Warning: This scene contains content that some may
find offensive. Please read with caution.
Phoenix Birmingham and his father whittled on their wood
working project. An elephant, the trunk raised and one foot lifted as if in mid-step.
Swiping a fine sheet of sanding paper over the walnut wood, Nix took pride in this
piece. The first he’d ever accomplished with only instructions from his dad. It
wasn’t perfect, but just spending time with his dad was his reward.
His
dad stood just behind Nix, studying his art in silence and giving suggestions when
needed. “You did good, son.” Daddy squeezed his shoulder and he beamed at the
compliment. “Dinner should be ready soon. Let’s go clean up.”
“Let
me finish this spot first.” He peeked at his dad over his shoulder. “Won’t take
but a minute and then I’ll be up.”
Daddy
left him in the make-do workshop…the garage. He realized he wasn’t a normal
twelve-year old; he actually enjoyed spending time with his parents. Most of
his friends thought their parents were lame. While their dads were working late
hours to earn the big bucks, his dad taught him cool woodworking skills and
took him on weekend fishing and hunting trips. That was more important than
getting Nintendos and stupid stuff like that.
Mom sang at the top of her lungs really bad, but they’d made
a game out of who could sing the worst. Sometimes the two of them had
competitions in the car. He loved the way she smiled when they participated in
them. She took him to see movies and baked him his favorite cookies once a
week. Peanut Butter cookies. Mmm…his mouth watered at the thought of them. They
were best straight out of the oven, all hot and gooey. No way would anyone ever
out cook her.
He
waited until his dad had been gone at least a minute before he tucked away the elephant
and scrambled out of his chair. Fast walking to the far corner, he shifted a
couple of boxes and flipped the lid back on a discarded rubber tote. Inside rested
the precious gift he would give to his parents on their fifteenth wedding anniversary
next month. In private he worked on it, sometimes by flashlight in his bed. It
wasn’t as good as what his dad could do, but he thought they would be proud.
A
bird, intended to be a phoenix, rising from flames. The fire was off. Really
bad kind of off, but no matter how he whittled and scraped, he couldn’t get
them right. One wing was bigger than the other. The eyes weren’t straight and the
beak was a tad crooked, but Nix was proud of his creation. He took out a tool and
scraped some lines through the breast feathers to give some added detail.
Footsteps shuffled outside the door. Nix scrambled out of his
seat. The tool clattered on the floor as he bumped the table and spilled his
Coke. The dark liquid splashed and hit his jeans.
“Crap!” he muttered, swiping at the cold wet stain against
his crotch.
More footsteps and he spun about to face the door. He almost
dropped the phoenix as he wedged it inside the waistband on the backside of his
pants. Nix had to suck in his gut to secure it there, but he wouldn’t run the
risk of ruining the surprise for either of his parents.
No one entered the garage after a few minutes of heavy
breathing. And the expectant wait felt like ten minutes instead of two.
Deciding it was best to exit before his secret wasn’t a secret any more he shut
off the lights and left the garage. He fast-walked across the backyard and entered
the house through the back door.
Mom hummed a soft tune in the kitchen as she worked on the
meal. The sound of the back door must have alerted her to his presence because
she called out. “Nix, dinner is ready.”
“I’m going to wash up, and then I’ll be down.” He took the
stairs to his bedroom two at a time. Once there, he shut and locked the door.
He slipped a cassette tape into his radio to muffle his movements. He cranked
up the volume as the first chords for “Old Time Rock and Roll” pulsed in the
room.
Toeing off his tennis shoes, he grabbed the phoenix as he shucked
his jeans and kicked them into the corner. He attempted a Risky Business slide
to his closet, hit the rug with his toe and flew head first toward the wall and
bedside table. A hand to the sheetrock and a thigh into the table was all that
saved him from hitting the floor. But the phoenix was unharmed.
Nix spun around and used the phoenix to mime, “Just take
those old records off the shelf…”
His mother screamed. Nix bolted for his closet, dropping his
carving on the floor as he dragged on a pair of pants.
Probably just a rat. Those pesky things
terrified her. But…mice and bugs usually only warranted squeals, not screeches
that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Heart pounding so hard in his chest, the noise it made in his
ears drowned out too much sound. Nix swiped his prized bat from the corner,
tightened his grip and ran out of his room. Before he reached the stairs, his
mom let lose a blood-curdling shriek. Hiding never crossed his mind as he raced
down the stairs to save Momma.
© Gracen Miller 2011 ~ No part of this
site (written or artwork) may be reproduced in anyway whatsoever without
express written consent by Gracen Miller.
