Resurrecting Phoenix

by Isabel Lucero

  His hair is somewhat wild, but on him it looks good. He probably just got out of the shower and ran a hand through it.

  Evan puts a plate down in front of me, and then takes the other stool and carries it to the opposite side of the table, so we’re sitting across from each other. When he sits down, I smell the scent of his body wash and almost burst into tears. It’s the same one Gordon used. The same one I have in my own bathroom.

  I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I say.

  “Don’t look so sad. It can’t be that bad,” he jokes.

  I shake my head. “No, it looks good. Thank you.”

  He goes to the fridge and brings us both a bottle of water. We start eating and the silence around us is deafening. I don’t want to talk, because I’m afraid once I do the waterworks will begin. That thick feeling in my throat is still present, and I’m trying to think of anything else besides that damn body wash.

  Evan clears his throat. “Um. How is it?”

  I nod my head and try to give him a smile. My mouth is full, so it doesn’t seem rude that I don’t answer. I give him the OK sign with my fingers and he smiles like he’s pleased.

  He finishes his food before I do, and is quick to take it to the sink and rinse it off. I eat about half of what he served me, but there’s no way I’ll be able to finish.

  “That was really good, Evan, but if I want to keep my girlish figure, I’m going to have to stop now,” I say with a small smirk.

  He laughs. “Okay.”

  Removing the plate from in front of me, he rinses that one off too and then wipes his hands on a towel. Spinning around to face me, he studies me briefly and I put on a normal face. Not the look of despair that’s been so used to taking residence on my face.

  “You still want to help me out?” he asks.

  “Of course,” I reply, standing up. The pasta seems to have helped absorb some alcohol, because I feel pretty steady on my feet and my head doesn’t feel as fuzzy.

  I go around the bar, and we fall in step as we walk into the living room. His scent is so strong, I find myself closing my eyes and breathing him in.

  When I open my eyes, I find him looking at me with a grin.

  “Do I smell good or bad?”

  “You smell like Gordon,” I blurt out.

  He looks taken aback, but quickly gains composure. “So, good?”

  I shrug. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You use the same body wash he does. Did.”

  Evan nods slowly. “Is that why you were so quiet?”

  I nod, feeling stupid. “I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing. You have no reason to. Should I go drown myself in some sort of cologne or something?”

  I look up at him and realize he’s being serious. He’d go change his scent if it made me feel more comfortable.

  “No, you don’t have to do that,” I say, shaking my head. “Now, what are we doing first?” I ask, moving further into the living room.

  “Curtains?” he says, looking at me for approval.

  “Curtains it is.”

  Evan and I spend the next hour putting the curtains up throughout his house, and I help set up a few small things he had in boxes.

  “You gonna hang up pictures or anything?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Eventually.”

  “Have you thought about painting?”

  Evan makes a face. “Do I need to?”

  I laugh. “No. I just think it would make this place look a little cozier, warmer, more inviting,” I say, looking around at all the white, bare walls.

  “I will if you’re volunteering to help me. Otherwise, I’ll just stick to the cold, uninviting walls I have.”

  Without even thinking about my response, I put my hands on my hips and say, “Yeah, I’ll help. I’m thinking we can do a bold color on one wall in here. Probably this wall here,” I say gesturing to the larger wall in the living room. “And then a little color in the kitchen.”

  When I realize he hasn’t responded, I move my gaze to where he’s standing and see him with an amused look on his face.

  “Yeah. That sounds good to me.”

  “Sorry. You don’t have to do what I suggest. I think I got carried away. I love painting.”

  “Oh, no, you can’t take back your offer now. I’m excited about this bold wall here,” he says with a smirk. “How bold is bold?” he asks, making a face.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna pick out pink or anything,” I reply with a laugh. “Something that matches. We’ll figure it out.”

