Resurrecting Phoenix

by Isabel Lucero

  Breckshire is a small town in Wyoming, and most people around here aren’t looking to book many vacations. The old people make up most of the population, while the middle-aged people are content with going to work and then right back home. The young crowd travels an hour and a half away to a larger town most weekends, and that seems to fulfill their needs just fine. No need for vacations, which means I get to sit at my little desk and not have to interact with many people.

  Sometimes I miss my job as a teacher, but with the drinking, and my “obvious attitude change” like my boss pointed out, I shouldn’t be around kids. He says attitude change like a dead husband is similar to me going through PMS or something.

  Everybody here knows what happened the night Gordon died. They know what happened with me for the six months following his death. I was in a bad way. Really bad. So, now, even though I drink fairly often, I feel like it isn’t as bad as I was before. I stay away from people, because I don’t want their pity stares. I don’t want to hear another “poor girl” being whispered behind my back, and I don’t want the nasty looks I get from the girls I knew back in school. God forbid anybody have anything go wrong in their life and not know how to deal with it.

  Within the next two hours, I drink almost half the bottle of vodka and turn my phone back on. When Marissa calls me once again, I finally feel brave enough to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Phoenix,” she breathes. “I’ve been so worried. I’ve been trying to call you forever.”

  “I know,” I reply, taking another drink. “I’m fine.”

  I hear her sigh. “I just wanted to see how you were doing . . . you know, with everything.”

  “I’m fine, Marissa. I just said that,” I snap.

  I’m sure she knows, just like I do, that I’m not fine. However, it’s the quick and easy answer.

  “Look, I know it’s a tough time for you right now, and I just want you to know we’re here for you.”

  I gulp down the rest of my drink and slam it on the table. “It’s been a tough time for a year now! Not just right now. For a year! Do you not realize that? I’m fucking drowning every night. I drown in my own tears. I drown in my sorrows, and I drown in all this fucking alcohol I drink. It’s how I’ve lived my life for the last year. So, yes, it’s rough right now, but not any more than it has been for the last twelve months. I’m so glad you’re both here for me.” My voice drips with sarcasm. “So glad you and your husband are here for me. So happy you have a husband to help you deal with your friend who’s lost hers.”

  My anger and grief pours out of me, and even though deep down I know I shouldn’t be mad at her, I am. I’m mad that Anthony survived that night. He went home to her and my husband died outside in the dark of night.

  “Phoenix,” she says softly, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry. Do you need anything?”

  “I need my fucking husband, Marissa! I need Gordon. I need him like I need air to breath. He’s what I need. Can you bring him to me? Can your husband go back in time and protect mine? If not, then don’t bother asking what else I need. I just need him.” My voice breaks and the tears flow. “I need Gordon.”

  I hear her crying on the other end of the phone and it pisses me off. She has no right to cry. She didn’t lose her husband on her anniversary. She gets to spend every day with him while I get to spend my time alone. I throw my phone against the wall, take a swig of vodka from the bottle and then throw that against the wall, too. I watch as the glass shatters, imitating my heart.

  I scream, I cry, I collapse onto the floor and beat the carpet with my fists.

  “Why? Why did you have to die? Why couldn’t you have stayed with me?” I fall over to my side. “Didn’t you know I needed you?”

  My tears are never ending as I lay there on the carpet screaming out for my husband.

  I DON’T WAKE up until almost noon, and when I do, I wake to find myself still pressed against the carpet. My throat hurts, probably from screaming, and my eyes feel puffy and sore.

  Peeling myself from the floor, I make my way upstairs and dry heave into the toilet before getting into the shower. I don’t feel well enough to stand there long, so I quickly wash up and get out.

  By the time I’m back downstairs it’s almost one-thirty, and that only means I still have a whole day to do nothing, which just leads to me drinking. Still feeling the effects of the vodka, I decide not to drink anything else right now, and instead get ready to go to the store. Looks like I’ll need a new phone.

