Phoenix
If there was one chore Phoenix hated above anything else, it was going into town. For most people, a trip to town meant running errands and possibly bumping into a few friends. For Phoenix, it meant planning the trip at least a day in advance, looking at all the possible outcomes, and even coming up with various ways to escape talking to anyone who might want to talk with him.
In fact, the only reason Phoenix wasn’t panicking at the thought of going to town was that he got to go to the Wechsler and see Joel and Ben. Of the nearly twenty thousand residents of Wilmingson, they seemed to be the only ones not related to him who understood his quirks, and they were the only ones he could call friends.
The Wechsler was second on his list, after the post office. The task was easy enough. All he had to do was check his P.O. Box and slip a few letters into the outgoing mail. No human contact necessary.
Now he sat in his car, windows rolled down, willing himself to walk inside. He’d just seen a young family leave, but there was always a chance there were more people in the art center. He would just have to risk it and hope if there were people inside, Joel would let him hide out in the back office. Joel was usually good for that kind of thing.
He put his hand on the door pull, then jumped as his cell phone rang. He wasn’t expecting a call. As far as he knew, the only people who had his number were programmed into his phone. Pulling it out of his pocket, Phoenix stared at it. The incoming number wasn’t one he recognized. It wasn’t even a local area code. He really didn’t feel like having a conversation with a stranger, so he rejected the call and stuck it back in his pocket.
Grabbing a stack of his framed charcoal drawings from the back seat, he kicked the door to the Volvo shut and walked up to the door. Opening it was a challenge. He balanced the stack on one hand and pulled the door open with the other, unable to see where he was going.
“You need a hand with that?” Ben’s familiar voice rang out.
“Yes please.”
Ben took a few pieces, and Phoenix was grateful Ben had waited for an answer. Few things upset him more than when people asked if they could do something and did it anyway. By now, Ben knew that, though.
They walked into the front office of the Wechsler, where Joel was staring intently at the computer. From a brief glance, Phoenix could tell he was creating a flyer for the upcoming members’ show. He made a mental note to check the deadline date, as Ben set his stack of art on a table. After a moment, Joel seemed to realize there was another person in the office.
“Oh, hello Phoenix.” There was a certain warmth in Joel’s voice that made Phoenix relax. Perhaps coming to town wouldn’t be as bad as he thought it might.
“Hi Joel. I stopped by to drop off more art and pick up my check.”
Joel stood and walked over to a filing cabinet, and Phoenix shifted from one foot to the other. Even though he had known Joel and Ben for years, and they understood his inability to carry on small talk, he still felt the need to say something. To fill the silence in some way.
“Your latest exhibit was different than what you normally do, Ben,” he said finally. When in doubt, art was a safe topic. “It had more people in it.”
Ben laughed. “Yeah, there’s a bit of a funny story there, actually.
Phoenix listened as Ben explained how he’d been roped into posing as Sam-from-the-coffee-shop’s boyfriend for a family reunion, and how it turned out, they liked each other for real. He did his best to look interested. Ben was a friend, and had been since high school, and Sam had always been nice enough when he’d gone in for coffee. He was genuinely pleased they had ended up working out, but trying to keep up with all the details was exhausting.
Fortunately, by the time Ben had finished his story, Joel had found Phoenix’s check. He handed it over and Phoenix stuck it in his jacket pocket.
“Thanks,” he said with a small smile.
“Thank you. You wouldn’t believe how many tourists come in looking for a ‘real Phoenix Wrenn,’” Joel said. “You know, you’d probably sell more if you let us set up a—”
“No.”
They had talked about this before. Many times, actually. Joel was convinced he needed to have a proper exhibit that featured his work. In Phoenix’s mind, he had had plenty of proper exhibits, but Joel was insistent that he have an opening reception. The thought of so many strange people crammed into the small gallery space, critiquing his work, made him feel as though bugs were crawling along his skin. He rubbed his arms to make the feeling stop.
“I appreciate what you’re saying, but I don’t understand why I can’t just have another exhibit like normal, without the opening reception. I would consider it, but…”
“But you can’t,” Joel said with a sigh. “I get it, I do. You have your reasons. That doesn’t mean I’m happy with it. You deserve to see the people who love your work. To hear how much people love it.”
“That’s why I have you,” he said, trying for levity.
“Yeah, yeah.”
His phone buzzed in his pocket again, and he pulled it out to look. The same number again. “You two don’t happen to know this number, do you?”
He held the phone up for Ben and Joel, both of whom shook their heads.
“Here, give me a minute,” Ben said. A few seconds later, he added, “It’s a Boston area code.”
