Phoenix Rising

The smoke burns my eyes as I stare at what is left of my home. The flames are still going, brushing the sky while the firefighters try to put it out. My next door neighbor just wanted a little barbecue, a little fun. Now they are burning more than burgers, a lot more.

I don't think someone can ever prepare for something like this. Everyone knows the basics. Stay low, check the door handles, stop, drop, and roll. What people don't tell you about is the absolute panic over losing "trivial" things. Things that you look at everyday. That postcard that your mother sent you from her trip to France. That keychain you may (or may not) have stolen from your brother that now hangs in your room. That mug that has a chip in it from the time you and your friend were  having a little too much fun. All of those things are gone now.

Sure, in the long run, they didn't matter. The memories, though, I don't want to lose. I think that's why one of the only things I grabbed was my father's old Canon AE-1. I couldn't live with myself if I had left it. It was one of the last things I have of him. He gave it to me because I had planned to go backpacking through Europe. He told me that some of his best memories were captured with this thing, and he wanted me to have the same experience. Once he was gone, it didn't feel right to use it.

I decide to look inside the camera, I laugh as I see it already has a full roll of film ready to go. Just like him to give it to me all prepared. I hold up the piece, and look at the world through the camera's lens. One small click later, and I have forever captured one of the greatest tragedies of my life. I don't know what comes over me, shock maybe. I walk around taking photos from all different angles, but not just of the house, of the people surrounding it. The houses next to mine. The firetrucks, and police cars with their bright lights. Reporters standing in front of their cameras. Why I would want memories of this day, I have no idea, but for some reason I feel like I need them.

I talked to a police sergeant, and chief of the fire squad. Telling them what happened, making sure that it was, in fact, an accident. I let them know I have already been looked over by the paramedics, and have already talked to the neighbors.

I know the neighbors would never do this on purpose. We aren't close, but we are friendly enough that I do know it wasn't an act of malcontent. Both men ask me if I have insurance, I say I do. They then proceed to give me the same speech about making sure I get what I am owed from this event. I nod my head robotically, because I am not really listening anymore. Their voices have molded into one distorted mess, and I don't want to make anything out. I am too distracted looking at the chaos around them. How no one belongs in a situation like this, but they both seem to fit perfectly.

I have a strange notion, I feel as though I need to also take their pictures. So I ask them just that. Both men look at me, slack-jawed. I know they think I am insane at this point, but I merely tell them that the camera was one of the only things I had rescued, and that I wanted a photo to commemorate their heroic deeds. Thankfully, they feed into my madness, and I take a picture (unsmiling) of both of them standing in front of the mangled house. I give them my thanks, and excuse myself to call my mother. I should've done it sooner, but I didn't think of it till just now. I talk to her for what feels like hours, though I am sure it was only a few minutes. I spend the time constantly telling her not to fly out, that I will be okay. That, yes, I am shaken up but alive. She then fights with me over the fact that I should go visit her, just until I can get back on my feet.

"I don't want to be a burden, Mom. Also, my entire life is here. Was here. I-" I hold the phone to my shoulder, trying to gain control of myself. Tears want to escape my eyes, but I know if I let them, I will spiral. I can hear my mom's garbled voice on the phone, panic rising the longer I don't answer.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I got distracted for a second. Yes, I am fine. No, nothing else happened, I just got stuck looking at something. Yes, I am still in the same spot I was when I first called you. Mom-"

I pull my lips into a tight line, listening to her list all the ways I could have perished, how grateful she is that I didn't, and how much she wishes I would come stay with her.

"Okay, how about this. I need to make sure that I can leave. After that, I’ll probably stay in a motel, and look at plane tickets. Okay?"

Of course she goes into the fact that she will pay for the tickets, and she will take care of everything else. I tell her I can take care of all of that, I just need time. Time to process, time to grieve. She finally allows me to get off the phone, with the promise to call her in about two hours, just so she can have proof I am still alive.