  When I emerge out into the bright sunlight, I pull my shades down over my eyes and walk to my jeep. I notice Evan and some more moving guys are outside his house transporting more furniture inside. The blonde woman—who I assume is his wife—bustles around, directing the movers into the garage or into the house depending on what they’re carrying.

  Evan lifts his head and looks in my direction, but I continue towards the vehicle and climb in. I sold my car a few months after Gordon’s death. I couldn’t afford both, but I couldn’t bring myself to sell his jeep. A jeep isn’t a vehicle I’d pick for myself, but it was his and I’m running out of things of his to hold onto. My mother convinced me to pack up his clothing and store it somewhere, but I kept a few shirts and pants for me to sleep in.

  The jeep roars to life and I take off down the road towards one of the two phone companies here. When I pull my vodka-smelling phone out of a plastic bag, the young worker gives me a funny look.

  “I dropped it in the glass,” I lie. “Can I just get a new one and keep the same number?”

  Thirty minutes later, I’m leaving the store with a brand new phone. Because I’m still feeling a little nauseous, I don’t feel like going grocery shopping, so I decide to stop by a little diner near my house. Plus, there’s a liquor store next to it, and I’m going to need another bottle of vodka.

  I seat myself at a booth in the front near a window, and wait for the waitress to come over.

  “Hey, darling,” Carol greets.

  Carol is in her mid-forties, and one of the few people who still tries to talk to me. I don’t blame the others, though. I’m not myself anymore. I don’t like to talk, I don’t like to laugh, and I don’t like to have fun. Who wants to talk to a person like that? I don’t even want to be near myself sometimes.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  “The usual?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I’ve been here plenty of times, because I hate cooking for myself. I’m used to cooking for two, and I don’t want to get used to cooking for one.

  Carol brings me a glass of Coke and walks away. While I wait for my food, I start toying with my new phone. Ten minutes later, the bell on the front door rings and I look up automatically before turning my attention back to my phone. But then I do a double take. It’s Evan.

  He looks around the restaurant like he’s looking for a free table, and then his eyes lock onto mine.

  “Oh, hey, Phoenix,” he says casually, like he’s known me his whole life.

  “Hey.”

  I look down at my phone and start programming the few numbers I have memorized. A few seconds later, a shadow is casted over me. Looking up, I see Evan standing next to my table with a grin on his face.

  “Can I sit with you?” he asks.

  “Oh. Umm,” I look around the place, hoping to find an empty table to point him to, but this place stays pretty busy.

  “Here you are, Phoenix,” Carol announces, placing my food on the table. “Oh, I didn’t know you were waiting for someone,” she says, eyeing Evan.

  “I’m not. I wasn’t,” I answer quickly.

  The silence that follows is uncomfortable. Evan slips his hands in his pockets. “I’m just waiting for a table,” he says to Carol.

  Carol’s eyes dart between me and Evan. When I don’t say anything, she looks around the restaurant, searching for an empty table that doesn’t exist right now. I’m such an asshole.

  “He can sit here, Carol,” I concede.


  “You sure?” he asks, seemingly aware of my discomfort. “I can wait.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll be eating and leaving soon anyway.”

  He slides into the seat opposite me and Carol brings him a menu.

  “You new here?” she asks.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answers with a polite smile. “Just moved in a few houses down from Phoenix, here.”

  Carol looks at me and raises her eyebrows. “Well, isn’t that nice. I hope you’re enjoying it.”

  “Don’t know much about it yet,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Well, you can go visit Phoenix over at her job, she can . . .”

  “Carol, can I get some ketchup, please?” I interrupt, pinning her with a glare.

  “Sure thing, darling,” she answers before walking away.

  I notice Evan looking at me from the corner of my eye, but when I go to meet his gaze, he brings the menu to his face and looks through it.

  “So, what’s good here?” he asks.

  “Everything.”

