She hadn't seen that god-forsaken house in suburban New Jersey in four years. Now she stood in front of it, trying to talk her self out of walking up to the front door and ringing the doorbell. Harp had grown up here. Her mother had put her into music and ballet classes and dressed her in preppy clothes. Her mother had done everything to keep her daughter in a bubble, but Harp never enjoyed it.
But then the monsters came; soon after: the satyrs. Then everything was reviled; everything changed. Harp was claimed as quickly as her other brothers and sisters, and moved into cabin 7, Apollo's cabin. Harp was free. Free of point shoes and tutus. Free of the instruments she had no desire to play. Free of the preppy cloths.
She had music she loved. Rock and roll. Every artist from Elvis to Bon Jovi; the Beatles to ACDC. She had found a passion.
Harp, at thirteen years old, ditched her American eagle and Gap Cloths, and traded them in for Hot Topic. She died her dirty blood hair jet black with purple streaks. She began playing the drums. She changed her name from Wendy to Harp, and she never went back.
Harp told her mother that she was going to stay at camp all year after that first summer. She didn't talk to her mother again.
Now, after four years, a war was coming. There was a possibility of death, and Harp didn't want to leave this life without seeing her mother one more time.
She forced her self to walk to the front door, and ring the bell. When the door opened her mother was there smiling.
She's got a smile that it seems to me/ Reminds me of childhood memories/ Where everything / was as fresh as the bright blue sky
Her mother's smile went to a look of confusion. "Do I know you?"
Harp was filled with hurt. "I've only been gone for four years
"Can I come in?"
Harp's mother moved out of the way and let her daughter in the house. The interior had changed. The green carpet that Harp despised was gone and replaced with hard wood floors, the family room was painted red, and the kitchen wallpaper had gone from some strange apple pattern to a nice coat of light brown paint.
"What are you doing here?" Harp's mother asked.
there is going to be a war
and I might
well, I just didn't want to leave with out saying good-bye." Harp tried; tried not to cry. But she failed. Her mother pulled her into a hug as Harp sobbed on her shoulder.
Harp had finished crying almost as quickly as she had started and she pulled away from her mother.
Harp's mother led her into the living room and gestured for her to sit on the couch next to her, but Harp refused the offer and remained standing. She scanned the photos lining the mantle place. There were pictured from her first birthday, her dance recitals, here kindergarten graduation, and so on. "I don't understand why you did it." Harp said after a few minutes of silence.
"Conceal me in some preppy, school girl bubble all my life."
"I didn't want you to end up like me. Pregnant at nineteen, not completely sure who the father is, not getting a good education, and still depending on your parents for most things. Wendy, I just wanted
"Don't' call me that. People call me Harp now."
"Harp, I have never been more hurt then when you told me you weren't coming home."
Harp looked at her mother, "I shouldn't have come here, this was a mistake."
Harp ran out of the house, slamming the front door behind her. She got into the passenger side of her boyfriends car, who had been waiting in the dive way. "Are you okay?" He asked.
"Just drive, get me out of here."
Three months later at the end of August, Harp was back at her mother's front door. She had a fresh scare from an enemy half-blood's sword that ran from the base of her neck to her belly button. But that was all. Some of her sibling fared much worse. Eleven of them, eleven of the 22 that were in her cabin in the begging of the summer had gone to Hades. And she knew all of them. They were family. And they were gone.
Harp rang the doorbell. When her mother answered, she saw the pain in Harps blue eyes.
She's got eyes of the bluest skies / As if they thought of rain / I hate to look into those eyes /and see an ounce of pain
Jess had tried so hard to keep her daughter away from the mistakes that she had made. Jess had met Apollo on the Asbury boardwalk the summer of 1991 as Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run" blared thought the beach. Wendy was conceived latter that night to Springsteen's "Fire".
When Wendy was born nine months later, Apollo named her for the song that He and Jess met during. He stayed with them until they left the hospital and went to like with Jess's parents. That was the last time Jess ever saw Apollo.
Jess realized early on that Wendy had talent of music and rhythm. Wendy was soon put into ballet and piano classes. She dressed her the way she wanted. Jess wanted to keep her baby safe inside a nice suburban bubble. But Wendy kept trying to pop the bubble.
When Jess went to get Wendy at the end of her first summer at Camp Half-Blood, she was upset but hardly surprised. Wendy's hair was black and purple. Her cloths were torn and dark. She had drumstick in her hand and Bon Jovi could be heard playing through her iPod headphones. But Jess didn't expect Wend not come home. Jess didn't expect to have to dive down the Garden State Park way alone. Without her Baby.
Now Wendy was standing on the porch looking sadder then Jess had ever seen. She wanted to make the pain go away and keep her baby safe again.
"I'm sorry." Wendy told her mother, voice quivering. "I'm so, so sorry." Wendy started crying. "We lost so many, mom. So many." Jess hugged Wendy for the second time in over four years. This time, Wendy didn't stop crying. "I want to come home, mommy. I want to come back."
Now it was Jess's turn to cry. "Of cores you can."
"I love you, mom."
"I love you, too, baby."
Sweet child o' mine /Sweet love of mine