Resurrecting Phoenix

by Isabel Lucero

  Once I get the door open, he leans down and presses his lips to mine, giving me a few quick, yet sensual kisses. When he pulls away, my eyes are still closed and I mourn the loss of his mouth.

  I hear his deep chuckle and when I open my eyes, he’s coming in close again, our mouths meeting for another kiss.

  “I had fun tonight,” he says once we finally disengage.

  “Me too.”

  “I’ll talk to you soon. Have a good night, Phoenix.”

  “You too.”

  He waits until I disappear into the house, and a few seconds later I hear his truck leave the driveway. I watch from my window, feeling only slightly like a stalker, as he gets out of his truck and walks to his door.

  Before he goes inside, he takes a quick glance at my house, and I quickly drop the blinds, knowing he probably couldn’t see me anyway. I laugh to myself as I go upstairs and get ready for bed.

  The following day at work, after having one customer and almost nothing else to do, I tell myself that I’m quitting at the end of the summer. It’s the middle of June, giving me about two and a half months to get my shit together. I need to be able to get my job back at the school by the beginning of the year.

  I’ve taken enough time to wallow in self-pity. I’ve become someone even I don’t recognize, and to honor Gordon’s memory, I need to be me. The Phoenix he knew and loved. I can’t keep his memories alive if I’m barely alive, so it’s time to change.

  Monday and Tuesday go by pretty good. It’s Wednesday that decides to be a bitch.

  On Monday after work, I went home and started clearing out some more of Gordon’s things. I cried a little, but tried to remember the good memories that brought a smile to my face. I still kept a couple of his shirts, but everything in the closet and drawers, I cleared out.

  When it came time to throw out the body wash, I hesitated. Bringing the bottle to my nose, I inhaled and imagined Gordon being there with me. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it out.

  Tuesday after work, I scrubbed the house from top to bottom, and moved some of the photos around. I couldn’t get rid of them completely, but I moved some of the larger ones out of the living room, and placed them into the spare bedroom. One from our wedding day remains, and one of me, Gordon, Marissa, and Anthony as well. The body wash still sits in the shower.

  Wednesday.

  Oh, Wednesday.

  Why did you have to come along and ruin what was the start of a great week?

  I only work half a day on Wednesday, so at one o’clock, I’m home with nothing to do. The house is clean, the laundry is done, and the fridge is stocked. Evan isn’t home and Marissa is working.

  The only thing I can think to do is to have a drink. The vodka calls to me. It’s telling me it’s my friend, and if I have a couple drinks I won’t be bored, I won’t be restless, and I’ll be able to fall asleep and have the day go by quickly. Vodka is not a good friend, but it’s an insistent one.

  After pacing around the house for a while, I finally throw on some workout clothes and tennis shoes and head out the door. I haven’t ran in over a year, so this will probably kill me, but at least it gets me out of the house and doing something.

  I run down the block, Linkin Park blaring in my ears, pushing me forward. I turn the corner and run down another block. And then one more. After three blocks, I’m tired and out of breath. This definitely wasn’t a good idea. Plus it’s like one million degrees outside today.

  When I come up to a convenience store, I chide myself for not bringing any cash to buy a bottle of water. I take a couple minutes to stand under the shaded overhang and stretch my legs out. The music has now changed to Lil Jon, allowing me to stay motivated with his hype music.

  Bending over, I grab the back of my ankles and stretch my hamstrings. When I straighten back up, the door to the store opens and Anthony walks out.

  I feel like everything stops. I’m frozen in place with my heart in my throat, and I can’t seem to move or turn my head. He’s in uniform, and he holds two bottles of water and a small plastic bag.

  Lil Jon is in my ear telling me he doesn’t give a fuck about something, and I wish I didn’t give a fuck about seeing Anthony, but I do.

  Before I’m able to make my legs work, Anthony looks up and locks eyes with me. The surprise blankets his face before turning into a look of apprehension, then finally into a forced smile.

