Remembering Phoenix

by Randa Lynn

  God, why does everyone think they need to walk on pins and needles around me? I know I’m broken, but it doesn’t mean I want to be treated like I am. I’ll deal with my demons myself, no one else needs to weather my storm with me.

  The conversation comes to a halt when Lizzie squeals as the church door swings open. I turn my head to see who’s walking in the large, glass doors. The three other bridesmaids—Randi, Olivia, and Abby—walk in. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, trying my hardest not to scowl at the sight of Abby. I don’t know what it is, but she rubs me the wrong way. That’s a lie, I know exactly what it is. She had the nerve to ask why I was the maid-of-honor instead of her. “But Lizzie, she doesn’t even remember you,” I remember hearing her say.

  Lizzie begged me to have a sleepover the night before we tried on bridesmaid dresses. I begrudgingly agreed. The same night, I heard her and Abby talking alone in the living room. The only thing that kept me from running in there, jumping on her with claws out, was hearing Lizzie take up for me. ”She’s my sister. No amount of memory, or lack thereof, can take that away. If you have a problem with it, then you can leave.”

  I know I don’t remember anything at all about Lizzie, but I just felt her standing up to someone was far out of the realm of her comfort zone. Once Lizzie said that to Abby, all my reservations of doing this went by the wayside.

  Yeah, I still don’t want to do this, but I’m willing to mask my nervousness for an hour or so if it makes her happy. Sunday, I’ll be able to crawl back in my apartment and be a recluse.

  “Hi, Charlie.” I spin on my heels and see Randi with her auburn hair and emerald eyes.

  “Hey! You look gorgeous,” I admit, feeling rather inferior against her bombshell figure.

  She comes in, encompassing me in a hug. “As do you. Look at you, all dolled up. I see you’re still wearing your signature color, though. Couldn’t venture to brown or gray?” she teases.

  I look down at my dress. “Yep. You know me, black is everything.” I laugh. “Lizzie is lucky I got out of my Chucks and jeans.”

  Olivia—with her black rimmed glasses and dirty blonde hair—comes up beside Randi. “Hey Charlie, how are you?”

  Olivia. Sweet, sweet Olivia. She seems unsure, as if I’m going to crash and burn the moment something sets me off. She’s unsure if asking me how I am is the appropriate question. She’s unsure of a lot. I get that, because I am unsure of … well… everything.

  “I’m alright,” I tell her. She gives me a small smile and bids me farewell before walking off to where Abby stands with Lizzie.

  “Can I be honest?” Randi asks.

  “Please.”

  “Good,” she replies. “I fucking hate Abby. Why is Lizzie even friends with her?”

  Oh God. I knew I loved Randi. I knew it. “I feel like you just reached in and read my mind. Want to do that to the memory I lost? I’d love to find it,” I only half-joke.

  She throws her head back and laughs. Her eyes crinkle at the edges, and I cringe a little, but not much, because it just feels so damn good for someone to not treat me like I should be in bubble wrap. “That was hilarious. Damn, I needed a good laugh. I’m going to need some tequila if I have to put up with her when we go out, though. How many of the groomsmen do you think she’s going to try to screw?”

  “I’m going to bet all of them,” I say. “One will turn her away successfully, one will try, but cave. The other two? They’ll go for it, because those fake boobs are not being shy.”

  She laughs. “No shit.” She digs in her purse for a moment before asking, “I need to go reapply my powder. Know where the bathroom is?”

  The bridesmaids, Lizzie, and I make our way back into the sanctuary, sitting on the front two pews. Abby ends up talking enough for everyone. Lizzie seems rather intrigued with her banter, listening intently about the hot date Abby had last night. I couldn’t care less, so I try my hardest to tune it out. Olivia gets up, taking a phone call, while Randi continues tapping away on hers.

  I gaze off to the back wall at the top of the stage. A cross hangs atop the baptismal, white lights glowing all around. It’s so beautiful, yet so terrifying. One object holds so much power, hope, love, and faith for so many people. So many people but me. I believe there is a life after we leave this world, but both my heart and soul have been completely shattered, leaving me a huge, jumbled mess of uncertainty and anger. Memories of when I woke up in the hospital run through my mind.

