From the Ashes

TW: bullying, high school.

Craig’s terrier, Barkie, was the first to smell the fire. He loved the park’s main loop, but when he started pulling towards Jackdaw Hill and wouldn’t let up, Craig conceded and they climbed. The acrid stink of burn hit his nostrils and he narrowed his eyes. Technically you weren’t supposed to have any open fires, even if barbecue season was right around the corner.

As they climbed the trampled path, worn by countless feet over the decades, and flanked on either side by bushes and trees, Barkie sniffed furiously and kept his ears perked. And then Craig heard it – the unmistakable cr-cr-cra of wood crackling in a fire.

On the old clearing at the top of the hill, they saw a roaring bonfire – and a car of all things! Craig’s frown sharpened, because you were definitely not supposed to drive inside the park, tearing up the grounds with your stupid hatchback, ruining things for everyone else because – why? Because you lacked courtesy? Imagination? Or maybe you just didn’t care?

He couldn’t wait to see who the self-absorbed asshat responsible for this was, and he felt his fists grow tight. Kids played in the park, for goodness’ sake! They shouldn’t have to watch for traffic everywhere, just because of some lazy entitled fu–

–A woman appeared from the other side of the car, carrying a cardboard box overflowing with papers.

Craig felt his jaw tense. Not quite the image he was expecting. Not quite the greasy balding bastard in his mind’s eye, with his oily shirt stained in mustard and ketchup, and his sweatpants full of holes, and his flip-flops tattered, holding a can of beer in one hand and scratching himself with the other. No, this woman wasn’t quite that. Clean clothes under a nice green jacket, high boots that didn’t really look like park wear, and hair cared for. No beer, though she was smoking, but that was hardly a crime.

Still, woman or not, she was beholden to the rules just like everyone else.

“Hello,” he said, approaching, tone as curt as his steps. Barkie barked – a good sign – but then wagged his tail, irritating Craig.

The woman set the box down, crouched, reached her arms out, and said “Who’s a good boy?” And when Barkie barked again and wagged his tail harder, so deep was Craig’s sense of betrayal that he dropped the leash, freeing the dog to run to the stranger to accept a petting.

Craig cleared his throat.

“Nice dog,” she said, rising and wiping her hands on her pants.

“Um, thanks. Uh, you’re not supposed to–”

“Bernice,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Uh, hi.” They shook. “Craig.”

“And this handsome gent?”

“Barkie.”

Barkie sniffed at the box she set down, his tail sweeping the air. Then he snatched a bundle of papers and took off.

“Barkie! No!” Craig chased him. “Heel, boy! Heel!”

The papers scattered as Barkie ran, but soon enough loyalty trumped enthusiasm and he allowed himself to be caught. Craig pulled the last of the documents from his mouth – it was a photo, roughly A4-size, showcasing about a dozen young cheerleaders, each smiling bright and raising a medal, on a green field with a school in the background, and a glistening glob of slobber in the foreground.

Craig wiped the dog off the photo. “I am so sorry,” he said. “Normally he’s much better behaved.”

Bernice gathered up the last of the scattered papers and approached, and he handed her the photo.

“No worries,” she said. She glanced at the picture, smiled sadly, and then tapped the girl in front, the one being lifted by the others. “That’s me.”

“Looks like you guys won.”

Her smile deepened.

“Looks like you guys were really happy.”

“Cheerleaders are supposed to look happy.”

“Oh, uh, right.”

She tapped the other girls in the photo naming each one. Her finger lingered on “Tammy Anderson”, at the edge of the photo. “We worked hard.” She took a drag from her cigarette, and then tossed the butt into the fire. “We did whatever we had to.” Her smile faded and she frowned at the photo. “We won.”

“Well, congrats. I’m sure it must have been exciting–”

She flicked the photo casually into the fire and Craig startled.

“What are you doing!?” He half considered trying to fish it out, but one, the flames were too high, and two, when she also dumped the other papers she was holding into the blaze, she made it abundantly clear that it was no accident.

He shook his head. “Why did you…? It looked like such a happy memory.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” She picked up her box and tossed more things in. Papers, certificates, and so many photos. “You know all those stupid teen movies? About high school? About how all the girls are super bitchy to each other?” She sighed when she picked up another big photo, of herself in a flowing sapphire dress beside a young guy in a tux – prom maybe?

Into the fire it went.

“They’re all bullshit,” she continued. “But they’re also all true.” She tore open a fat manila envelope and began unloading its contents. “All the pettiness, all the nastiness, all the bullying.” Another handful of photos. “All the cruelty.”

She tossed the envelope in, and grabbed another. “It was brutal. You couldn’t be too different, or people would tear you apart.” A series of party photos waterfalled into the pyre. “But you couldn’t be too the same either.” She lingered on a group photo where everyone looked a bit older. College, maybe? It too was tossed. “Basically, for some people, you just couldn’t be.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Craig said. “Sounds like it was rough.”

