#ardisci

POV: Kaitlyn “Look at the baskets!” Ardi squeals, rushing forward to a stand with baskets of candy, fake flowers, and small stuffed animals. They instantly engage into a conversation with the seller, I’m sure telling them the history of gift baskets on Valentine’s day. I would follow them, but I see that Buttercup has sat down, which makes Netalia hang back. Of course, there’s probably peanuts in the gift baskets. I know Netaila hates having to be left behind, so I hang back with her, flashing a smile to Ardi when they glance back at me. Ardi knows why we’re hanging back, says something to the seller, then takes a basket and returns to us. I’m sure Ardi already knows the peanut-status of the basket, but they hold it to Buttercup to sniff anyway. Safe, Buttercup wags her tail and circles back to Netalia. “They’re crocheted!” Ardi points at a small bear holding a heart. “And look, homemade white raspberry fudge— they make it all at home and…” Ardi goes on to give us small facts about the making of it, more than the creator likely had time to relay to Ardi. Not that Netalia notices. “So cute!” Netalia takes the little bear, rubbing her fingers against the side of its face before handing it back. We go to this farmer’s market almost every week— it’s indoors in the winter, outdoors in the summer— but since it’s the weekend before valentine’s day, it’s much more saturated with hearts— hearts and crafts, I think, which I’m sure is an unoriginal pun but I decide to say it anyway. “So much more hearts and crafts this week,” I say. Netalia gives me a very exaggerated eyeroll, but Ardi giggles. “Hearts and crafts!” they say. Even though they could likely tell me exactly how many times that pun has been made before. “Yeah, usually there’s only 3 or 4 craft booths, today it’s forty—“ Ardi adjusts, “forty percent, probably.” They were probably going to say the exact percentage, which makes me smile. “It’s a good present-buying occasion.”

“Not when you’re single,” Netalia says, handing the bear back. Ardi puts it in the basket again. Ardi bounds back to the table, and Netalia turns to me. “You should buy them something.” She’s got a sneaky grin on her face. That flusters me a little bit. I run my hand through mt hair, pushing my curls out of my face. “What… are you talking about…” I can’t help but smile— I’m not hiding it from Net. Netalia’s called me out on my maybe-crush before. “Come on.” Netalia grins, then turns to the closest table, a jewelry stand. The jeweler greets us with a warm smile. She pokes at the various stones on chains. “I thought you hated Valentine’s day,” I said. “I can root for you guys. You gotta make a move. Would Addie like earrings?” Netalia asks, using the fake name Ardi came up with for college. I smile in memory— in the first year, Ardi asked if they could borrow some earrings. When Ardi had manifested this form, it hadn’t had pierced ears, which I’d pointed out, leading to Ardi to grin. “Magic trick!” they’d said, tugging their earlobes and making holes appear. I was pretty sure they’d stayed since. “Maybe,” I said, looking at the options. But they all seemed too… elegant, glitzy. I wandered down the table. The necklaces were more understated, but still, it didn’t seem right. “They don’t have a watch, right?” Netalia suggested. I shook my head. Ardi knew the time on their own.

“I don’t know if I should,” I said. “Why not?” Netalia asked. But Ardi had returned, suddenly behind me. I was suddenly afraid they had heard me, and could only hope they hadn’t heard enough that they would wonder what we were talking about, thus instantly knowing. Ardi didn’t comment on it or make any expression, but that wasn’t necessarily an indication. They leaned over my shoulder, pointing at a bracelet with a stone with a blue rim and a blue dot in the center. “So many cultures believed that people could curse others by giving them an ‘evil eye.’” They informed us. “And some think only certain people can bestow the curse. And for some it’s only blue-eyes people who can. This jewelry’s supposed to reflect it off them, but that’s why it’s usually blue.” The jeweler has come closer as Ardi spoke, her face lighting up at the history. “The blue-eyed thing is from the Mediterranean,” she said. “Light eyes are rarer there.” “Yep, especially Turkey!” Ardi adds excitedly. The two of them start a conversation about the history of evil eyes. I watch and listen and Netalia comes up next to me. “So, think evil eye is a good one?” she asks quietly, picking up the bracelet. I shake my head. Just because they’ve started an info-dump on it doesn’t mean it’s the best present. “It’s too loaded,” I say, staring at the chains of necklaces again, watching them glitter. “An evil eye?” Netalia chuckles. “Okay, I see your point.” “No… to give anything. On Valentine’s day.” “Nah, friends give Valentines gifts all the time. Just steer away from hearts if you don’t want to be suggestive.” Netalia grins. “Or do!”