  He steps towards me, and when I see his mouth move, I realize that he’s talking to me. I reach up and pull the earplugs out.

  “Sorry,” I say, letting him know I didn’t hear him.

  Anthony smiles, the lines around his blue eyes crinkling slightly. “I just said hi.”

  “Oh. Hey.”

  He looks like he’s having a hard time trying to figure out what to say to me, and it makes me feel bad. He was my friend, too, and now we’ve been reduced to this.

  “Marissa’s been happy to spend some time with you recently.”

  “Yeah, it’s been nice. I missed her.”

  He nods, looking away briefly before making eye contact with me again. “We’ve missed you, Phoenix.” He clears his throat and takes a step back. “It was nice to see you.”

  “Anthony,” I start, but hesitate, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not. Can we get together to talk sometime? You know, when you’re not working, and when I’m not a hot mess,” I say, gesturing to my sweatiness with a small grin.

  He smiles. “I’d like that.”

  “Have Marissa let me know.”

  “Will do.”

  He goes to walk away, but then comes back and hands me a water bottle. “I can get another, and it looks like you need one.”

  “Thanks,” I say with smile.

  He walks back into the store, coming out with another water bottle, then gets into his police car that holds his new partner.

  I decide I’m done trying to exercise today, and walk home with my bottle of water.

  By the time I’m out of the shower, it’s a little after three. I lay across my bed in some hot pink shorts and a black tank top. They’re basically my sleep clothes, but I don’t plan on leaving the house again today, so that’s okay.

  I saw Evan on Monday for a little while, but didn’t see him at all yesterday. He didn’t get home until late, saying a couple guys he met wanted to go out and grab some food after class. Food turned into a couple drinks for the other guys, so he ended up driving them home, and got home around nine. Since he had to get up early today, he just went straight to sleep.

  Even though I know he won’t be able to respond right away, I send him a quick text.

  Me: Just thinking about you and wanted to say hi. So, hi. : )

  I drop my phone onto the bed and comb my wet hair into a bun before I head downstairs. The vodka still beckons me. It’s the lighthouse to my lost ship, and it offers me a comfortable place to go.

  Struggling to not think about it, I pull out some baking ingredients and start making a cake from scratch. This is another thing I haven’t done in a while, but it keeps me busy. My eyes keep flickering towards my liquor cabinet. I know I should’ve just thrown it all out, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Just like I still can’t throw out the body wash. I know it’s something that needs to be done, but I’m not there yet.

  Once the cake is in the oven and the kitchen is clean, I open the liquor cabinet and pull out the bottle of vodka. The bottle and I have a staring contest for what seems like forever, and it wins. I pop the top and pour two fingers worth in a small glass before adding a bit of Sprite.

  The glass shakes in my hand as I bring it up to my mouth. The smell is familiar and welcoming. I can taste it before I even take a sip. I go over all the excuses in my head.

  It’s just one drink.

  I went two days without one, it’ll be fine.

  I can stop whenever I want.

  I deserve this for gett
ing better.

  It’s just one drink.

  I drink it. All of it. In two gulps.

  After the glass is rinsed out and the bottle put back in its place, I take out a plate of leftover chicken casserole and warm it up. On the couch with the plate in my lap, the guilt hits me. What would my friends think? I didn’t make an official announcement that I was quitting or anything, even though we all know I should. I told Evan that I would live. I told myself I’d get my job back at the school, but how is that gonna happen if I keep drinking? It’s not helping me. It’s not a reward for me. It’s an anchor tied around my ankle, pulling me further and further down. I have to cut the rope so I can stop drowning.

  When I’m done eating, I wait for the cake to be finished so I can pull it out and cover it up. I don’t feel like frosting it tonight. I just want to curl up in my bed under the covers.

  Upstairs, the clock on my nightstand tells me it’s almost six. I haven’t been to bed this early since . . . well, probably never. I turn my TV on, but find that I’m not really paying attention.

  My phone dings, and I pick it up to see a message from Evan.

