Phoenix

by Trent Jordan

I didn’t get as dolled up as I normally would for a date, given that we’d be outdoors and probably sweating, but I still put some effort into making my hair a little wavier, my eyes dolled up, and my clothes just revealing enough to give him a hint of what might come. I hadn’t made up my mind about anything physical, but I certainly wasn’t a gal who was going to remain a virgin until my marriage—I was about a decade too late on that one, anyway.

  When I arrived at the parking lot at the start of the trail, I saw Phoenix standing with his arms crossed by his bike. He wasn’t looking at me, though I suspected he knew the instant I arrived. The way he was staring straight ahead, though, made it seem like he wasn’t actually staring at anything; it was like his eyes were gazing inward, toward some memory or idea he couldn’t shake himself from.

  I parked the car, paused, and looked at him. He still hadn’t shifted his focus. Sunglasses made it impossible to see where his gaze was precisely, but the general direction told me everything I needed to know. He was slightly downcast and without a smile, as if the current memory was anything but ideal.

  I wasn’t going to back out at this point because of courtesy and because I’d come so far from my apartment in Springsville. But I started to have what I feared was legitimate concerns about his presence.

  I got out of my car, flipped my hair back, and strolled over to him, a hopeful and slightly nervous smile on my face.

  “Phoenix,” I said, a half-shout when he still hadn’t turned to face me.

  Finally, he did.

  And it was not accompanied by a smile.

  “Are you OK?”

  “Me? Oh,” he said, finally smiling, but it felt like the act of someone caught red-handed. “Yeah, just... crazy weekend, that’s all.”

  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  Phoenix pointed his head toward the trail.

  “That’s the hiking trail. About a mile and a half round trip. What do you say?”

  What do I say? You didn’t even answer my question. I’d say I’d like to know if you want to talk about it.

  But I suppose no answer is exactly the same as “no.”

  “I say that sounds fun; lead the way.”

  Phoenix let his smile slightly widen, but the second that he put his boot forward and stepped onto the dusty, dirt path, the smile faded, as if smiling required as much exertion as a heavy lift. I dropped behind him partially so he could lead the way, partially so I didn’t have to constantly look over at his dour appearance.

  And the worst part was, I had no idea why. Maybe he was remembering his father, but if that were the case, why had he used the phrase “crazy weekend?” It had been over a week since his father had been laid to rest; while I understood mourning had no timetable, in conjunction with the use of the word “crazy,” it didn’t make sense that that was what troubled him.

  But I suspected that if he did tell me, it wasn’t going to be on this date. It may not be for a while, if ever. Bikers were not exactly known for being vulnerable.

  “How’s your day been?” Phoenix asked after a couple of minutes of awkward silence.

  It still felt like he didn’t want to be there, although I didn’t think that had anything to do with me. It seemed like he just didn’t want to be anywhere but by himself.

  “It’s been good,” I said.

  Should I tell him the part about my father?

  I mean, he hasn’t told you anything about what he’s going through right now, so why should you?

  “It’s... you know, typical weekend.”

  “That’s good.”

  This is killing me.

  “How was this weekend crazy, by the way?”

  I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t even planned to ask that particular question. It had just sort of fallen out. If we didn’t talk about something that two strangers waiting for a bus wouldn’t have talked about, I was about to lose my mind.

  “It was just eye-opening, I guess,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. “Still trying to figure things out.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Well, at least this time I got an honest and straightforward answer.

  But that wasn’t like it meant the date was suddenly great. If anything, it had cemented just how certain I now felt that we needed to have rescheduled this date.

  Maybe we just need to go someplace we can sit down. Maybe movement was the wrong idea. Too much activity makes us able to focus on something besides conversation.

  “Well, I understand, I’ve had some things in my life that are difficult to talk about.”

  It was a bit of a bait move, sure, a chance for him to try to ask more about me.

  But the fish wasn’t nibbling today.

  The only saving grace of the hike was that the view of Ashton and, in the distance, Los Angeles, was in fact quite stunning and quite beautiful. It gave us a chance to think about something besides each other’s hidden secrets and relish in nature’s open pleasantries.

  Such a pleasantry, though, was short-lived, and as soon as we started walking back toward our vehicles, I found myself wondering how to salvage anything of this afternoon. Phoenix was in no mood to talk, I was in desperation mode—yet unwilling to talk about the phone call with my father—and I also hadn’t revealed that I was still planning on moving in two months.

  It almost made me wonder if it was just better to stop things now before they got even more awkward.

  Maybe I should just let it go. Maybe I should just get to my car, wish him well, and then not do anything until he shows up at Tom’s Billiards again. Maybe I idealized him too much.

  But damnit, I was not willing to just give up that easily. I didn’t want this to be a total waste.

  “Wanna go grab some food?” I said at the parking lot. “I’m always hungry after a good hike like this.”

  “Sure,” Phoenix said, although I didn’t exactly hear excitement. Nevertheless, I figured maybe a change of scenery and a few minutes on our respective drives, away from each other, would give us the chance to come back a little more open.

