Ash Valley

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. As Mila finishes the last of her tea, she notices about twice as many as when she had put the kettle on the stove to boil. Watching them soar through the air gracefully, the way they do so well, is one of her favorite pastimes. "Big day ahead," she whispers under her breath.

-

"Rise and shine!" Patty said in a half-singing voice, swishing open the shades in Darlene's bedroom. Patty gracefully gathered the clothes making up Darlene's outfit from the day before, off the floor on her way over to greet her with a kiss. "Good morning honey; how did you sleep?"

Darlene wiped the remnants of her mother's kiss from her cheek and moaned as she rolled over. Starkle squawked, spread her wings, and quickly reached her perch above Darlene's bed.

"Sorry Starkle," Darlene mumbled as the phoenix settled onto her perch. Starkle balked in response and buried her beak under her wing.

"You know I hate morning kisses. I've asked you so many times to stop." Darlene retorted as she sat up in her bed.

Patty stopped cleaning Darlene's room and stood with her fist on her hip. "Oh, stop. Why are you so sensitive about everything?" Patty rolled her eyes. “It worked, you're up,” Patty mocked walking out of the room with a half-smirk.

"Why does she always do that?" Darlene asked Starkle, stroking her feathers.

Starkle offered a low rumble and rubbed her head on Darlene's chin. A single feather fell off, and Darlene examined it and then smoothed it out. "Some of the best days I can remember have happened while carrying a feather of yours," Darlene said as she tucked it behind her ear. Her long hair swiftly fell over it and hid it.

With Starkle in tow, Darlene navigated the morning by getting dressed, gathering her school folders, skipping breakfast, and barely making it to the bus on time. By the time she got to the third period, she had already been tripped in the hallway and bumped into hard enough causing her to drop her books. She sat down in Spanish and looked up just in time to see Tom walk through the door.

As he strolled to the furthest row from the door, he caught eye contact with Darlene long enough to make her uncomfortable and look down in embarrassment.

"Ok, class, all books and papers off your desks. I am going to pass out the unit final. It is 20 multiple choice questions..."

"Hey, Darlene," whispered Tom. "Hey there!" he whispered slightly more aggressively.

Darlene snapped out of her daydream and looked to her left. Tom was holding up the feather that fell from behind her ear and offering it to her with a charming smile. "Did you drop this? Isn't your phoenix the same col..."

"Are we all set here?" asked Mrs. Reese, hovering over Tom, staring at him. "Don't forget, the essay has to be in Spanish," she said, placing a paper on each occupied desk on her way back to the front of the room. "No talking. Please begin."

Darlene finished her test in record time and took it to the front of the room to turn it in. She returned to her desk and began playing with the feather. She caught Tom looking over at her from the corner of her eye and turned to offer a flirtatious smile. Mrs. Reese cleared her throat and glared at Darlene. Darlene returned her gaze to her book and immediately began fantasizing about what it would be like to kiss him, running her fingers through his dark hair and feeling the weight of his body... RIINNNGGG.

Darlene was in such a deep daydream that the bell startled her. By the time she returned to the moment, Tom was already on his way out of the classroom. Darlene grabbed her bag in a hurry, checked for the feather, and headed to ELA.

This was the last day before winter break, and the assignment was to remember the best holiday season of our past. Without any hesitation, I knew it was Christmas from when I was eleven years old.

I have a huge family, and we all gather at my grandmother's house to celebrate. I remember walking in and smelling the bouquet of aromas of every Christmas: turkey, stuffing, sticky buns, the wood burning in the fireplace, scented candles, and the smell of fresh-cut pine from this year's Christmas tree. I dropped off the baking dish from our oven to contribute to the feast my mother had hastily plopped in my hands to bring in. I quickly turned and sought out my cousins to see what was new with them. The Christmas show and tell was one of the best parts of visiting with my cousins. Running from room to room, I cruise through the entryway as my parents come in with their arms overloaded with bags of presents. My mother slips one of the bags into my hands and requests they be dropped off under the tree.

My cousins and I share stories of home life and current events, and we navigate downstairs to see what the parents are up to. I checked in with my grandmother, the woman I now consider a mother figure. The special collection of family members who are good in the kitchen mull around helping with preparation. I sit down at my grandmother's sewing desk to look at her machine and watch the action in the kitchen. I daydream about making beautiful lace covered dresses and tailored wool jackets to wear all winter.

The grand feast is announced and commences. This is the first year I have been invited to sit at the adult table since there are more babies, toddlers, and young children than teenagers, and space is limited at the children's table. The amount of food is overwhelming, and I fill my plate in a heap to enjoy every delicious home-cooked dish: several different types of potatoes, her famous stuffing, trays of cookies, salads of every kind, a variety of rolls and bread, and, of course, succulent turkey and gravy. There is nothing like an authentic meal crafted by my grandmother.