  Evan: Hey, beautiful. I just got home. How was your day?

  Usually, a text from Evan sends the butterflies in my stomach in flight, and my face morphs into a Cheshire cat grin. But this time . . . this time all I feel is shame. I can’t see him tonight. As much as I want to, I know he’d sense my mood, and I don’t want to talk about the little setback I had tonight. I don’t want to let him down.

  Me: Not feeling too good right now. I’m in bed.

  Evan: Do you need anything? Medicine? Soup?

  Me: No, that’s okay. I’m just gonna try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

  I feel bad, but I’m not lying. I really don’t feel good.

  Evan: Well, okay. I’m never far away, so let me know if you need me. Hope you feel better.

  Me: Thanks, Evan. Goodnight.

  Evan: Sleep well.

  It takes hours for me to finally get tired. My mind works overtime, thinking of Evan, Gordon, Anthony, vodka, and my life in general. I think briefly of drinking some more, just enough to fall asleep, but I don’t.

  IT’S OKAY, PHOENIX. Everything is going to be fine. I love you and I want you to be happy. Take care of yourself, Phoenix Bird. For me.

  I wake up with a thundering heart and a lump in my throat. My eyes dance across the room looking for the person who has that voice. But that’s not possible. Gordon isn’t here anymore.

  Was it a dream? Did Gordon find a way to communicate with me? Am I going crazy?

  Regardless of what it was, I heard Gordon’s voice again. His nickname for me hits me hard, causing tears to fill my eyes. He’s the only one who ever called me Phoenix Bird. I hated it at first, but it grew on me, and it became something only he could say.

  His message sits heavy on my heart.

  I want you to be happy.

  Take care of yourself.

  Both permission and a request. That’s how I take it.

  I scramble over the covers and reach for my phone. A text from Marissa awaits my response.

  Marissa: I talked to Anthony. He’s free today after four. Would that work for you? I’m so happy you guys are doing this. I love you.

  I send out a quick reply, telling her to have him meet me at four-thirty at A Latte Perk. It may be a cheesy name, but it’s the best damn coffee house here, and they serve amazing sweets as well.

  It’s eight o’clock, so Evan may be getting to class already, but I send him a message anyway.

  Me: Hey. Are you free tonight?

  “Okay, Thursday. Don’t let me down,” I say out loud as I climb out of the bed.

  I find that I’m actually looking forward to talking to Anthony. It’s been a long time coming, and along with some questions I have for him, I just want to be able to talk to the one other person who knew Gordon as much as I did.

  My phone alerts me of a text message.

  Evan: Hey. I am free. You feeling better?

  Me: I’m fine. I just wanted to see if you wanted to get together tonight . . . maybe talk about some stuff.

  I figure today’s the day to get everything out on the table. First Anthony, then Evan. I’m putting myself out there and hoping for the best.

  Evan: Uh-Oh. Should I be worried?

  Me: Did you do something naughty?

  Evan: Not lately. : (

  His sad face makes me laugh. I wonder if he meant to put a happy face.

  Me: You’re sad about not being naughty? Oh wait . . . I think I get it.

  Evan: Ha! Get your mind out of the gutter.

  Me: Whatever. I know what you meant. Don’t act innocent with me.

  Evan: I’m anything but. Since I’m not in trouble, I look forward to seeing you. Gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.

  Me: Have a good day!

  With a smile on my face, I get in the shower and get ready for work. Today I’m only working from nine to two, which gives me plenty of time to get home and prepare for meeting up with Anthony, and then later with Evan. It may be an emotional day, but hopefully in a good way.

  Work flew by, and now I’m changing into a comfortable pair of leggings and a long, black, high-low shirt.

  A Latte Perk is about a ten minute drive from my house, so I leave at ten after four just to give myself plenty of time. The whole way there, I nervously tap my fingers on the steering wheel. I try to remind myself that this is Anthony; the same Anthony I’ve known for nearly six years, and that everything will be fine. But I know the questions I want to ask, and it’s the answers that may be the problem, because they’re only answers Anthony can give me.

