The Phoenix

It had been a sweltering spring in the landlocked city, and the air was thick from the humidity and smoke. The industries of the city worked overtime to prepare for the future demand of the country as they took a step forward into new ideas and shining technologies. The factories never turned off; they kept pumping out smoke and extra heat, adding to the cloud hanging over the city. Everyone had a job in the city; the men, women, and children all worked everyday. Too many fell ill from the smoke and the oppressive heat that spring. Many laborers worked for long, strenuous hours and the heat prevented them from sleep. Accidents were common among the workers and often life-altering.

My mother was a seamstress. In better days she was almost famous for her delicate work. She wielded a needle masterfully and created beautiful designs. I used to watch as the intricate embroidery patterns appeared on extravagant clothing she had created. Her favorite thing to create was little birds. She consistently said, “Birds, Eva, are always good signs. They bring happiness.” I was skeptical of this. The birds she loved so much did not bring good news when the shop burned down. They did not bring happiness when I was told I may never walk.

After the fire, I was in the hospital for several weeks. A support beam had fallen on me when I tried to escape the consuming flames. I had nightmares from the beeping of the machines attached to me, and whenever I heard doctors talk, as they rushed by my door, it was about new burn victims coming in; burned from the harshness of the city, like me. I sat fearfully awaiting the next tragedy, the next fire, the next falling beam. Where are my mother’s birds? They sat perched on the buildings ready to pick us off one by one.

I often think back to the fire. My mother had closed up shop, but was still working on embroidery. It was a special order dress for an aristocratic woman’s masquerade. She had wanted a dress that looked like a phoenix and thought it was only appropriate to get a phoenix dress from my mother, Guinevere Phoenix, herself. When my mother stopped her work and turned off the lights, I had already been in bed for an hour lying awake from the heat, thinking. I wanted so badly to leave this landlocked city, it’s choking fumes and heat, it’s harshness towards the laborers. Then I started to smell fabric burning. I ran downstairs and saw the phoenix dress on fire. By the time I landed at the foot of the stairs, the entire shop was aflame. I heard a thunderous crack, and the burning shop was the last thing I saw.

* * * *

I have been in the hospital for three weeks now. My burn wounds are healing, although painfully, and I’m learning how to maneuver a wheelchair. My sole goal now is to leave this sterile place. Every time a doctor walks by my heartbeat quickens. Everytime I hear an ambulance, I pull the blanket over my head.

As I sit next to the window, looking out at the city. I feel a hand rest on my shoulder. I hurriedly (well as fast as a person vaguely acquainted with a wheelchair can) swing around to see my mother standing there with my aunt.

“Eva, honey, we want to talk to you about something,” my mother says in her sweetest voice possible. “Eva, I’m sending you with your aunt until I can get the shop running again.” The shock in my face must have told them both that I am opposed to leaving my mother alone in the city.

My aunt looks at me with a cautious smile, “I live in a small town by the seaside, I own a bakery with my husband, but he is gone for a few months on a fishing expedition. I figure the fresh air and space will do you good in your recovery.” My aunt recites as if she has been preparing this for awhile.

“Dove, will take good care of you, Eva. Maybe you can help her with some things as she prepares for her baby.” The hopefulness in my mother’s voice seems foreign and forced. She knows that my predicament is not favorable, and that my ability to do anything is limited.

“I’ll stay here, thank you very much” I say the most I words I have spoken in the past three weeks, shocking my mother.

“Eva, you don’t get a choice in this. You are going with your Aunt Dove.”

* * * *

The fishing town my Aunt lives in is small, and quaint, almost too perfect to be true. Her bakery is on a small hill overlooking the sea. The house is connected with the bakery, and infused with the smell of fresh bread. Behind the house is a small courtyard and a garden, in which my aunt grows majority of her food while her husband is gone.

My aunt fumbled with the door as she tried to open it wide enough for me to squeeze by her.

“Welcome,” she said with a nervous smile “Your room is down the hall and to the left, the kitchen is on the right, and if you need anything, try looking in the bakery.”

