Phoenix Rising

Constance, “Connie” to those who knew her, because, of course, her given name was so… Old…. Anyway. Connie wasn’t sure what to do. It was intriguing. Like one of those mysterious Tik Tok videos that focused the strange and macabre.

Connie was a college student, an upperclassman, renting her first apartment with her best of friends. The place was advertised as a three bedroom apartment, in the old section of town, close to campus. When they arrived for their tour, the price was sure right. They could spit $1,200 per month between them, and that included heating and electricity. What a bargain! But there were really only two bedrooms. It was promoted as three. But the third bedroom was essentially a glorified closet. Connie, well, she grew up poor, so it certainly was much larger than the size of her closet growing up. But, nonetheless, it was considerably small than the other two bedrooms.

So, she made a proposal to her prospective roommates. She would pay a discounted rent and take the tiny third bedroom (because, of course, her roommates had already laid claim to the much more desirable bedrooms), or they could collectively sacrifice the large living room, making it into her bedroom, while turning the small “bedroom” into the “living room.”

Connie know what she was hoping for. The apartment was ideal for their group of college friends. At one point in time it had no doubt been a single family home. But somewhere some entrepreneurial spirit had taken a beautiful old home and turned it into three separate apartments, separated by floor. The roommates much preferred more contribution toward rent and, so, Connie soon found herself in a beautiful room with an amazing fireplace. There was no closet, of course, but she had her own free standing wardrobe to bring and that she did, excited to move in to her own place. Still a student. But, somehow, more “adult.’ Somehow more free from the past traumas of childhood. Hoping to move forward and get past all the baggage. Thankfully she did not have to be too much more responsible than a few rental bills, while her scholarships helped with the tuition. She was certainly very poor, but she was also very intelligent, well read, book smart, and street smart too. And she hoped she would be able to keep all of the proverbial balls in the air. She was certainly reliant on a job to make sure that things kept going, even as her roommates were able to go out and have fun on their parents’ dime, not needing to do anything at all of substance but focus on study.

And, so, that’s how it came to pass that she inhabited that room. In the old house, once luxurious, having since been devalued a a partitioned set of apartments set right by the tracks for the fright and metro trains. But. Yet. It retained some of its previous luster in the stained glass and in the stunningly beautiful and strangely alluring fireplace.

After her upbringing, it was unsurprising that she was willing to settle for the less desirable room. After all, while she was fortunate to be able to grow up a step above poverty, unlike so many of her classmates, she certainly learned the lessons of her friends and of her grandparents, themselves products of the Great depression and comprising the most important people in her life.

She moved her things in, and made full use of the decorative fireplace mantle to display those few possessions that she had deemed worthy of making the trek with her several hours away to her new home. And it looked pretty good for a college student’s room, if she did say so herself. Bed. Freestanding wardrobe. A small hand-me-down desk and chair. And a bookshelf that her grandfather had made for her. What more did she need in her humble little room. Putting her favorite decorative vase in place, the one she got from her grandmother to first decorate her dorm room when she started college, she admired the fireplace mantle. It was made of a dark, ornately carved wood, complete with a mantle shelf and side shelves, center mirror - time-worn and in sore need of a resilver - and a beautiful surround made of now-dull dark blue tile. She had marveled at the beauty of the fireplace when they’d toured the apartment to begin with. Strangely drawn to it in some inexplicably way, she’d secretly hoped to get that room for herself.

Yes, as strange as it sounded, she felt drawn to the fireplace. As if it held lifetimes of secrets. Other than it’s classic Victorian beauty, there was nothing particularly notable about it. Yet, still, she found it fascinating. She chalked it up to having grown up in a home with no fireplace at all, and to her somewhat romantic notion of sitting in a room reading a good book in front of a cozy fire on a cold winter night, while a blanket of white snow fell outside.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Silly. It’s just a fireplace. Something millions of homes throughout the world have. Not to mention, it is the MIDDLE OF SUMMER and no less than eighty-five degrees out. She rolled her eyes to herself and sat down to rest for a moment.

Outside her door she heard her roommates coming home from the grocery store and she moved to help them unload. Together they cooked a delicious but simple meal, enjoyed a bottle of the finest bottle of six-dollar-wine their budgets would allow. Had a second. And then another. Oh, boy. Tomorrow might hurt a bit. Together they watched some television and chatted about their plans for the summer and the next school year. All in all, it was a good night, and she was feeling sated.