  He claps his hands once and then rubs them together. “Great. I’ll let you know when we can get started. It’ll probably be on a weekend, unless you don’t mind coming over at night during the week.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me. I never have anything going on.”

  When the words leave my mouth, I realize how sad they sound, and I’d hate to come off pathetic, but it’s the truth.

  Evan tilts his head slightly as the corner of his lips draw down. The last thing I want is his pity, so I smile and he returns it.

  “I guess I’ll just stop by your house sometime and see if it’s a good time.”

  “Yeah, that works,” I answer. Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I say, “Well, I guess I should get going. Thanks for dinner.”

  “Thanks for the help,” he responds with a smile as he walks me to the front door.

  “No problem.”

  I take a few steps out onto his porch when he calls out to me.

  “Hey, Phoenix.”

  Turning my head and looking over my shoulder, I say, “Hmm?”

  “What’s your favorite food?”

  I furrow my brows at his random question but he just continues to grin at me.

  “Um. Chicken Fried Steak.”

  He looks up like he’s thinking of something, but then he just puts his hands in his back pockets and leans onto the door-jam. “Okay.”

  I let out a small laugh. “Okay.”

  “Good night, Phoenix.”

  The smile he gives me makes my stomach flip a little.

  “Night, Evan.”

  WHEN I GET home, I take notice of the stupid grin that I’ve had on my face the entire walk over here. Evan’s really nice and really nice to look at, too, but I don’t need to think further into that. He needs my help and I’m happy to keep myself busy outside of these four walls. That’s it. I can’t get over the fluttery feeling I get in my stomach when he smiles at me, though. I haven’t felt that in a long while.

  I kick my shoes off by the front door, but one of them hits the small shelf near the wall, and a picture on the bottom shelf collapses and slides to the floor. I bend down to pick it up and Gordon’s smiling face stares back at me.

  My heart plummets and the smile on my face is quickly dropped.

  He and I were out on the lake, and it’s obvious we were laughing in the picture. I remember that day vividly. He was making jokes and I kept laughing and ruining the photos, so we ended up taking several until I was happy with one.

  “I’m so sorry, Gordon,” I whisper, running my finger across his handsome face. “I love you so much and I miss you terribly. I’m sorry that I’m alive and you aren’t. I don’t know what to do without you.”

  I kiss the photo as a tear falls down my cheek, gently placing the photo back in its place. I always wondered if people who died could look down on you and see what you were up to. If it’s true, does that mean Gordon sees me with Evan? How would he feel about that? I feel like a horrible person. He’s dead and in the ground, and I’m out eating dinner and offering my help to another man. Do dead people feel sad? Is he disappointed in me?

  Lying across the couch, I stare at the ceiling. “Gordon,” I whisper. “Gordon, can you hear me? Are you here with me?” I wait, feeling like an idiot. “I wish you could tell me what to do with my life. I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to forget you. I know you’re not coming back, but some days I feel like you’re j
ust going to walk back into my life. You’re going to complain about your day at work, hug me from behind while I cook for us, and we’re going to eat and watch TV together.”

  Silence. Always silence. He’s not going to answer me. Gordon isn’t able to give me the answers and advice I need. I try to put myself in his shoes. Would I want him to move on if I died and he lived? Would I want him to re-marry, have kids, and be happy again without me? The alternative would be for him to be depressed and lonely. Like I am now. I wouldn’t want to think of him being like me. Maybe he is disappointed in me, but maybe he understands my actions.

  I force myself up the stairs and strip out of my clothes. I throw on one of Gordon’s old t-shirts and then my forgotten cell phone rings from the dresser. Looking at the screen, I see Marissa’s name flashing across it.

  I spend too long deciding if I want to answer it, because it eventually stops ringing as I hold it in my hand. The loud pinging noise alerts me that she’s left a voicemail. I haven’t talked to her since I flipped out and smashed my phone against the wall after our conversation. Deep down I know I shouldn’t take out my anger and grief on her, but it’s because I’m jealous and bitter when it comes to her and her husband’s relationship and life.

