Phoenix

Chapter One: The Journal

I open my eyes and all I see is fire. Fire is catching. The fire burns but somehow I am fine with it. I turn around and she is right beside me loving me, taking care of me. She doesn't burn. Mommy never burns. She is just like me. She is life. I get up from the burning bed and walk towards my bedroom door. I open it. I see a shadow. Who is that man? What is he doing here? His muscled body turns towards me and his perfect teeth start showing. He walks towards me. He stops. I giggle. He is so handsome. I wish my mommy awake so she can see what I am seeing. A beautiful man. Once I grow up, I will marry him. We will last forever. He carries me. He looks directly to my eyes and his eyes turn red. Red like fire. It's not him. It's me, I am creating this fire around us. He doesn't burn. He hugs me saying "You belong with me."

*****

My alarm is set to go off any minute, now. I've been awake for about an hour or so moving from one end of the bed to the other, counting the seconds that passes in my alarm clock and repeating to myself that I have to get up and go to work otherwise I'm afraid I'll never move beyond this warm and comfortable bed. Today is June 18th, 2020. My twenty-first birthday. Twenty one years of sorrows, loneliness and disappointment. Ever since I was a little girl, I'd wonder: Why did the one person, who is supposed to have my back and love me no matter what, gave me up? That I will never understand. Neither I want to.

I hear my alarm go off exactly at seven thirty in the morning, screaming and begging for me to get up. Groaning to myself, I roll out of my tiny bed. I start to organize my room of all the disaster I made out of depression and the pressure of turning twenty-one. I'm not quite sure why I feel like somehow this year will be different, but then again, I always hope that each year will be different.

So far 2020 has been a hell of a year, not in a good way. First, the dramatic loss of Kobe Bryant and his daughter, Gianna Bryant, in a tragic helicopter accident. Second, the wild fires in Australia and now the whole coronavirus pandemic. This world, in my opinion, has gone from bad to worst. It is my first day back to work since quarantine happened so I'm very excited to finally see Dempsey, again.

Dempsey is my boss at the Peabody Institute Library. He was once a professor at Salem State University but something must have happened that he got so obsessed with the witch trials that he ended up quitting and became a librarian. The only thing is I'm not sure of what he really is searching for.  

My stomach is tied in a tight knot, and as I start my shower, I pray that the anxiety I feel from this day will lessen as it goes on. All of my life has been a series of uncertainty, pain and rejection as I probably mentioned before. My parents left me at the door of an orphanage when I was only 3 months old. That rainy night on September the 13th. In a way I'm glad they decided to give me away because maybe I would have been unhappy if they turned out not what I expected but the other half of myself, which is the majority, asks herself, what could have been of me if I had a mother, father or something that would have reassure me that I was being protected by family. Life isn't a wish granting factory, as I read in a book once. It really isn't. When I finally turned 18 I decided to move out of the orphanage and go to school for what I am really passionate about: art. Unfortunately, once I finished Art school, the only job that I could find was at the library. It feels nice because now I have time to really focus on my art on my own time and, if I finish at least 10 pieces by December of this year, Dempsey will let me organize my first gallery sale at the library.

The moment I step into the shower some of the tension leaves my strained muscles. I'm standing here, under the hot water, trying to calm my mind and tell to myself that today will be fine. At the end of the day, I am only a year older. Another year of zero accomplishments and also just the fact of getting older drives me insane. At least I can legally get wasted and not think about my problems or how long it will take to finally get where I want to be. 

I finally wash my hair and body, I barely have enough hot water to run a razor over my legs from the knees down. As I wrap the towel around my wet body, my cat purrs around the room. Milo is my siamese cat. I found him around my condo about exactly one year ago today. It was my twentieth birthday and I found him purring, once again, outside my living room window. Ever since I fed Milo he felt like he belonged in my little and humble place, even though it was just me, I felt his happiness.

My hands shake as I fumble with the zipper on my favorite black dress. I don't care if it's raining outside, I'm still going to have to wear this dress to see if I cool down a little bit and stop being an ass to myself about getting older. I finally win the battle with this annoying zipper that my dress for no reason has , and pull my favorite sweater from the back of my closet door. As soon as I'm dressed, I feel a little less nervous but still annoyed of the fact that I can't stop aging. I sit on the edge of my bed and start getting my shoes on looking at my alarm clock and notice that is already eight thirty in the morning. I rush into the bathroom and do the most minimal makeup possible so Dempsey doesn't notice that I've been crying, not of sadness, but anger because I'm already depressed. Round two of styling my hair ends with a better result than the first, and I brush a lint roller over my dress one last time. As I go outside and walk to the car parked on the street, the butterflies in my stomach jump around making me slightly relieved that at least I have a thirty minute drive ahead of me to make them disappear. 

*****

"Good morning, Dempsey." I say while walking towards him already seeing the chocolate and dulce de leche cake that most likely, and I mean ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent sure, is for me. "Good morning and happy twenty-first birthday, Elle." He replies while extending his hands for me to hold so he can wish me a good day. He is very formal. "Ugh, don't remind me that it is that time of the year." I tell him rolling my eyes at him in a way that he totally notices that I am not pleased. "What's wrong, Elle?" He asks while letting go my warm but dry hands to sit down at his desk. I can't believe I am opening up to him about this but I must do it before I officially explode here, "I don't feel the whole excitement about turning a year older. It terrifies me, even." I finally tell him, honestly. "Why?" He asks in a very concerning way. "I feel like I haven't accomplished anything. I feel like I need more time. But I also feel like I don't want to wait until I'm old to finally feel accomplished. . . It's stupid, I know." I had to get it out of my chest otherwise today would have been miserable at a library which is quiet but you can also feel what everyone else is even thinking. I know I do.

"Well, you still have the rest of your life to do so." He says. I can't stand people telling me that. I wish I could just not get older. "But what if I want more than that. I mean, my whole life I have felt like I don't belong. I even have dreams of being somebody totally different. Is that normal to you?" I ask him with the expectations he will say no but instead he says "I get it." How is he getting it?  What I know about Dempsey is that he is not afraid of commitment or working hard for what he wants which, most of the time, he does. "How are you getting it?" I ask sitting by the table where the twenty-one birthday cake is at. "I don't think you can" I add.

 "I understand what you're feeling because once I met someone like that. . . not really met but I read about someone who was feeling the same things you're thinking and expressing to me right now." What in the world? Why didn't I know about this sooner? "Do you still keep in touch  with this person?" I ask desperately, wanting to know all about this person that might lead me or even teach me how to be free of the thoughts.  "I actually found out about him in a journal he wrote centuries ago, never met him." The disappointment, once again, conquers my thoughts but I still add "Where is this journal now?" hoping that the answer to that question would bring me satisfaction. 

Dempsey does not answer, instead, he goes directly to his desk and takes out from his right drawer an old, brown journal. "Here," he hands it to me. "I've never given this journal to anyone and I hope I don't make a mistake by giving it to you. All I ask is for you to keep an open mind." I take the journal into my left hand and I immediately feel like I've found the answer to all my questions. "I will." I end up saying. He nods and start opening the library to work.