  The beep of a monitor cuts through the silence. I crack my eyes open, the bright white hurts my eyes. I try to bring my hand up to shield my eyes from the assault of the light, but I can’t. I’m too weak.

  Wait...

  White light.

  Monitor.

  Where am I?

  I finally will my eyes to open and a lady comes up to me. “Sweetie. Oh, Charlie,” she cries. She wipes the tears from underneath her eyes—blue, like the sky.

  Who is she, and why is she crying?

  “Wh-who are… you?” I force the words out. My throat feels like sandpaper is thrashing against it with every word.

  “Who am I?” she asks, pain masking her every feature. She steps away from me and, moments later, she comes back in with another woman in scrubs.

  I study my surroundings. The walls are stark white. The covers are a pale green. I inhale a deep gulp of air. Sterile. Completely sterile. Then it hits me. I’m in a freaking hospital. I’m in a hospital bed, and a hideous hospital gown.

  I squeeze my eyes closed. A sharp pain shoots through my head. Everything hurts. Everything.

  “Do you know where you are?” the nurse asks, assessing me.

  “Uh,” I say, “a hospital.”

  “Very good.” She takes a small flashlight and shines it in my eyes, successfully blinding me—again.

  “Do you know what day it is?” she questions.

  “No.”

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  “No.”

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  My name?

  Panic takes over. I’m dizzy.

  What is my name? What the hell is my name?

  How do I know she is a nurse, or maybe she’s a doctor? But I don’t know my name or who this woman is standing beside her. She obviously knows me, because you don’t cry over people you don’t know. I don’t think you do.

  I finally get enough strength in my limbs and bring my hands up to my face. This is so confusing.

  “I don’t know my name,” I mumble.

  “What was that?”

  “I don’t know my name!” I yell, flames burning my throat. I cough uncontrollably and the nurse or doctor, I’m unsure which, brings me a cup of water. I take it appreciatively and drink the whole thing in one gulp.

  She looks at me, concern washing over her face. She writes on a piece of paper before looking back at me. “I’ll be right back with the doctor.”

  Minutes later, the same lady walks back in, but this time a man in a lab coat comes in with her. So he’s the doctor.

  “Why am I here?” I ask the doctor. I want to know why I’m here, but more importantly, who the hell I am.

  “Hi, Charlie.”

  “Charlie?” I snap. “That’s not my name… is it?” All three people nod simultaneously. “What kind of name is Charlie?”

  The brunette woman with the blue eyes steps forward, a sob breaking free from her trembling body. “You don’t remember me?” she cries.

  I watch her as her lips quiver, eyes gushing with salty tears. I want to remember her, but I just don’t.

  I look around the room; all eyes are on me. Then I feel it. This emptiness. An aching in my chest. Not from physical pain, because this feels nothing like the pain the rest of my body is enduring. It’s an ache of a different sorts.

  I’m missing something. Something huge. But what is it?

  I shake my head, confusion and anger consuming me. “I don’t know anything. Can someone tell me what in the hell is going
on here?”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, two more people walk in the room. A girl, she looks like an exact replica of the lady with sky blue eyes, but years younger. Is that her daughter?

  A man walks a few moments later, and stands behind the two ladies that look alike. His black hair is speckled with gray and his large stature stands stoic as we have a stare down. His green eyes burn holes into me.

  Who the hell are these people?

  The doctor steps forward, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Hi, Charlie. I am Dr. Gilcrease. I’ve been in charge of your care while you’ve been in a coma.”

  “Coma?” Tears spring my eyes without permission. “What the hell happened to me?”

  He lays his hand gently on top of my leg. I flinch away from him, and slap his hands away from me. I don’t know these people. They’re not touching me.

  Fuck you.

  “Good. I’m glad to know that paralysis isn’t a concern.”

  “Paralysis? What—“

  “Charlie,” he reproaches, “I know you are very confused right now, but I need you to listen. We’re going to take you down for some tests in a moment.”

  “Tests? For what?” My panic continues to grow.