  Bringing the phone to my ear, I listen to her message.

  Phoenix. Hey, I uh . . . I’m sorry about our last conversation. I just need to talk to you. Anthony wanted to talk to you, but I figure you’d rather talk to me than him. Lesser of two evils and all. It’s kind of important, but I don’t know if you want to . . . I don’t know, Phoenix. I don’t know how to talk to you. I’m sorry. Call me. I love you.

  I leave the phone by my ear well after the message is over. Once again, guilt punches me in the stomach. She’s my best friend and all I do is yell at her and make her feel like shit for trying to be there for me. She doesn’t even know how to talk to me anymore, and that makes me sad. I just don’t think I can bring myself to see her and Anthony together. Anthony brings back memories of Gordon. They were best friends and partners, and he spent Gordon’s last minutes with him. He survived when my husband didn’t have that chance.

  I have no clue what she’d want to talk to me about that would be important. Nothing has been important in a long time.

  Feeling even shittier for not only feeling somewhat happy around Evan, and then for pushing away the only person who tries consistently to talk to me and be in my life, I drop my phone, sit in my bed and grab the bottle of vodka and juice from my nightstand.

  I take a large gulp and think. Evan’s another person who seems to be trying to be my friend. He talks to me, invites me over or out even if it’s just to buy stuff for his house. He seems nice enough and doesn’t push me to talk about what happened. Maybe it’s because he didn’t know me before. He doesn’t know the girl who was so full of life and always laughing and joking. The girl who was full of adventure and hated being in the house for too long. He knows me now. The quiet girl who doesn’t smile very often. The girl who stays inside longer than any person should. The dull, lifeless girl. But, he’s still willing to talk to me. That says something.

  Another gulp brings a slight burning sensation to my throat.

  Is that why I like Evan? Because he didn’t know me before my dramatic change? I don’t feel like a ghost of myself around him. I know he won’t bring up Gordon or that night or the months that followed. He knows nothing about me, and I like it that way. I don’t feel like he’s judging me. Maybe we can be friends without needing to dig into each other’s lives.

  With one more significant swallow of the warm liquid, I put the lid back on and set it on my nightstand. I roll over and let the fuzziness fill my head and fall asleep. Gordon, Marissa, and Evan star in my dreams.

  Marissa and I are sitting outside at a local restaurant enjoying our salads and tea, laughing about some drama-filled reality TV show we both watch. A few minutes later Gordon and Anthony show up and we all fall into easy conversation.

  Suddenly, Evan walks down the sidewalk in my direction and gives me an adorable smile and wave. My eyes fly to Gordon who has his back to Evan, so he has no idea he’s coming. I give Evan a tight smile and then focus on my food.

  “Hey, Phoenix,” Evan says as he stops at the table.

  Everybody turns and looks at him, but Gordon pins me with a curious stare.

  “Who are you?” Gordon asks Evan.

  “Evan. A friend of Phoenix’s.”

  Gordon looks back at me and I bite my thumb nail in a nervous gesture.

  “Gordon. Husband of Phoenix.”

  Evan flinches and looks between us. “Huh. I had no idea she was married. She didn’t tell me while she was over at my house last night.”

  My jaw drops and Gordon stands up, his fists at his sides are clenched tight.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry, Phoenix,” Evan says, touching my shoulder before walking away.

  “I can’t believe you, Phoenix!” Gordon roars. “I’m your husband. What are you thinking?”

  The look on his face is full of hurt and disappointment.

  “I’m so sorry, Gordon. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Too late,” he says before storming off, leaving me with Anthony and Marissa who look just as disgusted by my behavior.

  “Wow, Phoenix,” Marissa murmurs.

  I start bawling at the table, and when I look up I see that my friends have left me as well.

