Phoenix Blossoms

Innocent things die sometimes. And for no particular reason. The slightest hint of dissatisfaction at 1:00 in the afternoon, upon waking, trails me into a dissociated frenzy. My eyes fall shut as my body is transported through the blackness of disturbed peace. My legs shoot out one, two, three times. Jolted as if struck by electricity. My eyes open, aware that something is occurring beyond my control. At this point, it’s too late. Blake will inevitably try to calm me down as my mind flashes through a montage of every emotion and interaction that I’ve repressed in the last 72 hours. The look of my friend’s faces as they’re intoxicated. The bunny that leapt in front of our car. The dead baby birds. I remember a story my friend told me the previous night from his childhood. At age 9, his parents instructed him to kill a cat. He did. I watched as my other friends gawked and laughed in both shock and horror. Immediately distancing themselves from his situation. I have never shot a cat, I could never! Yet nibbling on chicken bones and professing a return to spirit. A grown man, raw and vulnerable, sits before a laughing crowd. I see him. He defends himself, gasping for air, searching for any last reason to forgive himself before eternal self condemnation. Repentance? No. Now a man sits before me, but then he was just a boy. A young man listening to orders from his father, forbidden emotions. A woman stands up to leave. I make eye contact with the boy who had stared death in the face. “It’s okay,” I tell him. The room stands still. I feel the gaze of 10 eyes on my bare soul. “Well, maybe it’s not okay. But it’s not your fault… You were a child.” Darkness brought to light, he exhales, “Thank you.”

backdate: March 5th, 2022