  He takes a deep breath. “You have a TBI, and we need to do an MRI so we can look at the extent of the damage.”

  “TBI? Damage? Tests? What?” I shake my head, needing some reprieve from the last few minutes. I wish I hadn’t woken up.

  “TBI is traumatic brain injury. And an MRI will give us a detailed scan of your brain that the CT scans aren’t able to do. You were in a car accident almost two weeks ago, Charlie. You’re very lucky to be alive.”

  A car accident?

  I slam my eyes shut, my erratic heartbeat drowning out everyone’s whispers. I was in a car accident almost two weeks ago, and I’m just now waking up? It doesn’t explain why I don’t remember anything. And it doesn’t explain why I feel like my chest is gaped open without my heart inside.

  I turn my head away from the cross, standing up in a haste to try and get away from the suffocation my thoughts bring. I walk quickly down the aisle to the foyer. As I open the door, I slam into a brick wall. I teeter on my heels until I lose my balance altogether and tumble to the floor. My ankle throbs and my embarrassment spikes. I hate being the center of attention, yet here I am, lying on the floor as everyone’s attention is directed at me.

  A hand reaches down to help me as I try to get up the best I can. I yank my heels off, saying to hell with trying to look like a lady when I just fell to the ground like a ragdoll, and hold on to them with one hand while grabbing the helping hand with the other. I get up, putting all my weight on my left foot. My ankle hurts a lot worse than I thought. “I’m so sorry,” I apologize. I look up at the nice person who helped when I see him.

  The face I’ll never forget.

  Stone gray eyes. Laugh lines. Shot stealer. Pity partier. Slayter.

  Anger boils in my blood for this person I don’t even know. Recognition hits him. His eyes widen, but I brush him off, and walk past him back into the sanctuary, trying to mask the pain shooting from my ankle. I make my way to the nearest pew before falling down on the seat, thankful for the reprieve from walking on my foot.

  Why? Why do things happen to me, and why do people have to rub me the wrong way? For crying out loud, it’s the day before my sister’s wedding and here I am, running into a guy who I met on the worst date of my life. If it weren’t for bad luck…

  “Honey, are you okay?” I look up and see my mother, her blue eyes scrunched in concern as she slides into the pew next to me.

  “Yeah. Just hurt my ankle. I’m such a klutz.” I shrug, trying to cover the hint of anger in my tone. “I’ll be okay. Could you do me a favor, though, and help get everyone together? We need to get this started so we can finish. Reservations for rehearsal dinner are at eight.”

  “Sure thing, sweetie. You stay here. If you need ice, let me know. We don’t want you hobbling for Lizzie’s big day tomorrow.” She pats me on the leg and gets up, heading to gather everyone.

  I open my clutch and grab some pain pills I keep on hand. I get migraines so badly sometimes I have to take them in order to function throughout the day. I know this isn’t a migraine, but this foot is hurting just as badly. I throw a pill back and swallow it dry. I gag at the disgusting taste, but I know soon enough my foot won’t be throbbing profusely.

  I sit until I feel the pain dissipate. Once I feel well enough to try and walk, I slowly get up and make my way to where everyone else is gathered, listening to the wedding coordinator talk. I spot Slayter out the corner of my eye. He’s watching me intently, a smirk on his face. I want to slap it off. I’ve met the guy a total of two times, each time making me loathe him more than the last. Asshole.

  We finish listening to the lady tell us what to do, like being in a wedding is rocket science or something, then make our way into the foyer.

  Mom is the stand-in-bride since Lizzie insisted it’s bad luck for her to do it in rehearsal. What does walking down the aisle a day early have anything to do with bad luck?

  Whatever. I don’t know a single thing about weddings except there are far too many expectations for it to be the picture of perfection. I don’t even know who I’m walking with, or if I get to walk by myself, since I’m maid-of-honor.

  “Okay everyone, let’s line up with the person you’ll be walking with.” Lisa, the wedding coordinator flips open her planner and taps against it with her pen. “Okay, let’s see.” She pauses. “Abby…” she calls out. Abby steps forward and smiles cheerfully. “You and Tim walk together.”

