“Some PhD who’s studied how wild animals get over trauma.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“No, listen. Young cubs and stuff, if they get threatened by another animal, then later on when they’re safe, they go back and re-enact the trauma to get it out of their system. You never hear of animals in therapy, right?”
“We’re a block from the subway stop. You want to do this?”
“Yeah.”
“Crazy thing is, me too.”
Phoenix pulled over to the curb. He swiveled out of the car and met his sibling on the sidewalk. As they walked, Phoenix caught their reflection in the clear expanse of a bakery window, two dark-haired men ghosted onto the image of people clustered around café tables. One burly with a scowl, one pitiful with a cane. He turned away from the truth in the glass and towards his brother.
“How’s Sascha?”
“She’s dating some divorced dude.”
“Doesn’t sound like you approve.”
“He could be a saint and I wouldn’t approve.”
“So, go fight for her.”
“I can’t give her what she wants.”
Phoenix ducked his chin, in more agreement than Caleb could know. “If you love someone, set them free.”
“Can’t set a free spirit like Sascha any freer.”
Phoenix grew pensive. “I owe Sascha. She gave me perspective just when I needed it. Seeing life outside of rehab gave me something to work towards.”
“Good thing it worked. Mom almost had a coronary when she heard where you were.”
“Yeah, Mom watched me like a hawk for days after that.”
They entered the west entrance for the 4, 5 and 6 trains. The stark black and white sign,86 Street Station Downtown and Brooklyn,produced a shudder. Last time here, Phoenix had relished the summer sun and taken the steps two at a time.
Tucking his cane under his left elbow, Phoenix picked his way down the stairs. “What if he’s here?” His eyes closed for a moment, despite needing to be able to see every step to navigate them.
“I’ve been here a few times since the accident. I’ve never seen any homeless guy, but if he’s here, he better kiss your feet and thank you,” Caleb said.
“Foot,” Phoenix corrected.
“You still have two. You’re cyborg.”
At the bottom landing, cold dankness emanated from the grayed tiles. Caleb pulled a Metro card from a worn black wallet. He swiped it twice, allowing Phoenix to push through the turnstile first.
“He was there,” Phoenix said, limping over to a discolored spot marked in old-world tile. “He was sitting here, on a piece of cardboard, wearing crazy amounts of clothes for the weather.”
The words came out of some foreign place he didn’t recognize as his vision narrowed to a wild grimace and face full of rage.
“You okay?”
“As good as a cub re-enacting trauma.”
Phoenix caned deeper towards the darkened tunnel. He transfixed on the columns of dull green I-beams receding to the end of the platform.
“I gave him a buck,” he said, “and found a note Orchid must’ve slipped into my pocket.”