I hang up, and press my fingers to my temples. I stand there for a few moments just breathing, trying to make sense of what happened. I look up, wanting to find anything to distract me. I look at my phone, and see that it is almost out of battery. So I made a mental note to go buy a charger. That's it. I begin making a list of things I need to buy at the store. I pat my pockets, thankfully I never took my keys out. I have my purse, and wallet. So that's good. My car is somehow all right, so I have to be grateful for that. Now the store. I need to buy some shampoo, and conditioner for my hair. I need a new toothbrush and toothpaste. I need some deodorant, and maybe a hair brush. As I am listing these things to myself, I see a firefighter making his way towards me.

As he approaches, he tells me how sorry he is that this happened. He asks me if I am alright, and if I need anything. I tell him I am okay, as okay as one can be. Then is holding something out to me. It's a charred picture frame. A copy of a photo my father took of my mom and himself. It was their one year anniversary, and he captured it with his camera, the same one I have. Even in black and white you can see the joy shining in both of their faces. How happy they were to just be together. I feel tears prick my eyes again.

"We didn't save much else, but I figured this was important enough to try and salvage. I am sorry about the frame, but I think the picture is in good shape." The man says, looking sorrowful. I can't help the few tears that escape as I look up at him. He's given me more than I could ever ask for out of this.

"Thank you." I say fervently. The fireman nods, then is off again to assist his team. 

The fire has died down, and should be out within the next half hour. I decided to take this time to talk to the sergeant about what my next moves are. He informs me that they will have to do an investigation, that's just policy, but I should be able to visit my mother as long as they can reach me by phone. I ask him if I need to stick around any longer, or if I am free to try and take care of a few things. He simply shakes his head, and gives me his card. After thanking him, I make my way towards my car.

I have to dodge the reporters, and journalists. I slam my car door, and sit for just a second. All the while, people surround my car, still asking questions and tapping on my windows. I take a deep breath, put the key into the ignition, shifting to reverse. No one moves. I give them one last chance to make the right choice, but they stick to my car like barnacles. So I give a little warning tap to my accelerator, causing them to scatter. Shaking my head I pull out of my driveway.

I buy what little necessities I need, and book myself a motel room. I busy myself by setting up all of the things I bought. It's not much, and I am not going to be here long, but it's something to do to distract myself. Once I have everything set up the way I like, I decide it's time I shower. I had the where-with-all to buy myself two new comfy sets of clothes that can be used as pjs and will simply look like activewear when I need them to.

I catch a look at myself in the mirror on my way to the bathroom, and pause. It's the first time I have seen myself since this happened. My hair is sticking out in all different directions, my clothes are rumpled and stained. My face has make up smeared, and what I can only assume is soot smudged on it. I can't imagine what I looked like to people in the supermarket. I decided I needed a before and after picture of myself, so I can see the difference. One dirty, and unrecognizable. One clean, and hopefully on the very first step of feeling okay. Grabbing my father's camera, I hold it up to just under my chin, and snap the picture.

I almost got through my shower without breaking, but I let a few tears slip out, and the dam broke. I sank to the shower floor, and sobbed until I couldn't breathe. Letting all of the agony I had been holding at bay come forward. I cry until the water runs cold, until all that is left are the dry hiccups of air coming out of my lungs. I finish cleaning myself off, finding the cold water invigorating and oddly calming.

Once I am dried and dressed, I make my way back to the mirror. To be honest, I don't look that much better. My hair looks stringy, my nose is swollen. My eyes are so blotchy that I don't even look like myself, but I take the picture anyway. After I settle in bed, I call my mother. I tell her that I am cleared to travel out of state, and if she wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate a place to stay for an unforeseen amount of time.

"Honey, I am your mother. Do you really think I would be put out when my child, who's just survived a house fire, needs to come home. I might not ever let you out again." I can hear her voice becoming thick. "I am just so happy you are okay. I’m not going to lie, I need to see you just so I can believe it. So the sooner you can get on a plane the better." She says with a small chuckle.