  Tim steps toward Abby, his black hair slicked back on top. He and Abby walk off hand-in-hand to the double doors like instructed. I turn to Randi, who’s rolling her eyes at the two. “Told you,” she mouths.

  “After them is Olivia and Cade.” Olivia walks over timidly and stands by Cade, his tall stature overpowering her petite frame.

  I look to my left. Shit. There are only two groomsmen left. Slayter and Hank. Dear God, let Randi walk with Slayter. I do not want to have any interaction with his egotistical ass.

  “Alright. Now,” Lisa says, “Randi and Hank, it’ll be you two, then the maid-of-honor and best man, Charlie and Slayter. You’re Lizzie’s sister, correct?” she asks me. I nod my head, annoyed by the smug look on this guy’s face. “And Slayter, you’re Stetson’s brother?”

  “Older, and better looking, brother, ma’am.” He winks as her, causing her skin to flush instantly. What is it with women falling for such superficial charm? I can’t believe this arrogant guy is my future brother-in-law’s brother. How did this happen? And how did I not know this? Ugh.

  “Lizzie will come after the flower girls. And Stetson will be awaiting for her at the altar,” Lisa informs us. I begrudgingly move into position. Slayter slides in beside me, too close for comfort. “Personal space. It’s a thing,” I scowl, stepping away from him.

  He leans in close to my ear and whispers, “By the pissed off look on your face, one would think you were holding a grudge.”

  I roll my eyes and scoff. “Grudge? You stole my alcohol, gave me a huge spew of self-pity, then earlier you almost made me nearly break my ankle. I’m not holding a grudge. I just don’t like you.”

  “You don’t even know me. But you could get to,” Slayter says, eyes narrowing in on me.

  My body unwillingly prickles with electricity at the intensity of his gaze. I try to will them away, but they remain with a fierceness I loathe.

  “Quit staring at me,” I snap. “Let’s just get this over with so I can go home and ice my ankle.”

  “Am I making you uncomfortable, Charlie?” He nudges my shoulder slightly with his elbow.

  “No. You’re just pissing me off,” I lie. I twist my body forward, ignoring his continuous stares.

  When Lisa motions for us to walk, we start our trek down the aisle, slower than what we should because of my ankle. “I cou
ld just carry you, you know.”

  Cutting my eyes to him, I snarl, “Could you stop? This is the second time we’ve ever met and you’ve aggravated the living shit out of me both times.”

  “Stop cussing in church,” Slayter deadpans.

  I roll my eyes. “This weekend is going to be hell.”

  “I was thinking more like heaven, but I’ll take what I can get.” He grins.

  I want to slap that perfect smile right off his face.

  I take a swig of my beer as I slide into the corner booth, eyeing my surroundings.

  Bars aren’t my thing. I don’t find them fun, nor do I find picking up women at bars appealing.

  Example: Abby McCowsky, who happens to be walking my way at this very second. If I were some shithead guy looking for the easiest and best looking fuck around, I’d most definitely choose her. She’s your stereotypical rich girl. Dripping in Daddy’s money, clearly spending more time in a hair salon than she’s ever spent at a job. She swings her bleach blonde hair over her shoulder, swaying her hips extra hard as she walks my way.

  She’s got it down pat, from the way she bites her bottom lip to the way she runs her hand over her collar bone, but I’m not buying it.

  “Hey Slayter,” she purrs, her voice dripping with seduction. “Didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”

  I take another sip of my beer, looking around the bar until I spot Stetson and Lizzie. “Well, that over there is my brother.” I tip my beer in his direction. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  She slides into the booth next to me. “Lucky for me.”

  I nod, aggravation building in my tone. “Yep.”

  She runs her finger around the brim of her fruity drink. She pushes her chest out, so I can’t help but notice her very large, very expensive, chest. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to really talk earlier. The rehearsal and the dinner were a little chaotic. I just wanted to say hello.”

  I wave my hand. “Well, hello Abby.”

  She giggles and sips some of her drink through the straw. “You’re so funny.”

  “Not so much.”

  Dear God, leave.