Ashes, Ashes

"This," said my grandfather. "Is the bird we so boldly have dubbed as the phoenix." He gestured to the avian on its perch, the leather hood drawn over its eyes.1

I shifted around uncomfortably on the loveseat. "Can I go watch TV? 'Gilmore Girls' is gonna be on in fifteen minutes."2

My grandpa shook his head, a slow smile playing across his face. "You don't understand, do you?"3

"Understand what?"4

"Life, Jeanie."5

"I thought we were talking about the phoenix."6

My grandfather tugged on his tan cowhide gauntlet. "They're not incompatible. A phoenix will rise, fall, repeat. It's a cycle. An example of life."7

"Hmm." I glanced down at my toenails. The polish was chipped.8

He was getting a bit frustrated now, I could tell. "Jeanie, I sense you're not fully commiting yourself to this."9

"I'm not into learning your folk magic, grandpa."10

"Folk magic? This isn't folk magic." He stuck his arm in the cage and pulled the hood off. The bird jumped onto his arm and cooed. "This is alchemy. And it runs in your family. You may think your utopian, futuristic modern society is too 'cool' for it, but the world would be a lot better if we all just went back to learning the Earth's basic elements." He examined the bird, his golden sphynx eyes (I had inherited those orbs, all of us Martensons had) trailing over the creature's delicate plumage. "This phoenix is about to go up in flames. But from its ashes, another will rise. Such things are life."11

At this point, I had given up. I hoisted myself off the loveseat and trudged downstairs to watch 'Lost'.12

...13

"It's not alchemy. It's nothing that cool. It's...wicca."14

"There's nothing wrong with wicca, dear," my mother reminded me, scooping peanut butter onto a stalk of celery.15

"I know, but he tries to play it up as being some big, epic Harry Potter thing! Grandpa's not a wizard."16

Mom shrugged and set the celery down on a plate in front of me and my brother. "You don't know that, Jeanie. We've had sorcery in our blood since the Dark Ages."17

It was so typical of my mom to have gone online and researched our big, pretentious family tree. "Whatever." I crunched down on a pale green wedge as she exited the family room.18

The smell of something burning filled my nostrils. Tim turned to look at me, fear in his honey-colored eyes. I leveled his stair with an equally honey-colored one. "Have no fear, Timothy. Mom probably set the oven on self-clean."19

"No, it's not that. It smells like burning meat."20

"So she overheated some leftovers. She's probably in the kitchen now, pulling them out."21

"It's not coming from the kitchen." He stood up. "I think it's coming from Grandpa's lab."22

...23

In the end, they didn't have to cremate him. He was already a heap of ash when we reached the burning lab. The sight had kept me away from fire for two years.24

Now we stood at the slab of marble, clutching wilted bouquets in our hands.25

"You'd think, with all that magic in him, that Grandpa could have saved himself."26

"That's not how life works, Jeanie."27

On my way out, I thought I saw a phoenix. When I looked back, it was a peacock.