  Inside, as I approach the counter, I try to spot a free table nearest the back, but they’re all taken. In the other back corner is a couch and two chairs with a table in between them. That might have to work, because it offers the most privacy.

  The counter is surrounded by cases that hold fresh sandwiches, and all sorts of pies, cakes, cookies, and other things that will make me gain twenty pounds. I order my coffee, pick a sandwich and a cookie, then head to the chairs in the back.

  I choose the maroon, high back chair, and leave the teal-colored one for Anthony. The furniture in here doesn’t match, but I think that adds to the charm of the place. The walls are covered with vintage-inspired artwork. One stating it’s never too late for a latte. A large chalkboard with coffee mugs drawn on there, and inside each one is the recipe for a specific drink. One of my favorites is one of a woman holding a mug and it says, Instant Human. Just add coffee.

  I begin eating my sandwich as I take sporadic glances towards the door to look for Anthony. About five minutes later, he walks in and I give him a wave. He nods his head in acknowledgement, then points to the counter to let me know he’s going to order something.

  After swallowing down my last bite, I take a sip of my white chocolate mocha, and decide to save my cookie for later. I won’t be able to eat while having this conversation anyway.

  “Hey,” Anthony’s voice says from behind me.

  “Hi. Thanks for coming.”

  “Of course.”

  He sits down in the chair next to me, both of them positioned at an angle to see each other, and places his coffee on the small table between us.

  The silence that follows is awkward to say the least. I don’t know where to start, and I’m sure he feels the same. So, I laugh.

  “I’m sorry. This just feels so weird.”

  He laughs with me. “I agree. Let’s just start off easy. How have you been?”

  “I’m okay. I’ve gotten a lot better.”

  He nods, giving me a slight smile. “That’s good to hear. I’m glad.”

  “You?” I ask.

  “I’m doing good,” he says, nodding his head. “I miss him, but I’m okay.”

  “I’m sorry I never asked you how you were. I will be the first to admit I wasn’t concerned with anybody but myself. You and Marissa
were my closest friends, and I shut you both out. I know you and Gordon were close, and I’m sure you struggled with his death as well. I’m sorry, Anthony.”

  He shakes his head and reaches over to place his hand on top of mine. “Hey. Don’t worry about it. He was your husband. It was your anniversary. I’m just so sorry I couldn’t save him. I’ve been wanting to apologize to you since it happened. I’m so sorry I didn’t get him home to you.”

  The tears burn as they threaten to spill over. I grab a napkin and dab at my lower lashes, trying to catch them before they fall.

  “I never gave you a chance to tell me what happened. They told me what happened, but I don’t think I was really listening after they said Gordon was dead.”

  Anthony takes a deep breath, and tells me about that night.

  “We were at an apartment complex on a noise complaint. After knocking on the door, we heard a woman scream before it quickly became muffled. I put my hand on my weapon as Gordon began radioing in. Before we knew it, the door flew open and a man stood there looking disheveled and strung out. He wore a long sleeved sweater that was about two sizes too big for him. It hung off his body with the sleeves covering up most of his hands. At the sight of him, I had already aimed my weapon, ordering him to get down. He was murmuring something over and over, then raised his arm and shot me. He had been holding a small gun in his hand, but we hadn’t seen it, it was concealed by the sleeve of his shirt.”

  “Oh my gosh,” I whisper, my hand going to my mouth. “Where did he shoot you?”

  “Shoulder. It didn’t cause permanent damage.” I nod, waiting for him to finish. “After he shot me, I stumbled back, falling against the building and the gun fell from my hand. Next thing I know, I hear another gunshot, and then he’s running down the stairs and off into the night. I look to Gordon, and he’s on the ground.” His voice breaks a little, and I take his hand in both of mine and squeeze. “His holster had been unsnapped, and the gun was already out, so he was getting ready to shoot, but the other guy shot first.