“Worst time of my life.” She started on the next envelope.

Craig watched her as she worked. If she hadn’t told him, he would never have known, but then people were good at hiding their pain. Was that a vestigial defence mechanism you learned to survive adolescence? Or did adults, too, pick on those that showed weakness? It seemed ridiculous, but then he’d seen so much insanity, such intense vitriol, all over the internet. Seen it, and he feared, perhaps participated in it.

No, no maybe about it. The hours he wasted online, the years, arguing with strangers about the stupidest things, violently asserting a point he didn’t even understand all because he couldn’t bear to admit defeat, writing things he would never dare utter out loud, ever hidden behind his shield of anonymity.

What drove an adult to wish death on someone, just because they held different beliefs? Or lived according to other rules? Or, what, loved the wrong people? What made hatred so seductively easy to reach for? Road rage for the information superhighway.

Bernice gasped, snapping him out of it. She held a newspaper clipping with both hands, her smile strained, a tear rolling down her cheek. She sniffed, and showed him the article.

A black-and-white photo of a smiling young woman, vaguely familiar, and a small block of text that began, “Tammy Anderson was.”

“About a month ago,” Bernice said, “she took her own life.” She ran her sleeves across her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I hadn’t seen her in years. Not since she dropped out of college, since the drugs. I had no idea.” She shook her head with a bitter snort. “It’s weird, because what I most remember is this one summer – I think we were eight – where we were obsessed with Disney. We marathoned the movies every Saturday night, at her house or mine, and there had to be a plate of fries – that was very important. We’d share those fries as we watched.”

“I’m so sorry,” Craig repeated.

“So am I.” She folded up the article and slid it into her pocket. The one bit saved from the flames.

“It’s crazy how cruel people can be,” he said. “I’m so sorry this happened to the two of you.”

She sniffed again, then looked at him. Cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, motioning to the fire, to everything, “this. High school, the bullying, the… what happened to Tammy. I’m sorry they put you guys through it.”

“Oh,” she said after a moment, smiling sadly again. “I think I gave you the wrong impression. We weren’t put through this. I put her through it.” She looked into the flames pensively. “I mean, I don’t know what specifically drove her to end it, but I must have contributed. I was absolutely savage to her, for years.”

“Oh,” said Craig, which was what you said when you didn’t know what else to say.

“I can’t fix the past. I can’t change who I was. Best I can do is to remember her. To change who I am.” She turned from the fire to face him. “Is that enough, do you think?”

“Um.” That was the other thing you said when you didn’t know what else to say.

“Rhetorical, I guess. Sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot. Gee, Craig, you must think I’m a real piece of shit, eh?”

“Um.” The thought had crossed his mind, but in its wake was something colder – that ancient, shapeless leviathan called what if. He’d done a lot of growing up in his life, but all those years spent shooting his mouth off… what if. What if someone took it the wrong way? What if they… did what Tammy did? What if he found out about it? Would he too burn his memories? Or bury them, and justify it all away. Maybe it was better to just not know. Maybe the guy that said ignorance was bliss was onto something.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I don’t know,” Bernice said. “I didn’t plan on it. This was supposed to be a private burning thing, but then you arrived, and, well…” She shrugged. “Once I started I couldn’t stop. Maybe I need a witness. What’s the point of feeling like shit if nobody’s around to see it, right?”

“What?”

“It’s like, you can’t ask someone for forgiveness if you don’t admit you did wrong, right? And I can’t ask Tammy. But I guess, I can do the admitting.”

Craig nodded, drawing a long breath. Would he have done the same? Could he have? Best never to have to find out. “So that’s what today’s about then. You, this fire, this park, springtime. You’re, what, turning over a new leaf?”

She chuckled. “I like that. Actually, with the fire I was picturing a phoenix-situation, you know? Burn to death and be reborn from the ashes, purified. But phoenixes are majestic and turning over a new leaf makes me sound like a comic book villain. I think that fits better.”

Craig gave Barkie a scratch behind the ear. He’d been unusually well behaved considering all the non-walking they were doing. Maybe it was the excitement of meeting a new person. And Barkie didn’t care – didn’t even know – what she was doing here. He’d accepted her anyway, and he was normally a good judge of character.

“What am I not supposed to?” Bernice asked.

“Uh, sorry?”

“Earlier, you told me, ‘You’re not supposed to,’ but you never finished your thought.”

He took a moment to remember, recalling what had brought them to the hill in the first place. “I don’t remember,” he lied. “It wasn’t important anyway.”

She nodded, accepting it as fact. “In that case, listen – I still have a bunch of boxes in my car. You want to help me burn my old self?”

Craig had things to do, but how often could you witness the rebirth of a phoenix? He nodded, and they got to work.