Phoenix
Member
“Talking to the mirror like I've seen him somewhere before,
He said I look familiar,
Did we meet the other night?”
Sam had decided to go with slip casting for the mask. Making the mold had taken her at least a week of her spare time, every moment she hadn’t been working, with Todd, or on patrol. She had spent the time lovingly crafting the mask’s initial mold. She carved every feather and every detail. She carved into place the crest and the beak, making sure the mold fit the facial skeleton she’d had since high school. Her face hadn’t changed at all, despite the decade since then.
Fifteen. She’d been fifteen when she made her first mask, the prototype for the Wildcat mask. It had been clumsy, but future iterations of the Wildcat mask had been beautifully crafted. She hadn’t forgotten how to do it. She hadn’t forgotten the techniques of carving the clay and casting it in silicone to make the mold. She hadn’t forgotten how to mix the ceramics mixture together to pour into the mold.
The way she had learned to do this was particular. Normally with slip casting, you would pour it into a plaster mold, but Sam had never quite been able to get the hang of that. And given she needed the mask to be a certain thickness, and wasn’t trying to make a vase or some other vessel, the single-sided silicone mold worked for her. It fit her needs.
The ceramic mixture itself didn’t take long to harden, but it was long enough that Sam could sit and think for a minute. Or thirty of them.
“Somebody once told me that there's two sides to life,
What's yours?
I might have accidentally let the darkness eat the light.
And that's why
I prayed, I prayed
God sent me right to voicemail
It's like all day
My vanity is for sale
Take it away
My head is in my own hell.”
It had been years since she had made a mask. She had broken the final Wildcat mask in a fit of rage as she threw it at a barn wall. It had shattered, and while she had sat there with a rapidly cooling body only a few feet away, she decided she didn’t deserve such a fine mask. A mask that meant justice to her. A mask that meant she was there to help people.
It had been a long time since she had felt good about what she did. Hunting Slate, eliminating their safehouses, had been a daunting and soul-crushing task. It had done terrible things to her as a person. She remembered the nights of loneliness and the nights of tears. She remembered the meltdowns she would have after every kill. She remembered the feelings of hollowness and emptiness.
She remembered Joshie leaving her apartment, and her decision to cut off ties with her family entirely.
It had been so long since she’d talked to her mom and dad. Since she talked to Joshie. She knew he had kids now. They were young, four and two, and the eldest had apparently demonstrated the ability to channel electricity. It passed straight through her, like she was a human conduit. She knew she went by Ami, but that wasn’t her name.
Her name was Samantha.
God, her name was Samantha.
Even thinking about it made her want to cry.
Maybe, someday, she would deserve them again. Maybe, someday, she would be deserving of their love. Maybe, someday, she would reach out and tell them she was alive.
Their numbers were in an envelope with her birth certificate and her social security card. Not that she needed it when she could remember them by heart. Someday, she would call them, she thought as tears ran down her face. She stared blankly at the mask’s mold, and her vision blurred as the tears went from gentle to full sobbing.
“Sing to me
I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
Sing to me
'Cause I can't hear myself
Through the loudness of my own hurts
Call me selfish when I say this, say this
I'm kinda helpless, and I need you
Sing to me
'Cause I'm not doing well.”
Someday, she would be worthy of love again. Someday, she would be worthy of the way Todd looked at her, with that smile. Someday, she would be worthy of the shine in Adelyn’s eyes. Someday, she’d be worthy of Connor’s arm around her shoulder.
Someday.
She wiped her eyes and she flipped the ceramic mask carefully out of its mold. The feather detailing was perfect. The beak was sharp and the crest was just right. It was a perfect rendition of her cast, of her carvings. The symmetry was almost perfect. She smiled to herself as she stood up and walked over to the glazes in the studio she was borrowing. She was lucky to have made friends with Amanda Granger, who was a ceramics artist. She had given the studio to Sam for the day, for one day. One day was all she needed.
As she painted the mask, her mind drifted back to the last time she had so lovingly made a mask. She remembered the hands that had helped shape it, that had helped her paint it, and had held her hand when she waited for it to burn in the kiln.
She thought of Alice.
Alice, who had died at the age of nineteen, just before Sam had turned eighteen. Alice, who used to hold her hand and run through the night with her. Alice, who she used to have academic debates with about linguistics and the origins of languages. Alice.
Alice.
God, she had loved Alice. But now she knew, she knew she wasn’t ever meant to love her. Not that way, at least. She had loved her because she was the only one who wasn’t scared of her. Sam had been popular in school, had been on the softball team and the volleyball team, and had been a cheerleader during football season. She’d been in AcaDeca, the gardening club, and in three language courses. She was the girl who everyone always told she was cool or talented and how jealous they were of how pretty she was.
