Firebird
My phone buzzed reassuringly against my thigh. I pulled it from the space between my leg and my white office chair.
Matt: Sounds like u travel a lot, too! Spain next?
Me: Yeah, Spain twice this year. I’ve been before, but I‘ve never been to Ibiza. Meeting up with fellow yogis — can’t wait! Where are you headed next?
Matt: Nice! I love Spain. I’m planning Scotland next year! Hiking through the highlands.
Me: Hiking Scotland was one of my most memorable experiences living in the UK.
Matt: Tell me about it!
I pull up my photos and type “Scotland” into the search bar, hoping it geotagged the photos I took while visiting in 2018 so I could remember the names of the mountains, lochs, and villages I visited outside of Glasgow.
What’s that? I peer closer at a photo — a screenshot. I feel a bit uneasy as I tap my finger on the tiny square to enlarge the photo. What is this? I inspect closer, reading the text:
“Over the weekend, I took a train to Scotland to meet up with friends and kick off Ceilidh season in the most authentic way. Late Saturday morning, we set out to hike Ben Aa’n in the Scottish highlands, just outside of Glasgow. The endless blue skies were a rarity, and many locals remarked on how fortunate we were to experience such perfect weather for our hike. Taking full advantage, we ventured up the rocky green mountain.
Drinking in the cold, sharp air, I relished in the exertion of my muscles as we ascended up the path. The initial incline of the hike was incredibly steep and didn’t relent until we turned to follow the path back down from the nearest peak. The back of my legs burned as I hoisted one leg, then another, on top of each slick rock, bringing the weight of my body closer to the crest of the hill.”
Shoulders going rigid, I check the web address at the top of the screenshot. My old blog. The one I wiped from the internet forever. I felt my chest constrict. I blinked again, harder as if I could clear my memory and make sense of the odd emotions swirling inside.
I have known many versions of myself throughout my life. One of my best skills as a teenager and a young adult was to reinvent myself over and over again. Everywhere I moved, every new venture I set out on, came with a new attitude, a new wardrobe, and a new perspective. Then I became me, the pieces slowly coming together until I realized I was actually every version of myself from the past. Or so I thought.
Who is this girl? I asked as I reread the short excerpt. I reach for her internally only to find a void of darkness, bleak darkness, as if the very essence of my past-self had been ripped from my chest. My memory goes back to October 2015, sitting by the window on the second floor of Whole Foods on Kensington highstreet, writing as I often did. Watching the tops of red buses with their large billboards float by. Have you heard about the Mormons? In big bold letters. I smiled at the ad for the musical, which I resolved not to see.
Turning my attention to the glitter of gold leaves, dancing toward earth in the shadow of Autumn, the memory dissolves, and I am brought back to my place in my desk chair.
Me: We hiked Ben Aa’n. It was November and was so beautiful.
I edited the message several times before I hit send. I left out how I ended up with another Mormon man chasing me back to London, thinking I was his wife. How I was reunited at a Ceilidh with someone who would betray our friendship in a fit of jealousy and rage. How I would leave the community that once held my life together.
And I knew it then, as I huffed over the crest of the mountain top and infinity washed over me. Salty sweat beaded across my forehead and upper lip, and I inhaled for the first time in a long while. As I took in the view of Loch Katrine, I knew that this wasn’t the version of me who would stay. She was only a fleeting moment — a striking firebird on her way to burn it all down. To turn everything into ash and remake herself again.