  “What are you having? Cheeseburger?”

  “Bacon cheeseburger.”

  He puts the menu down and looks out the window, waiting for Carol to return. When she does, he tells her he wants the same thing I have. She smiles and walks away.

  “How long have you lived here?” he asks as I take a bite. “Oh, sorry. You can chew first.”

  Once I’m done chewing, I take a drink and then answer. “My whole life.”

  He’s probably regretting sitting here with me. I’m not a good person to converse with.

  “So, I take it you like it here, then.”

  I shrug. “It’s okay.”

  He gives me a crooked smile before looking away. Carol arrives a little while later with his plate of food, but to my dismay, decides to stick around.

  “So, what’s your name?” she asks Evan.

  “Evan Tyler.”

  “Well, Evan Tyler. I’m Carol Mills, and I take it you know Phoenix Nightingale here, and you can consider us your first friends in this little town. Isn’t that right, Phoenix?”

  I force a smile and nod once. Damn Carol and her meddling ways.

  Evan laughs. “Thank you.”

  “You know anybody else here? Did you move with your family? Wife?”

  I roll my eyes and then realize Evan caught me. He tilts his head and smiles.

  “No, ma’am. No family. No wife.”

  “Huh,” Carol mumbles. “Well, I’ll be back to check on y’all later.”

  “She seems nice,” he says, picking up a fry.

  “Uh-huh,” I murmur, taking another bite of my burger.

  “I think she was hitting on me,” he whispers, and I can’t help the small laugh that erupts in my throat.

  He smiles wide like he’s pleased with himself for getting me to laugh.

  “Maybe,” I answer. “You interested?”

  He barks out a laugh. “Not my type.”

  A smile dances on my lips briefly. While Evan eats, he scrolls through his phone, and it gives me a chance to study him without him realizing it.

  His caramel colored hair is longer on the top than the sides, and perfectly styled. The facial hair along his jaw, chin, and upper lip is evenly trimmed and probably on day ten of growth. I used to love when Gordon would grow out his facial hair.

  And with that thought, I feel bad for even looking at Evan for too long. I downcast my eyes and start twirling my fries in the ketchup.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I clear my throat and look up at him. “Yeah. Fine.”

  Carol walks by and I ask for the check. She nods but doesn’t respond with words. I have a feeling she’s gonna keep me waiting a while.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  “No. I don’t have much to say.”

  He nods like it makes complete sense. “I hate people who just talk to hear themselves talk, anyway.”

  A couple minutes of awkward silence go by and I busy myself with my phone, waiting for Carol to bring my check.

  “I also hate awkward silences,” he says.

  I smile but don’t say anything. I don’t even look up from my phone.

  “Phoenix Nightingale. That’s pretty funny, don’t you think?” he questions.

  This causes me to look up at him and furrow my brows. “What’s funny? My name?”

  He laughs. “Well, the meaning of it.”

  I shake my head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, let’s take Nightingale. Nightingale birds are known for singing these beautiful songs, but they’re songs of love and longing. They’re looking for a mate, calling out and hoping to find someone, but they’re sad, maybe their mate died and they’re looking for another.”

  My eyes begin to water, but he’s too busy eating to notice. I quickly wipe them and wait for him to continue. He has no idea what his words are doing to me, so I can’t blame him for what he’s saying. He’s just talking about birds.

  “Now, Phoenix birds represent resurrection. Rising from the ashes, bouncing back from adversity, life after death. You know? It’s just interesting that both your names are a kind of bird. While your last name says you’re sad and longing for something, your first name says you’ll bounce back and rise again. Seems like no matter what happens to you, you’ll be okay.” He shoots me a broad smile before taking a bite of his fry. When I don’t respond, he looks back up at me and must see something in my expression. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I just gotta go,” I say, pulling money from my purse and dropping it onto the table. “Can you make sure Carol gets this?”

  “Of course. Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I reply before rushing out of the diner and into the liquor store next door.