  “There’s a sandwich shop in Ashton I’ve been dying to try, Will’s Wiches,” I said. “That work?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Again, no enthusiasm, and again, no real engagement. If this didn’t work, I told myself I had to be willing to walk away. Phoenix was great at the bar, but oftentimes, men liked to look and sound most impressive in a public setting after a few drinks. When they got to a private setting, their vulnerabilities, awkwardness, and discomfort shined through much more, ironically because they refused to an unhealthy degree to admit those things.

  It was no wonder that the phrase “strobe lights lie” existed. For men, it was about how women looked. For women, it was about how men acted.

  But I still maintained some optimism that Phoenix was different. He’d probably just had a rough weekend, he’d recognize how boring he’d been on the hike, and all would be good once we got to Will’s.

  And then we both pulled up to Will’s, and I saw him wearing the same dour expression.

  “All good?” I said with a smile on my face.

  “Good enough.”

  I walked with him to the door.

  But that’s as far as I got.

  “Phoenix, stop.”

  He paused and looked at me with the same expression he’d worn all day.

  “Look... I... whatever happened this weekend, I’m sure it sucks,” I said. “But I’m not going to waste my time here if you’re going to act this way. You haven’t said more than two words the entire time that we’ve been hanging out, or at least it feels that way. If I wanted to talk without connection...”

  I would have chatted with my father.

  Who actually asked me to come see him.

  That’s more than what’s happening right now.

  “Look,” I said, getting emotional. “I can’t, not right now. If you want to try again, come by Billiard’s later this week. But I can’t
have you like this.”

  I didn’t wait for him to respond. He’d had plenty of chances to do that throughout the date. I think I heard him gasp when I was halfway to my car, as if he was about to say my name, but the breath died in the air and never added anything more.

  It wasn’t like I felt like a strong woman when I made the decision to leave. I felt shitty and sad that someone I had curiosity in for some time had turned out to be a dud. I strongly wanted to believe that this was a case of him having a bad day. I wanted to believe that if we did this again, he’d do it better.

  But as far as first impressions went outside the bar, boy, it could not have gone any worse.

  Phoenix

  I knew I should have fucking canceled.

  To say I hadn’t gotten over what I had seen Friday night was an understatement; to say that I had even begun the process of getting over it was a lie. The video that I had seen still sat in my mind, and every moment I spent awake felt like a faster and faster descent into the pit of despair and darkness. Things weren’t getting better for me; they were still getting worse.

  I should have fucking canceled. I should not have shown up and acted like a bitch around Jess. I should not have been a fucking pussy loser who moped and acted this way.

  Or you should have stopped being a bitch, gone out, and acted like you fucking like her. You should have powered through. Are you a fucking pussy Pink Raven? Or are you a goddamn Phoenix?

  I shook my head and walked inside, ordering the largest, most indulgent three-meat sandwich that I could. The sandwich wouldn’t do anything for my state of mind, not a goddamn thing, but at least it made me feel some sort of artificial strength to be able to devour it so easily and quickly.

  But the feeling was quick and fleeting, and just like that, I was back to beating myself up for being such a fucking idiot. Jess was cool. Jess was hot. Jess was a catch.

  A catch that I could have easily snared, but instead, I’d not only not caught her, I’d actively sabotaged my efforts to grab onto her.

  What a fucking mess I was. And all because of my father...

  Your father, the traitor?

  “No, that’s fucking bullshit!”

  Yes, I said those words out loud. Yes, I probably looked like a crazy homeless person just blabbering swears out loud, as if I had Tourette’s. I certainly noticed the patrons looking at me with confusion and a little bit of fear.

  And no, I did not give a single flying fuck. It’s not like they were going to bar me for life because of one single outburst—and if they did, fuck ‘em. They could go rot in hell like the Black Reapers for all I cared.

  The club that your father loved and adored for decades.

  The club that your father—

  I had to leave before I literally started smashing the table in front of me out of frustration. I slammed the sandwich wrapper into the nearest trash can and left as everyone stared at me, wondering who this biker dude was that had halted their entire store.

  It was too bad, really. The sandwich tasted damn good. The entire staff would probably hate my guts for the foreseeable future.

  Once I got to my bike, I took a couple of deep breaths, closing my eyes to focus on my breathing for calming. My anger subsided a little bit—not a ton, not enough to change my mood, but enough to help me make sense of what had just happened.

  I had fucked up with Jess. Maybe not permanently, she had invited me to see her at the billiards bar, but I’d fucked up.

  And my father...

  My father...

  Shit, I had to ask the question. I really had to ask the tough question.

  Was he actually a… a traitor?

  Did Lane, Butch, and the rest of the fucking Black Reapers have a point?

  Did my father... did my father deserve death?

  Such questions still infuriated me. But they no longer saddled me with crippling levels of anger. I realized there was an element of... maybe not truth, but from a certain point of view, there were reasons to have doubt. I hated to fucking say it to myself, let alone out loud. It felt like a betrayal of my father.

