Remembering Phoenix (2 page)

I went to bed last night with his picture clung to my chest, praying, hoping, wishing today would be the day I would wake up and remember. Remember everything, good and bad. At this point, I don’t care what it is I remember, as long as I have something to grasp on to. I just want something to be able to tell me, “Charlie,
this
is who you were when you were you. This is what your life consisted of.” But no, I woke up this morning with a memory as blank as the day I woke up from my coma.

With tears in my eyes, I storm out of the bar. The cool October breeze nips at my face, chilling me. Leaning against the black brick wall, I grab the photo out of my jacket pocket. It’s worn, torn on the edges from constantly being carried around. Even though it breaks my heart, I can’t help but to look at it every single time I feel like the weight of the world is suffocating me.

I rub the pad of my thumb over the photo, closing my eyes, hoping this will be the last day I have to live with this black hole of pain in my chest. A tear trickles down my cheek as the pain completely consumes me. The pain of loss, of emptiness. The pain of not remembering the absolute largest part of who I am.

Or who I was.

“Phoenix,” I whisper, “please help me remember.”

After getting out of the shower and drying myself off, I take my hair down from the top of my head, combing my fingers through my long, blonde tresses. I’m thankful I have little to do for it to become appropriate for the evening. The mirror is fogged from the steam of the shower. I take my finger to it. Writing
I heart you
in the fog is habitual. I’m still unsure why I do it, but I can’t help it. I guess some part of me wishes he’ll see it. Maybe even some piece of me thinks he does.

I take a deep breath and suppress the sadness inside.

There’s no time for that here. Not this weekend, at least.

I hurry into my bedroom and slip on my little black dress with my nude pumps Lizzie insisted I wear. She tried to get me to wear a bright dress, but I refused. Black. It’s my signature color.

“Lizzie! What time do we need to be at the church?” I yell.

She comes scrambling into my bedroom. “Holy crap! We’re going to be late.” She throws her navy lace dress on before running back out of my room, her heels clanking against the floor with every step.

I finish putting on the last of my makeup. I’d go makeup-less, my hair in a bun, and my Chuck Taylor’s on, but Lizzie would find it repulsive. Sometimes I wonder if we really are sisters. She’s so prim and proper with her attire, while I am anything but. She’s tall and skinny, whereas I’m shorter, with meat on my bones. Her blue eyes and dark brown hair makes her look like a goddess, while my pale skin, blonde hair, and green eyes just make me average.

How I wish my life was average.

I smooth the dress down as I look at myself in the mirror. The loose waves of my hair cascade around my shoulders. Ridiculous. I look ridiculous and way too done up for a wedding rehearsal. At least I think I do. I’ve never been to one that I can remember.

“I’m ready, Lizzie,” I say, peeping around the bathroom door. The fog on the mirror has disappeared. Gone.
Just like him.

My sister turns to look at me. Her blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears. Her eyes leave mine and travel to the bathroom counter. That’s when I see
it.
It’s sickening how much a single toothbrush can cause so many emotions to well inside a person’s body. It’s even more sickening to think I haven’t touched it in over two years
.
“No. Not today. Not right now,” I demand. I can’t do this today. I can’t get myself in my dark state of mind and spiral down into my pit of sadness. Not this weekend, the most important weekend of my little sister’s life. I won’t be the blanket of gloom over everyone else’s happiness.

She fans away the tears with her hand. “I’m sorry. I just saw it, and it just brought back so many memories.” She blurts the words out before she ever has time to think. It’s like a shot to the gut, a lightning bolt straight to the heart. “Oh, God. Char, I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot,” she cries, coming in for a hug. I wrap my arms around my sister’s back, comforting her, when all I want to do is go shut myself in my room, hiding away from the world and all the reminders that come with it.

Memories.
The one thing they say death can never take from you. What everyone fails to mention is sometimes life does that very thing.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing down every bit of hurt and anger trying to escape me. I know she didn’t mean to say it. I don’t fault her for having a memory. I won’t—no, I
can’t—
punish her for something that happened to me, something she had absolutely no control over. “I’m so sorry,” Lizzie whispers. “I didn’t mean to. I just, I…” she trails off, unable to come up with the words to say. I get it. I wouldn’t have the words to say either if the roles were reversed.