  I wake up with wetness on my cheeks. It takes a few seconds before I realize I was crying in my sleep. My heart hurts. Is this Gordon’s way of letting me know how he feels about my friendship with Evan? Would Marissa react the same way if she found out I was hanging out with him?

  Looking at the alarm clock, I see that it’s already ten in the morning. Good thing I don’t have to work today, because I don’t think I’d make it even if I had to. I hop in the shower, hoping to get rid of the overwhelming sadness and guilt that fills my body like poison.

  It doesn’t help.

  I can already tell it’s going to be one of those days.

  After I’m dressed, I swipe the vodka/juice bottle from the end table and drink it on my way down the stairs. It’s already half gone, so I go to my cabinets to see if I have more. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything in my stash.

  I decide to try to pace myself and hope the rest will last through the day. I drink it slowly while I torture myself and look through wedding photos.

  If Gordon was still alive we would’ve been married for four years now. We planned on trying for kids at five years. We planned for lots of things, but we never planned on death getting in the way. Not so soon.

  My tears fall onto the plastic that protects the photos. Memories flash in my mind like a movie. I remember crying when I spoke my vows and Gordon reaching over and wiping my tears for me. Then I flash to the reception when we had our first dance as husband and wife, and the following typical line dance that got everybody on the dance floor.

  I remember laughing a lot. In every photo I have a huge smile on my face, and Gordon is never far from me.

  “I love you so much, Phoenix bird,” Gordon says into my neck as we embrace.

  “I love you more, Gordy bear,” I say with a laugh.

  “I hate that name,” he grumbles.

  “I can’t believe we’re married,” I say, laying my head on his chest.

  “I’ll never forget this day, Nix. I’ve never been happier.”

  “You sure you’re going to feel that way in thirty years?” I ask, pulling away and looking at him with a smirk.

  “Thirty? Yes. Now forty? I don’t know.”

  I smack his arm. “Hey!”

  He gathers me in his arms and kisses the top of my head. “I’m kidding. There’s not enough time in the world for you and I. You’ll have to find me in the afterlife and continue our love affair there.”

  “You’ll have to find me, because I couldn’t handle you dying before me.”

  “What makes you t
hink I could handle you leaving me behind?”

  “You’re bigger and stronger.”

  “When it comes to you, Nix, I’m weak and fragile. Let’s make a deal and promise not to die for another seventy years, and when we do, we die together like that couple in that movie you like so much.”

  I smile. “Deal.” I extend my hand and we shake.

  “Okay, now come on. Let’s go eat some cake.”

  I wake up on the couch with the photo album at my feet. I haven’t dreamt of our wedding day in a long time. The clock tells me it’s four-thirty, and since that particular dream/memory is fresh in my head, I know I’m going to need more liquor.

  After using the bathroom, I grab my purse and leave the house, planning on walking to the liquor store. It’s only about ten minutes away, so that’s good.

  The liquor store is actually a gas station, but their liquor selection is vast, and I’m feeling like something a little different. Maybe I’ll go with something dark this time.

  I buy some Crown Royal and a two liter of Coke, and another bottle of vodka just because.

  The man puts my liquor into brown paper bags before putting them into a clear plastic bag. I walk back outside and regret not bringing my sunglasses. The sun beats down on me and I squint as I make my way to the sidewalk.

  “Phoenix?”

  I turn around, still squinting as I try to find the person who called my name. I bring my free hand to my forehead like a makeshift visor. A body moves closer to me.

  “I thought that was you,” Evan says.

  “Oh. Hey,” I say, feeling uncomfortable seeing him after my dreams, especially the one he was in. I also don’t want him to see my liquor purchases, and I don’t even know why. I never cared before who saw what I was buying.

  “You walking?” he asks, looking around for my car.

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  No need to tell him I’ve been drinking.

  “I can give you a ride. I was just getting some gas before heading home.”

  I shift my weight and put the bag kind of behind my leg. “That’s okay. It’s not that far.”