  But I guess I could hide from the truth for only so long. I wasn’t admitting to myself that my father was a rat, but I was admitting to myself there was a chance that he was a rat.

  If I had named myself Phoenix because I had risen out of the graves of Pink Raven and my father, maybe both my father and his legacy really had to die...

  You need to go see him.

  Maybe that will help.

  It’s not like I had anywhere else to be or go. The Gray Reapers were never that active on a Sunday, and Ashton wasn’t exactly a town of hustle and bustle. So... even though it was still too fresh on my mind, even though I knew going back there would invoke a ton of despairing memories, even though I knew all of this would hurt...

  I turned on my bike, pulled out of Will’s Wiches, and headed toward the graveyard where my father was buried—all the way back in Springsville.

  When I got there, I parked my bike at the front entrance, not wanting to drive through all of the tombstones on my bike. The ride over had given me the chance to decompress more, and I knew I couldn’t approach this from a macho perspective. I had to be quiet. I had, as best as I could, to remain still and let the silence guide me.

  Well, for as long as I could. I was no fucking Zen Buddhist monk. I’d lose my shit at some point. I just had to hold out as long as I could and see what happened.

  I hopped off my bike, but I kept everything else that shouted “biker” on me. I kept my sunglasses on—I didn’t want anyone to see any emotion I felt right now. I kept my Gray Reapers cut on—it would keep anyone from approaching me other than other Gray Reapers, and there was no reason for any of them to be here.

  In the distance, I saw a young family gathered around one tombstone, but I couldn’t make out any details. On the other far end, a young couple visited two more. It was a stark reminder that I wasn’t the only one suffering.

  But was I the only one who had his belief of his only meaningful parent turned on its head? Was I the only one who was suffering from a sort of crisis of understanding, of not really knowing my father the way that I thought I knew him?

  I tried to bat the thoughts away, concentrating only on the path toward my father’s grave. Every step was conscious, every breath was focused, and every thought was pushed away as much as possible. I needed the strength.

  And then I got to where he would lay forever.

  The good news was I didn’t lose my shit upon seeing him. I actually remained pretty calm, all things considered. Maybe keeping my head was my way of honoring my father, who was legendary for remaining calm in the face of almost every threat and every scenario.

  At least, that was what my youthful side had chosen to see.

  I knelt down, put my right hand on his tombstone, and sighed.

  “How’s it going, Dad?” I said.

  Yes, I knew graves couldn’t talk back. But yes, I needed this.

  “Crazy fucking time,” I said. “I went out with Jess today, the old bartender? It...”

  What the fuck are you doing? You didn’t come here to recount your life.

  “Dad, did you do it?”

  Silence filled the air, much more noticeable than before. It was like the gentle soundtrack that had accompanied me on this walk had gone silent, and all that remained was the brutal silence of reality. No birds. No cars. No human conversation.

  Just...

  Deathly silence.

  “Did you betray the club?”

  Again, silence.

  “Did you... did you...”

  Just because I had said the ugly words once didn’t mean I could say them again. They tasted worse than venom, because at least venom I could have spat out. But these words didn’t come from the outside; they had come from within, so either I had to say them out loud for the dead to hear or I had to stuff them within and suffer from their suppression.

  “Did you? Did you… did you fuckin
g do it?”

  I tightened my grip on my father’s tombstone with my right hand. I closed my eyes.

  And it felt like a knockout punch slammed my head.

  Yes.

  “No.”

  Yes. Yes. He did.

  “No, no, no, no, no...”

  But instead of seeing it through my father’s perspective, I thought about what he had said on the video that Father Marcellus had sent me. I thought about all of the snide remarks he’d made about Lane—and how he had never badmouthed anyone in the club before that. I thought about how he always seemed to speak to me off of club property instead of on it.

  Far from being an innocent man framed for something he didn’t do... far from playing a double-cross game of working with the Saints...

  And that alone...

  That fucking thing alone, that should have been the biggest sign of all. Really? My father, working for the Saints with the intent to double-cross them? This wasn’t fucking Cold War shit. We were the center of our own lives, but we weren’t bigger than two clubs feuding for the right to live our lives in the middle of a small town in one state in one country of this whole damn world.

  “Why...” I said, my eyes starting to well. “Why...”

  I wanted to say more, but now, the venom seemed to make it impossible for me to clear my throat. No longer did I have the capability of opening up to say more; I was reduced to just blubbering like a fucking idiot.

  Which I was. I was an enormous fucking idiot. I’d missed so many damn signs.

  “Why did... why did you do... why?”

  I took a deep breath and told myself to stop acting like a fucking whiny brat. I needed to ask the questions, even if I could never get real answers.

  “Why... did you... betray... the Black... Reapers?”

  I closed my eyes.

  But this time, no answer came.

  I suspected that no answer ever would come. It was one thing to have proof that my father had betrayed the club. At that point, it didn’t really much matter why, whether he’d been bribed, he hated Lane that much, he had a change of heart, what-fucking-ever.

  It only mattered that... that...