Phoenix. It’s where I live and who I love. I was born in Phoenix, raised there too. We lived in a big white house near the big camel shaped mountain. There were two palm trees in our front yard, and a growing saguaro cactus in the back. We didn’t have any fruit trees, which I’d always wanted. I envied the people who had lemon and orange trees in their front yard. I would steal one of the fruits and take it home with me, eating it as if it were my own.

I’d stay in my room and read books, write poetry. There were dried flowers hanging from the ceiling, crystals on ribbons hanging in the window, sheets of silk and cotton. It usually smelled of incense, to drive out the dead heated smell during the scorching summers. I wasn’t one for the malls, but I visited the zoo on occasion, though it made me depressed. I would hike alone, taking pictures of beautiful things I saw until I had no more film. My mother accused me of wasting film when she saw my pictures of rocks and cacti. I like them. They all had meaning.

I went to parties with Rose and her friends. They were nice during the summer; we would stand in the back, smoking Primetimes and drinking Smirnoff Ice until we were too dizzy to stand. I stayed away from pool areas, afraid I’d fall in if I got too drunk. If I was feeling ambitious enough, I’d smoke pot with some guys I didn’t know, do a striptease with Rose to Killer Queen and Another One Bites the Dust. By the end of the night, I’d either crash at the house, in Roses car, or wake up on the front lawn, halfway to the door.

I met Phoenix at one such party. It was the end of spring, the beginning of summer, and the night was scorching, the earth just cooling. I was sipping a Smirnoff Ice, as usual, and sitting on the back wall of the person’s backyard, facing the desert. A bat flew across the moon as I stared at it, and I turned when I heard the click of a lighter. He stood beside me, his face obscured by the smoke as he exhaled. Menthol Light. The smoke cleared and I got a good look at him in the light from the Chinese lanterns. His skin was pale, a lovely ivory that contrasted with his black hair, which had a red tint to it sometimes. His eyes watched me evenly, a cold golden with silver splinters.

“I thought I’d join you,” he said, sitting next to me. I offered him my bottle, and he took it, holding out the cigarette. I took a drag, letting the menthol cool my throat.

“What’s your name?” he asked, giving me back the drink.

“Sadie,” I said. “Who are you?”

“Phoenix.”

I laughed and asked if he was joking. He shook his head solemnly.

“I didn’t mean to laugh,” I said, “I’ve just never thought anyone could have such a cool name. It’s really Phoenix? You’re not messing with me?”

“No, I’m not fucking with you. It’s Phoenix; my parents are just eccentric.”

I liked the way he said fucking so casually, how he said his name.

“My brother’s name is Griffin.” He smiled when he said it, and took another drag.

“That’s awesome,” I said.

“It is.”

We shared a bowl, and walked away from the party, stumbling around the path into the desert. The air was less thick, and I tilted my head back to stare at he sky.

“It’s so beautiful, so dark.” I said. “I love this city.”

“Me too,” Phoenix said. He looked at his watch and turned back toward the house. He said he had to go, he was expected elsewhere. I said I liked talking to him, and he pulled out a fountain pen from his jacket. He took my wrist and pulled me to him, exposing the underside of my arm. He wrote his name and phone number on it and asked me to call him the next day. I said I would, and he made me promise before he left. When he was gone I felt empty, and I went back to the house to lie on the grass until I fell asleep.