She was also the girl everyone was afraid to touch.
Everyone except Alice.
She had burned Alice several times. She had gotten too heated, too passionate, too angry, and she had burned her other half. And never had Alice been afraid of her afterward. She’d held Sam’s hand and told her it wasn’t bad, that she’d be fine. Of course she had fallen in love with Alice.
She’d never told her. She’d never gotten the chance. Obsidian had taken her before she could. But she could think of Alice with a smile again, even if her heart was still weighed down by guilt. She closed her eyes and breathed, setting down the glaze brush.
“Somehow I got nominated as a king of sadness
Got so much I know that I could even feed the birds
And that's why
I prayed, I prayed
God sent me right to voicemail
It's like all day
My vanity is for sale
Take it away
My head is in my own hell.”
Sam could think of Alice and only feel half the guilt now because of the other night. Because of Todd. When Todd had let her wail her heart out, when he had held her despite the burns, despite the heat, and had kissed her gently afterward. That kiss in her hair, his arms wrapped around her, had banished the guilt of loving again after Alice.
She was allowed to love. She was allowed to give herself to someone new. Alice would have wanted it, would have loved Todd. She would have encouraged her to go after him. Even when she found out what he was, she never would have questioned Sam’s judgment and heart. Sam knew this was a fact.
She was allowed to love.
Was she allowed to be loved back?
“Sing to me
I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
Sing to me
'Cause I can't hear myself
Through the loudness of my own hurts
Call me selfish when I say this, say this
I'm kinda helpless, and I need you
Sing to me
'Cause I'm not doing well.”
She looked down at the mask, now painted black and red in a shiny gloss. She picked it up with a careful touch, keeping her fingers off the paint. She walked it slowly over to the kiln, and opened the door with one hand. The fire roared inside, and she carefully reached her hands in and set it amidst the flames. The fire licked her hands like an old friend, barely noticeable.
She withdrew and closed the door, setting the timer. She sat back down with her phone and unlocked the screen. She turned her music down slightly so she’d be able to hear when the alarm went off. Then she hesitantly opened her photos. There weren’t many photos, but each one was precious to Sam. The photos of her and Todd on nature trails sitting on the couch, and driving around the city. Photos of her and Adelyn, going to the movies, going to the pumpkin patch with Todd, going out and getting lunch and parking by the pier, and watching the water.
But the further back she scrolled, the sadder she got. And then, she found what she was looking for. They were photos from her old phone, ported over at least three times. Photos of her life before. A photo of her and Alice in their cheer uniforms. A photo of her and Joshie with ice cream, both flipping off the camera. A picture of her with her dad in his studio, trying on her prom dress. And finally, she swiped to find the photo of her and her mom.
Her mother had always called Sam her mini-me. They looked identical to each other, with golden amber eyes, long tight orange curls, and heart-shaped faces. Sam’s curls were slightly looser, thanks to her dad’s genetics, but the freckles and the same button nose really drove home how much they looked alike. She missed her mom. God, she missed her mom.
Her mom would love Todd. Her mom would have asked when they were going to get married already, and she would have invited him over for Thanksgiving. She would have made an extra turkey and twice as much food as she normally did just to feed both of them. She would have given him a family sweater, in tans and browns. Probably with trees and a deer. That seemed like something her mom would make. Sam thought of her own sweater, in purple with a bird depicted on it.
She was always her mom’s songbird.
“Somebody told me that there's two sides to this life,
I think I might've chosen darkness over light.”
Her voice cracked as she sang along to the music. Songbird. She hadn’t thought of that name in so long. Her mother had called her that because even from the age of one she had babbled along to music. She had always loved singing, enough that she had gone to private lessons as a young teen. She was in choir, and had been in the school’s showcase several times. Her college scholarship had been in choir.
She was her mother’s songbird.
Her voice grew stronger as she began to put effort into the song. She belted out the end of the musical piece in the studio, hearing it echo her voice in the empty space.
“Sing to me
I am not doing well
Getting tired of my own words
Sing to me
'Cause I can't hear myself
Through the loudness of my own words
Call me selfish when I say this, say this
I'm kinda helpless, and I need you
Sing to me
'Cause I'm not doing well.”
Sam would make herself worth of love again. ‘
Sam would be better.
Sam would build it all back.
The alarm went off, and she stood, walking over to the kiln. She reached in and pulled the burning hot ceramic out of the oven, barely registering the heat. It just felt pleasantly warm to her, like a stone warmed in the sun. She set it down on the cool tray and watched as the colors began to shine true. A red that matched her suit, slightly darker than scarlet in color, and midnight black. It was the best mask she had ever made.
It held every hope she had for the future. For her and Todd. For her and Adelyn. For her and Connor. For her and Nat.
For her and her family.
It would do.