“Thanks,” I said flatly

“Um...” Aunt Dove bit her lip, “if you want you can go out to the courtyard, or we can go to the beach.” I wheel by her silently, ignoring her attempts to make the place feel homey. My room is baby blue with cloud on the wall and small clothes neatly folded on the dresser against the back wall. I move myself from my chair and lay down on the bed and close my eyes. I try to sleep but a small robin twitters away outside my window.

* * * *

I watch as days went by when my niece isolated herself. The anger inside that child was surprising and frightening. The summer had come and was halfway done. I try to busy myself with orders and preparations for both the return of my husband and the coming baby. Still, seeing Eva waste away from her self-pity is agonizing, and my confidence as a mother is fading.

I peer into her room for about the tenth time today, still laying on her bed listening to the song of the robin outside.

“Eva, would you like to come down for some dinner? I made spaghetti and meatballs and some apple pie for dessert.” She rolls over in bed and says nothing.

“How about we go out and you get some fresh air?” Again, she ignores me.

“Eva, please respond,” my patience was wearing thin. Nothing is her response

“Evangeline!” Anger starts to penetrate my voice. I wonder if I should pull her out of bed and force her to do things, or let her be. I probably should not disturb her, but something inside me compels me to turn her to face me.

“Evangeline, you are going to get up, and you are going to come and eat dinner with me. You are not going to spend your summer wallowing in self pity!” I am shocked at my forcefulness. Eva sits up in bed and looks me straight in the eye.

“No,” she states.

“Excuse me?”

“I am not doing that. I’m staying here, and I’ll wallow in self pity because my entire life is ruined.”

“I know you were hurt, Eva, but you still need to do something. You can’t waste away because you are hurt.”

“I was more than hurt. I can’t do any of the things I love anymore. Do you know how it feels to have your entire life shaken by one event?”

“Yes, Eva, I do. However, those things cannot be the end. You have to deal with the problem.”

“No I don’t! You can just leave me alone!” she screams back at me.

“Eva, just try and get up,” I plead, tears forming in my eyes. Eva sits looking at me with the same discouraged expression. I feel the silence pass between us.

“I can’t,” she whispers after a long silence. “I can’t, and I realize that moment everyday. The fire burning, the loud crack. I’m scared everytime I hear a ship's horn or smell smoke. I’m afraid it's going to come again, and I can't get up and run away. Everyday the fire takes that from me,” tears roll down her cheeks as she speaks.

“Eva, just try to stand up. You’ll have to stand up against your fears.” I reach my hand out to her. Slowly, she reaches out and grabs my hand. Together, we work to put her feet on the ground and then move her weight onto them. Eva shuts her eyes; I pulled my hand away and stand back.

“Eva, open your eyes,” I say excitedly. She quickly opens her eyes and she realized that I am no longer supporting her weight. She screams in such delight that she causes herself to fall back on her bed.

“I...I did it?” she puzzles in amazement, and I squeal with delight,

“Yes, you did!” She looks at me with thankful eyes. Nothing needs to be said. She knows that she still had a long but hopeful road to recovery. We smile at each other as we hear the robin start to sing.

* * * *

By the end of the summer I am able to walk a little. My steps are still unsteady, but they are more consistent. My mother gave up trying to rebuild her business in the landlocked city, and moves to my Aunt Dove’s seaside town. I’m excited to show her my progress. I have thrived being away from my life in the choking city, and I am excited to show her how I have changed.

Shortly after I first stood on my own, I had asked my Aunt Dove for an embroidery ring. She helped me to pick out the fabric, and decide on the color of thread. I love the baby blue of the fabric, my aunt’s favorite color. I have been working on it in private since then and hope that my mother will help me to finish it. I know my mother will love to see the gift I am making. Aunt Dove is close to having her child, and I am happy and excited to see this new life coming. When my mother sees me, she will see that from the ashes of the fire I grew.

Today, I will give Aunt Dove the blanket I made to wrap the new life she has in. It is baby blue with little robins and doves embroidered on it.