  I grab two bottles of vodka and rush home.

  Instead of crying, I drink and then I drink some more.

  How fucked up is it that my own name reflects my fucked up life? I’m calling out for my mate. I’m sad, I’m lonely, and longing to be with my lover, but he’s gone. He’s dead, and I’m forced to be alone until I find someone else. Nobody can replace Gordon, though. And I’m supposed to rise up, bounce back, and be perfectly fine again? I don’t see how that can happen. I know it’s already been a year, and to a lot of people, that seems like a long time. I guess it just depends on your state of mind.

  I drink more. I want to forget that I even had a husband. If I forget about Gordon, I can’t be sad about Gordon not being here.

  I don’t know how much time goes by, but I do know I have to work tomorrow, so passing out on the floor isn’t going to cut it tonight. I start drinking water and eating toast in the hopes that once I go to sleep, the alcohol will be out of my system.

  As I’m shoving a piece of bread in my mouth, a knock comes from my door. I look at the clock on the stove and notice it’s six-thirty. Traipsing through the small dining area, I get to the front door and pull it open.

  Evan.

  “Phoenix, I’m so sorry,” he says, his eyes full of remorse. “I didn’t know about your husband. Carol told me after I left, and I felt so stupid telling you the story about the birds and death and all that. I’m such an asshole.”

  I laugh. I’m still drunk. “It’s fine, Evan. You’re new in town. How would you know?”

  He studies me carefully, probably realizing I’m drunk. “I just feel shitty and wanted to apologize.”

  I lean onto the door, only for my weight to push it back causing me to stumble a few steps. Not an official drunk until you’re stumbling around and slurring your words. I wonder if I’ve been slurring my words.

  “You okay?” he asks, his arms going out to brace me.

  “Fine. I’m so sick of people asking me that question. I’m fine!” I shout, making my way into the kitchen.

  I leave him at the door with it still wide open, but he doesn’t try to come in; he just stands on the porch.

  “Uhh.”
r />   “Just come in, Evan. No need to have you standing at the door for all the neighbors to see.”

  I don’t turn around to see if he’s coming in or not, I just grab my toast from the toaster, spread some Cheez Whiz on it, and start eating. The door closes, and that’s when I turn around. Evan stands just inside, looking terribly uncomfortable.

  “So, Carol opened her mouth, huh?”

  “She didn’t tell me much, only that you lost your husband.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m sure,” I reply, taking another bite.

  “I don’t know what you’re going through, because I’ve never been married, so I’m not going to pretend I do, but if I can do anything for you, let me know.”

  I laugh without humor. “At least you aren’t acting like you know how I feel. I hate when people say, ‘Oh, I know how you feel,’ when they have no idea. There’s nothing you can do, though. There’s nothing anybody can do. I’m stuck in this shitty life alone now. I’ll deal with it.”

  He takes a few steps further in the house. “That’s not true.”

  “What’s not true? That my life isn’t shitty? That I’m not alone? That nobody can help me?”

  “Your life may be shitty right now, but it doesn’t always have to be. You may not have your husband anymore, but I doubt you’re alone. Anybody can help you if they’re willing and if you’re willing to accept their help.”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t know me very well, Evan,” I snap. “My friends from school judge me for the way I acted after my husband died. They’re those snooty bitches who can’t be associated with someone who’s had public meltdowns in a small town. My closest friend is the wife of the guy who was with my husband the night he died. Her husband survived, therefore she doesn’t know how I feel. Every time I talk to her, I’m reminded of how lucky her husband is and how unlucky mine was. My mom’s been trying to force me to move on and get rid of everything my husband ever touched, thinking that’s going to just make me get over it. My father won’t talk to me, because I’ve embarrassed him in front of his friends by not dealing with my emotions appropriately. So, you’re wrong. I have nobody, and that’s why nobody will help. My life continues to be shitty, and that’s what I deal with.”