths. “Does anyone want to start by sharing any experiences from the week?”

Angie immediately raised her hand much to the chagrin of the rest of the group. Thom heard Di let out an audible sigh. She ignored them all, of course, and stood up.

“Hello everyone,” she said to the room, “my names Angie, and I’m a forgotten god.”

“Hello Angie,” said half the room in half-heated unison.

“We know who you are, lady,” Thom heard Andy mumble under his breath. “You’ve only been coming to this group for five years.”

Thom choked back a smile.

“So I’m at the library the other day,” Angie continued, unperturbed, “and I ventured into the Young Adult section.”

“Ah crap,” Auggie the Inuit sea god said aloud, “here we go again.”

Angie clucked her tongue reprovingly. “Well excuse me, but I am the goddess of intelligent activity, arts, and literature among others, and this genre defies all of those things. It’s as young people today thrive on drivel and nonsense. And don’t even get me started on Twilight.”

“No one said anything about Twilight,” Di argued.

“Right,” Angie agreed. “I’m glad you mentioned it. Stephenie Meyer has got to be the biggest hack in this centur…”

Before the goddess of wisdom could launch into her old familiar tirade about overrated YA authors, she was cut off by a new arrival to the room. There was a knock at the door and the whole group turned to find a young woman with long, flowing black hair and icy blue eyes. Her skin was olive toned and stood in stark contrast to the white t-shirt and blue jeans she was wearing. The men in the room were, of course, taken with her, but none so much as Thom. An impressive fireworks display was erupting in his head that made thinking about anything but the literal goddess that stood in the doorway. Andy nudged him with an elbow and made a wiping gesture. Thom lifted his hand to his mouth to find a single M&M running down his chin on a river of drool. He blushed and wiped it clear as quickly as possible.

“Is this the Forgotten God Support Group?” she asked innocently.

“Yes, honey,” Tammy replied politely. “Come in, come in.”

The young lady stepped into the room proper and took a seat in between Di and Kenneth, both of which looked quite uncomfortable with such a beautiful woman so close to them. Thom had to put every last godly effort into prying his eyes off of the woman across from him. She had to be Aphrodite or something looking like that, he thought. Was it polite to shout your name out in a room full of people at a pretty girl, he wondered. He could always just do it and see how it played out. That’s how people did things right?

“Sorry, Angie,” said Tammy with no sympathy, “newcomers take precedence.”

Angie huffed audibly, rolled her eyes, and sat down. The young lady stood up and looked at the room shyly.

“Hello, everyone,” she said softly. “My name is Freddie.”

“Hi Freddie,” the men in the room said enthusiastically which elicited another eye roll from Angie.

“I’m the Roman goddess of fortune,” Freddie continued. “Although, I don’t know that anyone really remembers me. Not sure if they even really knew I was there in the first place. I just moved to town to help out one of my cousins. I attended a few of these meetings in Las Vegas, but never felt like I got much out of it. I was just hoping maybe this group would be a little different. Not sure what else to say.”

“It’s okay, Freddie,” Tammy said sweetly. “Thank you for introducing yourself. I hope you find what you need here with us. We were just listening to Angie here share some things with us.”

Freddie sat down when Angie stood back up.

“Thank you, Tammy,” she said, shooting Freddie an icy look, which Freddie effortlessly ignored.

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur for Thom. Angie went on for at least fifteen minutes about whatever it was she was rambling on about. Di shared a story, as did Kenneth. All Thom heard was a noise similar to the teacher from Charlie Brown. He had to work extra hard not to stare at Freddie to avoid looking like a creeper. It turned out to be harder than he expected, but he felt like he did a decent job. It wasn’t until Lenny kneed him that he realized the meeting was over and everyone was gathering their belongings to be about their own business. Thom caught Freddie out the corner of his eye leaving the room. He sprung out of his chair and made for the door.

“Thom,” Lenny called after him.

“No time,” Thom shouted back and ran into the hall.

Freddie was nowhere in sight, so he sprinted down the hall to the stairs and took them two at a time. In the lobby, Mrs. Overlander was sitting frozen in her usual position watching an episode of Maury Povich in which a young upstanding gentleman was finding out that he was, indeed, the father of a child that Thom was sure he would care for unflinchingly in the light of the news. Thom caught sight of Freddie’s jet black hair flowing liquidly out the front entrance of the building. He pushed out behind her and found her walking south down the street alone, hands in her pockets.

“Freddie,” he shouted after her. She stopped and turned to see him running after her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said awkwardly. Thom suddenly realized how threatening a large man chasing a young woman must seem.

“Just, uh…” he mumbled, “wanted to say hi…I guess.”

She looked around as if hoping to find a hidden camera. “Hi,” she said back.

Neither one of them could possibly know it, but three full minutes passed in silence as Thom tried to find the right words, and Freddie tried not to run away from the creepy guy that had just chased her down the street.

“I’m Thor,” Thom said with a charming befuddledness. He held his hand out in greeting.

Freddie smiled that made Thom’s heart melt.

“Hi, Thor,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m Fortuna.”

“Fortuna,” Thom repeated in an awed whisper.

She giggled. “I should get going. I have a bus to catch.”

“Wait,” blurted Thom, stopping her in her tracks again. “Maybe we could grab some dinner some time.”

Freddie smiled a devilish grin at him. “Sure, why not.”

She pulled a Sharpie from her back pocket and wrote her number on a piece of paper she found on the sidewalk. She handed it to Thom who took it and looked at it as if to make sure there was actually a phone number written on it. Freddie looked over his shoulder to find her bus rumbling down the street.

“Crap,” she sighed. “That’s my bus. I have to go.”

She turned and set off down the sidewalk in the direction of the nearest bus stop. Thom, under no power of his own, made to follow her for some reason. He’d say it was just because she had that power over him. In reality, he was heading that way too. The bus hit a rather large pot hole in the street and sent a miniature tidal wave of street water crashing down over Thom, soaking him from head to toe. Freddie turned back to see him standing soaking wet on the sidewalk like a cat caught in a thunderstorm.

“Bad luck,” she said with a wink before disappearing around the corner.

Thom looked down to see that, while his entire body was dripping with stinking water from the street, the piece of paper with Freddie’s number on it was miraculously dry.

“Maybe not,” he said to himself, and walked back to find Andy to tell him what had happened.