"Thank you, Mom. I'm not going to lie, I am really happy to be coming home." We spend the next few hours on speaker phone figuring out the quickest flights out. After that we chat about nothing in particular. As most mothers do, I think she realized how much I needed that. Even more than I did. Once I am drowsy enough, I finally get off the phone. I didn't think sleep was going to be easy, but I guess I needed it, as fitful as it was.

I use the morning to contact my boss. Thankfully he is understanding that I need time off, and allows me to use the vacation days I have accrued. I do let him know that I don't know how long it will take for me to come back, but since my work is remote, it shouldn't cause that much of an issue. He is grateful that I am okay, and tells me to call him if there's anything he can do. I thank him, and once that is all figured out, I answer texts, and calls, from friends and co-workers. All asking the same string of questions. My answers are rehearsed, and automatic, but comforting to them all the same. One of my friends kindly suggests parking my car at her house, and driving me to the airport the next day. I thank her profusely, and take her up on the offer. It saves me money and I get to spend one last night with her.

The night goes well, my friend and I catch up like we do every weekend. I end up taking photos of her, and myself. Then Early in the morning, she drops me off. Assuring me that my car isn't going to be taking up any space, and she will make sure to drive it every now and again to keep it running. After a tearful goodbye, I am off. The plane ride is uneventful, and thankfully not crowded. I spend the time thinking, planning. Trying to figure out how I am going to spend my time.

The plane lands, and as I walk into the baggage claim area, I see my mom literally jump up and down, waving. I can't help myself, and I break into a sprint. She squeezes me until I feel like my ribs are going to break, but I don't let go. I needed this more than I care to admit. Once one of us eventually breaks the hug, she hooks her arm through mine and leads me out to the parking lot. We talk about nonsense, with the question 'are you okay?' smattered throughout every now and then. I take a few photos of her driving the car, when she sees it, her eyes tear up.

I tell her that I have also been trying to take pictures, and would love to go get the film developed. My mother, of course, has no problem with it. She suggests that we simply head that direction right now. She will take me to the spot my father always used. 

My mother, as much as I protested, bought me a few new outfits.  Some new shoes as well. I didn't realize those were things you could take for granted, but they are. She buys me more film for the camera. Saying that my father's voice told her to, and I can't argue with that. Once we are back at our house, we sit on the couch looking through the photos.

"Honey, why did you take photos of all of this? Why do you want to keep them?"

I shake my head, I don't really have an answer for her, or myself. "I don't know, Mom. It was an impulsive need, and then it just kind of took on a life of its own." I pause, picking up the picture of the policeman and fireman. "I think it has something to do with shock. You know, to prove to myself that it actually happened. That it wasn't a dream, a nightmare. That one day, something like this could really happen to anybody."

I feel my mom pat my shoulders. "All right, dear. I can't say I understand it, but I will say the photos themselves are beautiful." She gives me a squeeze from behind, and says she needs to head up to bed. I tell her thank you for the millionth time today, before I head back into my room and start setting up the photos on my wall. Looking at them as I fall asleep.

(3 years later)

I wake up with a start, after not sleeping well the night before. Today is the day. The time for me to really prove to myself that I can do this. My mother has, of course, been up for an hour or two. Unable to sleep due to excitement. She hands me a cup of coffee, and tells me to take deep breaths.

"I don't know what I am going to do with myself until tonight."

"You're going to relax, and tell yourself that it all is possible. You've turned a tragedy into a career. You were able to do it, because when you look through that lens, you see the truth. That shows in your pictures." I sigh, holding my head in one of my hands. Tonight is my first big gallery opening.

After I moved back, I started taking my photos seriously. My mother is right, I didn't just do it to take a pretty picture, but to give those things, or people a purpose. It was taking me forever to get my artwork out, so my mother took it into her own hands. She knows someone, who knows someone who is a gallery owner. My photos were shown to him, and he pretty much demanded them to be displayed in his gallery. 

Who knew that the photos I had thumb tacked to my wall were worth anything? That fire, though it took everything, it gave me my freedom. Gave me true happiness.