I spot a lotus flower necklace. Not too fancy, simple and cute. And Ardi loves symbolism— they know all of the associations, and are fascinated, saying that it’s such a purely human thing to make those connections. I don’t remember what the lotus symbolizes off the top of my head— all I remember is that I know Ardi said it once, and I remember thinking it was very them. But what I can’t tell Netalia is tht it’s not just shyness or fear of it being unrequited. Ardi’s not a person, as much as they seem to be, as much as they try to be. I so often see Ardi as who their disguise is… as human. Not as the god of knowledge. You can’t just… fall in love with a god. Have a relationship with one. And even if Ardi denies it, they are a god, they will one day have to return and I know that. And they know that, they have to. My parents, my friends from before… they all didn’t understand my relationship with Ardi. Said that I couldn’t think myself as equal to a god, couldn’t question them or expect them to meet me halfway or even be special to them. Gods belonged to all. Some people had a more direct connection, where there to help carry out their duties, that’s all I was to Ardi, that’s what they said. But when I look at Ardi, I don’t see a god. Even when I can tell that they’re brimming with facts, that it’s all they can help not to let the collective knowledge come pouring out, faster than human speech can be. Don’t mistake your loyalty to your god for a partnership, Mom had said. And I always had to push back against that… trust Ardi, that we were partners. Given that, why even try to start a romantic relationship? In a way, it already felt like we had a deeper… but different, partnership. We were definitely connected already, in a strong way.

A romantic relationship almost seemed… Cheaper, less strong, less deep. But I couldn’t deny wanting it. I couldn’t deny wanting more, wanting the things that seemed almost too human for a god, like holding hands and kisses and dates and soft hugs and yes, possibly sex— like, how could I even consider asking for that from a god? A god who had trusted me to be the only person to know where and who they were? A god I’d already given up so much for and knew that I would never feel like they owed me— because wasn’t that inherently the power imbalance of a god and their servant? If I truely saw us as equal, why was I willing to be the only one to sacrifice things? I was already special, already Their Person in a way. But also… Would Ardi want a relationship? Yes— but that was the problem. A relationship was one of those unique-to-humans experiences that I’m sure Ardi would want to try. Which is… not what I wanted. I knew too much. I couldn’t trust that this wasn’t just them trying out an experience. To try out love and romance and relationships. Not that I thought Ardi’s expereinces were unreal, but I didn’t want them to agree simply because they wanted to try the activity or experience. More than that, even if I could stand that… I knew that they had to return. That a day would come where they were no longer any level of human… back to being Ardisci, God of Knowledge. And no matter what, when they did, I still wanted to be right by their side. In our current relationship nothing would change. But if we were a couple, and they decided to return? They would have to give me up, give up the romance things, the relationship, no matter how real those feelings turned out. I fully expect Ardi to know about my feelings. Not that they know inner feelings, but if they’ve learned anything on how to read that kind of thing, and I haven’t exactly denied it in conversations with Netalia.

Ardi’s finished the conversations about evil eyes, and Netalia suggests they go over to a booth of soaps and candles. Netalia winks at me as they leave, Ardi too distracted to notice that I linger. It doesn’t matter what I want. As much as I see us as equals, I still am their loyal servant, committed to their will. So I’m not going to say anything. But I can still get them a present. I buy the lotus necklace and slip it into my pocket. They may already know I bought it. They may know why. But I can give them the necklace without it meaning anything and keep not saying it, and things will stay how they are.

--

I can’t write with Buttercup there, so I finish the sentence, put my pen down, and turn to Buttercup, taking her face in my hands and scratching behind her ears. Buttercup starts panting, her tail wagging loud enough to slam against the carpet.

“Did the good doggie get snubbed?” I coo to Buttercup. It’s lucky humans developed a way to communicate thoughts, or I may never have had access to even the concept of thoughts and emotions, just behavior and knowledge of consciousness. At least a person can tell me what they’re thinking and feeling, even if it’s not always true— or all I’d have is what I can tell about animals, what their behaviors indicate. 

“It was not a snub,” Netalia said. “I have to read this.”

I quiet, just smiling at Buttercup and scratching behind her ears. Kaitlyn’s looking at me. I know what face she’s making without looking up, but I look up anyway because sometimes using the human eyes helps me interpret it better. There’s a slight smile. I think it’s in reference to “Some of us need to actually read the assignment.” Just because that’s usually what Kaitlyn likes to tease me about. 

Kaitlyn closes her textbook and sets it down on the table. “Talia, can we take Buttercup outside and play with her a bit? I think Addie’s getting antsy.”

Addie’s not really my name—my god name is Ardisci, and before going into hiding, Kaitlyn called me Ardi, which I love—never had I been close enough with someone for them to need a shortened way to refer to me. It felt affectionate. But going into hiding I needed a name-name, something not quite my god name. Kaitlyn had actually said that Adelaide felt too close to Ardisci to her, but once I’d picked it it had felt comfortable and I couldn’t pick another one, so we went with it. Plus, “Addie” and “Ardi” sounded similar, which made the transition easier. 

“Sure,” Netalia sits up, folding the book over her finger for a moment. “Her toys are in the basket next to the porch.” She stood and sat down on the couch Kait had been lying on.

I stood, giving Buttercup a tug towards the door. Buttercup lept, realizing what we were doing, and ran to the door, barking when it didn’t open for her.