It felt good. It had been a little while since she had felt good. In the past year, her parents had divorced in a bitter battle, and her father made it clear that he was leaving to raise the son in his mistress’ belly and wanted nothing more to do with her. Her grandmother, who had been the single most important human being in her entire life had passed away suddenly. She had been thrown out of her mother’s home, cut off from what little financial assistance she had gotten - after all, she’d largely raised herself since the age of 16 anyway - and pared down to whatever she could fit into her friend’s pickup truck. That amounted essentially to her clothing and her most precious few possessions and mementos.

She was scared. Terrified, really. She had secured a better paying job already and started in two days. That would help. She would work full time for the remainder of the summer, picking up extra hours as she could. During the school year it would be more difficult, but she would add in as much work as she could to help pay the bills. After all, whatever safety net she’d had, however tenuous it had been, was now gone completely. But, that’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, tonight felt good. And, she would revel in that feeling, even for just a moment.

She laid down sideways across her bed. She would change and brush her teeth later. Soon. But now, right now, she felt sleepy and sated and the room was spinning just a bit. And she wanted to just lay down. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the fireplace again, and she turned her heard to admire. Always with the damn fireplace. She was taken with it, for sure. Her eyes followed the curves and the curlicues. She was sure there was some beautify and archaic architectural term for them, but she just didn't know it. She took in the tile, no doubt once a beautiful shiny rich blue, but now rather dulled from the years, improper upkeep, and careless tenants.

Something looked… Off… Just a bit. It was hardly noticeable. but she spied something unusual about the underside of the mantle. She hadn’t noticed it before. But, after all, she hadn’t looked at it from a prone position. She got up slowly and just a bit shakily. Up close, it looked like a tiny hidden drawer, with a little latch. Sobering quickly she felt her pulse quicken. What an unbelievable find! She had been fascinated by stories of hidden compartments in Victorian times, and knew that it happened. But she never expected to see one in person. Gently she pulled the latch. It refused to budge. She braced herself and tried once again, with a harder tug. It let loose so suddenly she didn’t have a chance to catch herself before falling on her backside. The drawer - or whatever it was - flew to one side with a thud, and something else flew out with a quieter thump.

Picking herself up off the floor, she grabbed the drawer first, checked to see that the compartment was empty, and replaced it in the mantle. No wonder she hadn’t noticed it before, it was quite well done. She admired the handiwork for a moment, before turning to look for whatever else had fallen. On the floor was a strange and suspicious package wrapped in brown paper.

What in the world….. It was quite dusty, apparently having been hidden there for some time. No other tenants had noticed it, perhaps. Maybe it was from a prior owner of the home? Well, only one way to find out, and no time like the present, she supposed. Carefully, Connie unwrapped it. The paper was so brittle it nearly broke apart in her hands. Inside was a bag. Made of… Silk, perhaps?

Oh, my. This was getting even more intriguing. Jewelry, she guessed? Even more anxious, and with hands shaking just a bit, she pulled the drawstring and discovered what looked to be a broach. She turned it over in her hands. It was small, perhaps two inches. But quite beautiful. It had some type of makers mark on it, but that wasn’t particularly meaningful or helpful to her. Although, the mere fact that it had a mark meant that it might be valuable and of good quality, didn’t it?

It was made of what looked to be gold, and several gemstones. She gasped. Clear gems, and yellow gems, and orange gems, and blood red gems, all arranged in a fiery shape. Oh, imagine if this was real. It could be such a tremendous blessing to her and help with her bills and tuition. Could it be? She would have to figure out exactly what to do with it tomorrow.

Setting aside her slightly hazy dreams of financial assistance, she realized that she’d forgotten to take the time to appreciate the piece for its artistry. It was, she realized with a gasp, a phoenix. Wow. A beautiful phoenix emerging from the ashes of its former self. The symbolism seemed particularly poignant in that moment. Here she was, at a tremendous crossroads in her life. She was working her way through a number of personal challenges, and dealing with a number of personal traumas. While her friends were off living their relatively carefree college existence, she spent the bulk of her time either studying or working for her very survival. It was exhausting. Sure, some people had it worse. But many, many of those around her had it better. And she was working as hard as she could to improve her situation and to keep going. She’d been hoping, and wishing, and waiting for something, anything, to give her a little push to keep moving forward. This, this find was just unbelievable. In this moment, just then, then, she knew that she could rise from the ashes of what had come before, and everything would be alright.