“Boston?” Phoenix crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his bicep. “I don’t know anyone in Boston. I don’t even give my number out to anyone here.”
Ben shrugged. “Sam and I have gotten a bunch of spam calls lately. It’s probably that.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a couple, too,” Joel added. “Just ignore it.”
He looked back down at his phone, surprised to find there was a voicemail. “Do your spam callers ever leave a message?”
Joel shook his head. “Mine never have. Ben?”
“Nope. They just hang up without leaving anything.”
Phoenix frowned. Exactly six people had his phone number—his parents, his brother and sister-in-law, and Ben and Joel. That someone else was calling him was disturbing, but even more disturbing that they would leave a message. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and looked at his wrist watch.
“I have to go,” he said. The bank would be closing in half an hour, since it was Saturday, and he needed to deposit the check before Monday so his mortgage payment could come out of it.
“Well, keep an open mind about the exhibit, and we’ll see you the next time you’re in,” Joel said.
That was more or less what he said every time Phoenix stopped by. By now, he understood it was something of a joke. He waved as the door closed behind him, his mind still on the phone calls he’d gotten.
***
It was twenty minutes to closing when Phoenix made it to the bank. Plenty of time for him to deposit the check and make it to the Press Room for a drink. There was a slight chill in the air, promised winter was on its way. Good. Phoenix was getting tired of sweating in his studio.
He pulled open the door and froze, his breath picking up quickly. There were five people ahead of him in line, and only one cashier. No one was looking at him, he had to remind himself of that. They were all absorbed in their own lives—they didn’t care about his. But it did nothing to stop him from feeling as though they were silently judging him. For what, Phoenix had no idea.
The line crept up one person at a time. Phoenix found himself checking his watch every thirty seconds, so he grabbed a pamphlet on high-interest accounts and started reading through it. Not that he needed to open a new account, but it kept his mind focused.
At last, it was his turn. He’d signed the back of the check in the car, and filled out his deposit slip. It didn’t end up mattering. He would have had plenty of time to do it in the line. Phoenix looked down at his watch again. Five minutes to closing. Handing over the envelope, he waited for the woman at the counter—Tasha, according to her name plate—to deposit it.
“Now, I have to inform you, we’ve implemented a new policy. Checks over a thousand dollars are subject to a hold, so your money won’t show up in your account until Monday,” she said, sounding bored.
Phoenix clenched his hands so hard he felt his nails dig into his palms. There was no reason for him to be upset. After all, it was hardly as though he were living paycheck to paycheck. If it didn’t get deposited before his mortgage was taken out, he would still have money. But the disorder of things would throw him off. If he didn’t see the money in his account, he would think he hadn’t picked up the check, and then he would look like an idiot in front of Joel and Ben if he asked for a check he’d already been given.
“Sir, are you all right?”
Taking a deep breath, Phoenix forced his fingers to unclench. “Yes,” he said with a nod. “That’s fine.”
It would have to be fine.
Tasha’s nails clacked on the keyboard as she typed, and Phoenix grit his teeth at the sound. It seemed to fill the room. She frowned and clacked some more.
“I’m sorry, there’s a problem with the system. Give me just a minute.”
Phoenix’s leg began to shake of its own accord. Logically, he knew only seconds had passed, but it felt like hours. Anxiety really started to set in, and Phoenix hated himself for it. There was no reason for him to be like this—he wasn’t in any danger and the worst thing that could happen was he would just have to come back on Monday to deposit his check.
But something inside of him went into a panic mode in situations like this, situations where he didn’t have any control.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but the system’s gone offline,” Tasha said. “You’ll have to come back next week.”
By now, Phoenix’s heart was pounding dangerously fast and his palms were slick with sweat. He was fairly sure his face was as red as a tomato. There would be no hiding his embarrassment from Tasha, who would undoubtedly judge him for it. What kind of grown man couldn’t handle a minor setback?
Grabbing the check from her hand, he practically ran out the front door and made a dash for his Volvo. Only when he turned the engine on and locked the doors did he finally feel himself start to calm. Closing his eyes, Phoenix took a few deep breaths, focusing on relaxing each muscle group. It was a trick he’d learned years ago and he put it into practice every time panic threatened to overwhelm him.
After a few minutes, he’d relaxed to the point where he could open his eyes. Shame flooded through him. This was why he hated coming to town. It was unpredictable, and Phoenix needed stability.
He thought for a moment about still going to the Press Room. There was a chance everything could go perfectly fine. But then, there was also a chance that everything could end in disaster and send him into a downward spiral even worse than the one in the bank. With a sigh, Phoenix pulled out of the parking lot and headed out of town, toward his home.