Midsummer Phoenixes (Phoenix Immortal)

1. Almost Seen

Almost Seen

amory

I t was after midnight, and the diner was quiet, though the eight patrons spread across four tables meant it wasn’t the cozy, comforting quiet just before the end of my shift yet. There was still work, and I could let my mind drift too far. The sounds of conversation and clinking cutlery made the Moonlight seem lively, even if outside the windows traffic had ebbed and people had dimmed their lights, turning windows into glass that reflected nothing but the night.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dwayne look out the passthrough.

“Kid,” he said, glancing from one table to the other.

I came closer. “Let me guess. Kitchen is closing early?”

Dwayne grunted in an affirmative way. “Perks of owning the place. You’re good here?”

He always asked, not that he needed to. “Sure. I’ll close up as usual.”

He nodded. “Good. I’m putting together some leftover food for you, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, knowing that resistance was absolutely futile. If Dwayne felt I needed to take a meal home, I was going home with a main, a salad, and probably dessert. “Extra baba ghanoush?” I asked, pushing my luck.

He snorted. “Wouldn’t dare to forget. I’ll put everything on top of the dishwasher.”

I smiled at him. “Thanks, Dwayne.”

Dwayne turned his attention back to fixing a meal for me, though I could hear him put things away, clean countertops, get the kitchen ready for the morning shift.

Half an hour later, he had left, and the kitchen was quiet. So was the diner, which was down to three patrons now. It meant I had time to clean what I hadn’t managed to get to earlier, the coffee maker, the ice cream scoop, sprinkles that had scattered when I’d been in a hurry earlier in the evening.

I set about wiping down surfaces without hurry, humming low to myself. Across from me, my regular, the writer, was penning a story to his notebook lover. Maybe one of these nights, I’d ruin the story I was telling myself about him and ask him if he really was a writer, if he had published something already. But that might scare him off. He was so shy, so anxious. Every once in a while, I’d catch him looking my way, but overall, I got the sense he preferred to be left alone at his table with his notebook and laptop lovers, no small talk, just coffee and maybe some pie.

Just like every other night, I didn’t ask him about his book, simply made sure he had all the coffee and pie he wanted. He stayed almost until closing, offering me quiet company except for ten minutes before the clock struck three.

Getting the diner ready for the next day after that took me less than ten minutes. I started the dishwasher and took the food Dwayne had put in what looked like a used paper bag before turning off all the lights except the one in the back where storage was.

I didn’t change out of my uniform. There was no need. If I kept it zipped, my winter jacket covered most of it anyway.

Outside, cold air hitting me in the face, I walked toward the subway with a spring in my step, not sure why. I shoved one hand into the pocket of my jacket, annoyed when I noticed for the umpteenth time that the zipper there had come off one of its rails.

“Need to remember to get this fixed already,” I said, my breath just barely fogging in the night air.

The trip home was perfect. The subway arrived when I did, making it so I didn’t have to wait. It was empty, and I got home quickly, feeling tired but also relaxed.

After heating the dinner Dwayne had put together for me in the microwave, I settled in at my table, angling the chair so I could easily look outside, watch when people began their day.

Sometimes when I got home really late, I only watched the street, imagining where people were going, what their work was, what their apartments looked like. I wondered if they had lovers or spouses, sometimes just because, sometimes with the bitter bite of jealousy for someone else’s life.

Today though, I spent a good half hour watching documentaries on YouTube. In the end, I got tired of that too and went to bed. February meant it was still dark out though my blinds would keep out the light when it seeped back into the world in a couple of hours.

I fell asleep during the tail end of night, imagining I wasn’t alone, just waiting. I imagined there was someone in my life who came home to me, who would open the door to my bedroom silently so as not to wake me and slide into my bed, just to hold me while he fell asleep next to me.

It was an unrealistic fantasy. My bed was too small for anyone else, and with a pang, I wondered if maybe that was true for my life as well.

I had grown unused to going out during the day at some point a few years ago, and now, all the people, all the light, the city busy rather than sleeping around me, felt strange, new, like I’d never seen it before.

I was out of instant coffee and cornflakes, which had given me extra motivation to get ready early, take the subway, and head out to Archway Station. Before doing the shopping, I decided to see my tailor.

The station had been so crowded that I submitted to the flow of the crowd and took an escalator to bring me above ground on the opposite side of the street, which was already the financial district unless I was mistaken.

I stood behind a blonde girl whose flowery perfume saturated the air, was pressed against the rail by a guy carrying shopping bags as he walked up the escalator, and almost had a businessperson walk right into me because he was on his phone and not looking where he was going. All in all, pretty typical for being out early.

With my involuntary detour, I walked down this side of the street. To my right, I saw a fancy club, the kind that maybe should have only existed in TV shows. Gold & Sage the classy signage read.

You couldn’t park in front of the club’s entrance. A guy in a suit guarded the door. I’d had the misfortune of getting dragged to a club once on a date that really hadn’t gone all that well. The guy had actually left me on the dance floor, presumably because he’d found someone who was happy to make out with him in public.

At any rate, the bouncers in front of that club had looked nothing like this one standing outside the Gold & Sage , hadn’t been as well dressed or even half as handsome.

I quickly looked away when the man’s head turned. I wasn’t the kind of creep who stared at random people. Well, I was, but there was no reason to let random people know.

Two minutes later as I was waiting for the light to turn so I could get to the other side, I realized how much of an idiot I was. Leaving my jacket with the tailor meant I’d have to walk around without one.

I groaned. A woman with a scarf wound all the way up to her cheeks turned to look at me.

“Sorry,” I said and fled her disapproving gaze when the light turned.

“I’ll do it right now. You wait here,” Mr. Muir, the tailor, told me.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate that.”

He indicated a stool behind his counter where he had a changing corner so narrow even I’d have trouble fitting in there. The entire place was stuffed with fabric and clothes he was working on, dresses, jackets, curtains.

I sat. The stool was low, and I angled my legs as best as I could so they were out of the way.

“It’s not a problem. You remind me of my son. Just as forgetful.”

“Failure of my generation,” I said, realized it was something one of my old teachers used to say, clamped my mouth shut.

“Ah, you’re not too bad. Not too good either. We’ll see how you all turn out. Give me a moment.”

He vanished through a doorway, hidden behind a heavy curtain. From the other side, I smelled tea, something herbal, and ginger cookies.

I pulled out my phone and returned to reading Frankenstein. By the time I’d finished the chapter, Mr. Muir was done and handed me my jacket back, the zipper repaired.

I paid him what felt like more of a token than proper compensation and left. Instead of braving the larger market in the station, I got my coffee from a bodega at the end of the small side street where Mr. Muir had his store.

That done, I felt accomplished and headed back, looking forward to being home and to being at work later. The streets were still busy. Just before I could get to the escalator, I felt a prickling at the back of my neck, like a heat in my bones or electricity washing over my skin.

I stopped. Before I could turn around, another pedestrian cursed under his breath and walked around me.

“Sorry,” I said, shook my head, and headed for the subway. Before I got on the escalator, I managed a brief look.

All I could see was that fancy club, Gold & Sage . It now had a car illegally parked in front of it, which made me wonder who had the audacity to stop in a no parking zone.

“A spy maybe,” I mumbled, my shoes hitting the escalator.

But no, a spy wouldn’t want to be seen, would they?

I rubbed the back of my neck. The odd, tingly feeling was gone. “Just my imagination.”

I stopping thinking about that strange sensation the moment the subway doors closed and flinched. “Shoot. I forgot the fucking cornflakes.”