“Hold on, girl.” Kaitlyn followed us over to the front entrance and grabbed her jacket off the hook, then handed me mine. Now out of earshot from Netalia, she said to me, “The rest of us need to actually read the assignment.”

“I know,” I said. My jacket was thick, zippered, and knit, with cables curling up the sleeves. I wanted to try knitting sometime, to see if it was as easy as the information of “how to purl” came into my mind. Kaitlyn had said she’d knit when she was younger, had described how she’d learned to spot the difference between a knit stitch and a purl stitch and how to make a cable or bauble. When I look at it I know, but I have a feeling that that knowledge is different from recognizing it.

Kaitlyn takes a moment to adjust the collar of my jacket, which wasn’t folded properly. “I know you know,” she smiles—me saying “I know” is ironic, she’s said, just as anyone saying “do you know?” is to me. But “know” doesn’t, in my case, always mean knowing, it means understanding, and that (I know) is a different thing. 

Buttercup bolts out the door as soon as I turn the handle to leave—it’s into Netalia’s family’s backyard, where Buttercup has previously been allowed to roam freely, so I’m not concerned—and Kaitlyn shouts to Netalia’s mom that we’re taking Buttercup out. Her mom, Lynette, tells us alright, and that she’s heating up some hot apple cider for us. Lynette was horrified my first year living as a human that I’d never had hot apple cider, and had filled me up on it ever since. I’d told Kaitlyn how I knew what apple was used, the origins of the drink, different versions, what was considered the best mixture. 

“Alright,” Kaitlyn had said. “But the drink you’re drinking right now. Do you like it?”

I’d been confused at first. I’d taken another sip— not really familiar with the concept of myself liking things. I knew it was generally accepted as good, but then I really absorbed the flavor, the heat, the spice, the sweetness. “Yes,” I’d said finally. “I like it.”

I bound outside, running to the basket under the porch and grabbing a frisbee. “Wanna catch?” I ask Buttercup. Buttercup jumps side to side, ready. I swing my arm, try to snap my wrist, and let go. Buttercup runs after it, but the frisbee curves, making about a 60° angle away from where I thought I’d aimed. I laugh, and Buttercup, who started running straight, looks around in confusion.

“I gotta get better at that!” I shout to Kait, and run over to where the frisbee landed. Running is nice, a feeling I’ve gotten used to. The exertion, adrenaline, my lungs pulling in air, my heart beating, lactic acid starting to flow through my muscles (which’ll make them sore later). One of the things I can’t know, I have to feel. I get to feel. I scoop up the frisbee and toss it again. This time Buttercup knows to watch it, and runs after the very curved path it follows. I run back over to Kait, meeting Buttercup halfway as she trots back with it. Kait takes the frisbee.

“Here,” she holds it out, but instead of letting me take it, guides my hand to hold it. She takes me through the motion of throwing it, of the flick of the wrist. “And here you let go. Eyes on your target.” she says. 

I know how to on an instructional level, but when Kait releases my hand for me to try, this time I pay attention not to the collective knowledge, but her instruction. I follow through, and this time it goes straighter, only curving a bit at the end. Buttercup races after it, then picks it up from the ground.

“Better,” Kait observes. She’s staring at Buttercup at first, but her eyes don’t follow the return, so she seems to have spaced on the trees. “Russell never quite figured out how to throw one,” she said.

I take the frisbee from Buttercup, spinning it in my hand for a moment. I don't look at her, knowing she won’t notice me averting my eyes.

I still haven't told her. I should tell her. It’s my obligation really, to our friendship and to my role as god. But really, just because I am the god of knowledge, did that mean I have to tell her? I’m trying to escape that role.

She’ll find out eventually. And maybe I can say I just hadn’t thought of it— I’d been shutting down the constant stream of information, and one person's death isn’t collective knowledge. If I hadn’t wondered, I still wouldn’t know, not actively.

But I do know actively. I’d checked in and realized. And decided not to tell her.

Her brother had died two years ago. That’s why he’d never found her, never shown up. I hadn’t known him, not really, but I knew him somewhat through Kait, though her memories and relationship. 

Maybe it’s a bit selfish, too. I don’t know how she’d react, but I have a feeling (that was new too, having a feeling) that knowing might change things. It might lead her back to her family, and yes perhaps I can stay in hiding without her, but I don’t want to.

A part of me has always longed to do this. Live as a person, learn, experience. Not be the source of all knowledge for once. And part of why I finally had was the pressure had gotten worse—but really, a large part of it was meeting Kaitlyn. Kait, who never used me, who never asked questions I wouldn’t know if I wasn’t god of knowledge. Who actually got to know who I was, with enough patience to handle me. Who’d believed I even got the chance to be an I.

I throw the frisbee again. It arcs a bit, but Buttercup jumps up and catches it midair. “Whoo!” Kait cheers. 

I bend down, clapping and then petting Buttercup. “Good job!” I tell her.