She unwraps her arms from me, dabbing the bottom of her eyes with her hand. I wave my hands at her, trying to make it seem like a much lesser deal than what the smothering ache in my chest is telling me. “It’s no big deal,” I lie. “This is supposed to be your happy weekend, remember? No tears unless they’re happy tears.” I force a smile, cheering my sister up.

She smiles. “You’re so good to me. Thank you for being my maid-of-honor, even though you have no idea what one does. But, I’m not sure I do either, so there’s that,” she jokes.

“That makes me feel better.” I wink, thankful for the reprieve from the heaviness of what just occurred. “Let’s get to the church. I’m starving, and rehearsal dinner is only a run-through away. At least that’s what Mom said when I called her earlier.”

Lizzie and I get to the church an entire fifteen minutes early, giving her enough time to check and make sure the decorators are doing exactly what they should be. So far it looks like one huge mess on the stage, but apparently all is going well because there is no yelling or cat fights going on. The fact we are in a church could very well be these people’s saving grace, however, because Lizzie has been so bitchy with all things wedding related.

“Charlie.” I turn my head and see my mother walking towards me. Her long, dark hair kept in a neat up do. Lizzie looks just like her, and if looks are any indication to aging genes, Lizzie has it in the bag. Mom is over fifty, yet she doesn’t look a day over thirty.

I get up from the pew, straightening my dress as I do so, and greet my mother. “Hi, Mom. You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, honey. You look lovely, as always. How long have you two been here? Where is Lizzie?” she questions, looking around the church.

I laugh. “She went to make sure the decorators you hired were doing their job correctly.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure they are. I only got the best for our little girl.” She turns her attention from the front of the church back to me. “One day I’ll be able to do this for you, I hope.”

She looks at me, a sad smile on her face. I want to tell her
no way in hell
, but I won’t. I don’t have the heart for it. “Yeah, well, I’m just trying to make it through each day right now. I wouldn’t put it in your planner anytime soon.” I smile, hoping to keep her from dragging it on any further. I feel like we’ve had this discussion every-other-day since Lizzie got engaged a year ago.

I’m saved when Lizzie calls out for Mom and me to come up to the front.

We make our way to her as she talks to the wedding coordinator. “But will the doors go here? I want the old doors we found splayed in the background. The two with windows in them, I want those directly behind Stetson and me.” Her arms fly around animatedly as she speaks. Lisa, the wedding coordinator assures her the backdrop will be exactly like she envisioned, right down to the very last detail.

I decide to step in, because I don’t want to see my sister become overwhelmed and cry. The only tears to be shed are happy ones. So I’ll push away my issues for the weekend and try to straighten out hers. “Liz, let’s go wait in the lobby for everyone. She’s got it under control, I promise. Let her worry about the details. She knows exactly how you want everything. Okay?”

She takes a deep breath as she looks from Lisa back to me hesitantly. “Okay,” she breathes out. “Let’s go wait on everyone, shall we?”

“We shall,” I reply, making our way into the foyer.

“Are you both staying at home tonight?” Mom asks, walking up behind us.

I look at Lizzie the same time she turns and looks at me. We’re both pleading with each other silently.

I love my mother. She’s been so incredible and kind these past two years. But my God, she is overbearing at times. She acts like we are helpless puppies, unable to do anything for ourselves. I can tell by the panicked look on Lizzie’s face—she doesn’t know what to say to get out of this. No worries, I’ve got this handled.

“Uhm, actually we were supposed to go out for drinks after this with the rest of the bridesmaids and groomsmen,” I lie. The tension in Lizzie’s shoulders suddenly eases as she gives me a small, grateful smile. She gets out her phone, fingers flying across the screen. I’ll take it my lie is no longer classified as a lie when Lizzie winks at me, tucking her phone away. “I thought I told you that last week, but with my mind, I probably forgot. It’ll be late when we get home, so we’ll just be over first thing in the morning for breakfast.”

At the mention of breakfast, Mom’s face perks back up. “Oh, I get to make my two girls a wedding day breakfast feast. I can’t wait. I don’t get to cook big meals very often anymore, and you know how I used to always… Never mind.” She shakes her head, embarrassed.

“Mom. Stop. I don’t remember, but you have a million photos of us growing up. The pictures don’t lie. You loved to cook obnoxiously huge meals, I know that much,” I say with a smile.

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.