The noise from the kid table almost drowning out the adult table, I lean into my heap of food and try to guess who made which dish. I am beginning to understand who has more skill in the kitchen than others, and I even begin to recognize the containers they typically arrive in. Lost in a food haze, I watch some adults gather dishes and listen to the running water and clanking ceramic from the other room while hearing boring adult conversations about retirement accounts and home repairs.

Some of my cousins begin to snoop around the tree and try to guess what the packages have in them while discovering the labels. A shout of excitement bursts out. The cousin, close to my sister's age, finds a package labeled for her and runs to get permission to open it. As permission is granted, most of the family adjourned to the room with the tree, and a flurry of tearing paper mixed with excited shouts and loud thank you's go on for a solid half hour, just enough time for the table to be reset with a festive selection of sweets. Round cakes, square cookie bars, latticed pies, rich mouses, and creamy cheesecake; a little something for everyone. The adults begin to usher in with coffee and seem satisfied with sipping while the children greedily gobble up sweets and candy to their heart's content.

As evening rolls around, groups depart, and the house quiets. I sit down at the piano and lightly strum keys to a song I am making up as I go along. I can see the reflection of the tree bulbs in the shine of the piano and remember the day my father and I went to pick the tree out to deliver and put up for my grandmother. Suddenly, a chill came over me, and I snuggled into the new sweater I got from my aunt. I love it!

My father walks into the room to check on me and let me know I should get ready to leave soon. I swing around on the piano bench and pause at the tree. He sits beside me on the bench and says, “We did good this year,” as he bumps his elbow into my arm. “Yeah, we did,” I agree.

On the ride home, he takes local roads, and we all take in the Christmas displays. Ever since I can remember, my dad has been a die-hard fan of Christmas decorations and spends a passionate amount of time preparing them. He is good at it, too. When I arrive home, I'm exhausted, and I take my new CDs to my room and listen to them as I reminisce on the day's events.

This was the best Christmas I can remember, and it has remained a special place in my heart because my grandmother is no longer with us. She is what made the holiday so unforgettable. I begin watching the clock until the period is over.

When I get home, I know my mother will be in turbo mode preparing for dinner. My brother, his girlfriend, and their dog are joining us. This year, the blessing of the Phoenix celebration is different because there is one less. I still have to do my part to prepare Starkle for the celebration when I get home. I need to write a poem for her and send my intentions for the next year.

The blessing of the phoenix is all about showing our appreciation for the guidance and protection they provide. They arrive on the day we are born and stay with us to watch over us. Offering our thanks and a poem has become the custom to honor them before they bring their human gifts for Christmas.

No one truly understands why the phoenix flies away, but it is believed that you will understand when it happens. Arthur's flew away about a month after his birthday over the summer and never returned. He told me he had a dream that Thaxal flew away, and when he woke up, he was gone. He told me that it was a good feeling, like both he and Thaxal had come to some understanding about it, and it was a welcomed transition.

“Dar! Where is your poem?!” shouted my mother when I opened the door. “I asked you to have it ready last night.”

“Ok,” I respond softly.

“Ugh.” This is my mother's typical complaint offering and is usually accompanied by an eye roll. “I can't be worrying about your poem when I still have to write mine.” I stared at her from my seat at the table and offered a sympathetic shrug.

“I am writing mine right now, do you want me to hel-”

“Who's ready for some Aftershock?!” Announces my brother as he flings open the door. Playing Aftershock with my brother is the best part of every winter break.

“Yes, please!” I shout enthusiastically. “I just have to finish this poem, can you set it up?”

“You bet I will, little sis,” Arthur agrees, lifting his hand for a high five. I return the gesture, softly smile, and get back to work. Starkle has listened to me complaining about everything so much this year, and I do not know what I would do without her.

“Some of us are still trying to concentrate,” retorts my mother.

“Do you think you would be more comfortable in the dining room?” Asks Arthur.

“You know, that's a great idea; you always were the smart one.”

“I learned it all from Dar,” Arthur responds, turning so I can see his wink. “OK, where was I? Bear for me, Elephant for Dar, Dog for Beth, Turtle for Amanda, and Fish for Ella. Beth should be here any minute. Hey Dar, do you know when Ella is getting here? Where is Amanda?”

“I think mom said around 5,” I struggle to recall. "And Amanda is taking a nap."

“Perfect, just enough time to visit with Starkle and share some wisdom. I have to tell her some secrets about you,” he said, offering a pensive look.

“Mmk,” I respond sarcastically. “You know she will tell me after you leave.”

He leaned over, kissed my forehead, and whispered, “Don't let Mom get under your skin. You will understand when Starkle flies away. I will check on Amanda while I am up there.”