Finding the Myth

The beginning of this semester in Classical Literature was very intimidating. My peers appeared to know double everything I thought I knew, and I felt like I was behind on my first day of class. Just like poor Psyche who thought she couldn’t complete the tasks given to her by Venus, I didn’t think I had much hope either. Fortunately I didn’t drop the class and stuck with it. Now, writing this paper, I am doing something I would never have done before this class, and that is finding the myth behind things.
The process of writing this final paper has revealed to me the myths surrounding my own life, rather than the famous people we talk about in class, like Anna Nichole Smith or Elvis. I had no idea what I was to write about for this paper, not because the topics were lacking, but rather there were so many topics to choose from. So Tuesday I set aside the entire evening to write my paper. But after a series of unfortunate or maybe rather fortunate events, my paper was not completed on time. Like the woman who told a story to save her life, I told my story to Dr. Sexson to get an extension, which by his good grace was given to me. I’m glad I received the extension, and now I have something to write about: my Tuesday. The first day of class we were told that stories today are empty unless they are energized, so here is my energized story.
Class was over and I walked along campus to go relax with friends on the “mall” in front of Montana Hall. The walk was innocent enough; I was doing my own thing. And like unsuspecting Europa I too was abducted, not by a bull but rather by a guy in my Classical Literature class, Sutter Stremmel. He was there in his hammock the sun glowing around him while reflecting off his sunglasses and his dog Oly was frolicking around the trees next to him. He looked safe, he looked inviting, no girl could resist. The next thing I know I am being whisked away in his white chariot towards the river Styx or rather, the Yellowstone River. The goal was to float for a few hours from Grey Owl to Loch Leven which is about a 5 mile stretch. There were a few clouds in the distance, but the sun was warm so we ignored them and took off.
Two hours had gone by faster than we expected and Sutter was struck with a bout of sudden anagnorsis. “I think we missed the take out” he said. I was thinking what the hell did I get myself into? I barely knew this guy, I mean his dog is cute enough, but I didn’t know if he knew what was going on. He claimed to have floated this river a bunch, yet he missed the take out. The sky clouded over, the wind began to blow, and as far as Sutter was concerned, we were lost! Someone had forgotten the map in the vehicle. We were a couple of asses and a dog lost on the Yellowstone, or rather Sutter was the ass and I the victim. I chilled in the front of the chariot while Sutter rowed. It was like the doomed flight of Phaeton; Sutter was going to crash and burn.
This adventure could have ended tragically, we could have ended up pulling up on shore with the boat and turning it over to create a shelter to sleep in for the night, but Sutter pulled through and we found a take out, but we were stuck there. Sutter’s pick-up was at Loch Leven and we were at Carter’s Bridge, a good 15 miles down the river. The only thing we could do was start walking and hitch a ride with someone. We walked about five minutes and the Tiresias figure named John picked us up. Fortunately he knew where Loch Leven was, and took us there, even though it was out of his way.
We arrived at our vehicle 5 hours and 20 miles from where we had started. We had an adventure that neither of us had expected, just like Lucius in The Golden Ass. And like Lucius we were rewarded for all our suffering. Lucius gets to be transformed back into a human, and we received milkshakes.
Thus at the conclusion of this escapade, I had my necessary scapegoat in the form of Sutter to get the extension on my paper that I needed. During class at one point it was said there is no story if you obey, and that could be like there is no story if nothing goes wrong. My story on the river would be boring if Sutter and I had a casual float down the river and made it back when planned. Thus, I suppose I should thank Sutter for the abduction and relish in the fact that all that is past possesses a present and I am a part of that. And the moral of this story is the story.