The Phoenix Aces

by Amy Cook

Effect: Three children are procured by two performers for the purposes of this trick. Their births are evenly spaced (1079 days between the first two, and then 1080 days between the second and third) so as to minimize the variation of outcome. After 18 years or so (and after the completion of the illusion), the oldest child will graduate from a local high school with the appropriate level of honors as befitting their potential. In the following years and decades, said child acquires a college degree, an opposite-sex spouse, a stable employment history, and various cats. This move is repeated with the second and third children, although the subsequent repetitions include the production of no fewer than three grandchildren, and be sure to replace the cats with dogs. The performers will have pulled off a real sleight of hand - the successful rearing of three productive members of society, rising from the ashes from a family that no longer exists.

History of the symbolism: The legend of the phoenix dates back, concurrently, to ancient Greece, Egypt, and Persia. The phoenix is a mythical bird that regenerates from its own ashes. Your audience may already be familiar with the phoenix and especially the term “phoenix rising from the ashes.” You should still include this as patter in your introduction. It adds to the gestalt.

Set-up: The three children should be similar in the following ways: physical characteristics (in my family’s case: blonde hair, pale skin, relatively fit and thin, a tendency for gastrointestinal distress) and select personality traits (e.g., a penchant for Adam Sandler films, appreciation for fine cuisine and adult beverages, and the late GenX or early millennial desire to binge-watch the exact same show multiple times). All three should share a common history that they half-fondly remember (ex: the famous “tea rice” incident). They should, in all moves, act as a unit. In this trick, the male performer is the variable.

Method: The three children will be raised in the manner that the performers see fit. Since this is a guide intended for experienced parents, you will have a favorite method for raising children. I shall, for the sake of instruction, describe my family’s method. By all means, you must take into consideration that the family performing this trick must regenerate from its own destruction. This trick is not for the faint of heart.
First move: Meet your fellow performer while you’re still children, preferably growing up in the same small town. You should each have a number of siblings, all within the same age range, so that it will be forever difficult to untangle aunts and uncles upon the destruction of the marriage. You should initiate your romantic relationship with this fellow performer while in high school. (See Figure 1) This provides you with the stability and longevity to have your audience shaking their heads in astonishment later on.

(Figure 1)

Second move: Wait three or four years to produce children after marriage. Join a synagogue. Enjoy middle class suburban life in Central New Jersey. (See Figure 2) Stay close to family. Make some friends. (To be clear, you’re using the heterosexual deck for this move.)  Once both performers are comfortable with executing this bit, you can try something a little more complicated. 

(Figure 2)

Third move: Introduce the children! (See Figure 3) Shuffle them in different combinations: sports, religious school, gymnastics, French club, etc. The pattern of this move is very important, so choose your words carefully. Speak only surface-level thoughts to the children and the audience. It’s important not to give up the ghost this early. Appear in public and at social functions, often, with your co-performer and beautiful, young family. It’s important to show the world that you are a perfectly happy, straight couple. For an extra level of difficulty, you can do slightly risqué things like taking your children to Broadway shows. Of course, they should be culturally acceptable musicals like Fiddler on the Roof, The Sound of Music, and Les Miserables. Not RENT. Teach them the words to some of the songs in Pippin. After all, Broadway doesn’t have to be gay. 

(Figure 3)

Fourth move: Wait a few years before doing anything else other than the status quo. The pressure of doing so, as you approach middle age, increases the level of difficulty in this trick ad infinitum. Keep all of the stress in one hand, shuffling as often as you need to, until it finally becomes an unbearable burden, and you must make this fourth move. Now, out of the sight of your audience, and of course the children, have a frank conversation with your co-performer. Let them know that while you are still fond of them as a colleague and co-parent, the time has finally come for you to look for another partner to work with. You are, and have always been, a gay magician.

Fifth move: The move here is to announce your imminent departure from the stage, without anyone noticing that you’ll be gone. Your original partner should now bring back the children, and the audience, from wherever you sent them. (See Appendix A) You shouldn’t leave the stage quite yet, though. This is where the fire and ashes come into play. Hence the name of the trick. Explain to the children that the illusion they thought they were participating in (The MacDonald Aces – see Chapter Twelve: The MacDonald Aces) is no longer the play. NB: If you are accused of any deception at all by a disbelieving audience member, be sure to deny it! You have very clearly kept your hands in plain sight at all times. 

Now, put all of the memories that your family has created over the years into the magician’s trunk, being sure to bolt every single lock. The contents of the trunk should include but not be limited to: early baby-speech (“mazagine”), disastrous vacations (“Napa Valley with strep throat”), shit you’ll never let go of (“Dad writing all three b’nai mitzvah speeches”), restaurants you’ve eaten at a thousand times, even if the food is mediocre and leads to gastrointestinal distress (“Romeo’s”), and the inside jokes that sound bad but really aren’t (censored for the purposes of this publication). You may also include: forged report cards, lost teeth, one million unread books from Barnes & Noble, clean underwear, the VCR that broke when someone put crayons in it, and your oldest daughter’s morbid poetry.

Stand back while you douse the trunk in lighter fluid and take a match to it. Be careful to make sure nobody is standing close enough to be burned. If they’re singed, they’re singed. Act extremely surprised when the trunk explodes on stage. Gaze in astonishment as your ex-partner and children, covered in white-hot ash, regenerate as people you are no longer completely familiar with. See how long you can all stay on stage together. (As you might expect, I use the imagination of my audience to participate in the illusion that every single memory has been incinerated. Because of course, memories don’t just disappear with the smoke.)

Sixth move: Here is where it becomes important not to lose control, even though the main flourish appears to be over. It will never be over, try as you might. Magic doesn’t work that way. As the children grow and move on with their lives, keep a sharp eye on them. Treat their questions kindly as you explore your new lives. Understand that they thought they were here to perform the MacDonald Aces. Be vigilant. They are actually phoenix aces, building new lives out of ash. (See Figure 4) 

(Figure 4)

Amy Cook is an MFA candidate at Pacific Lutheran University (Rainier Writing Workshop, 2025). Kenyon Review Writers Workshop (CNF, 2021). Her essays and poems have been featured in more than two dozen literary journals, magazines and anthologies, including Anti-Heroin Chic, great weather for MEDIA, and the Los Angeles Review. She was a finalist for the 2023 ProForma competition (Grist: A Journal of the Literary Arts) and the Disruptors Contest (TulipTree Publishing, 2021), a semi-finalist for the 2022 Brooklyn Non-Fiction Prize, and received Honorable Mentions from the New Millennium Writing Awards (2022) and Exposition Review’s Flash 405 (June 2023, Crescendo). She is an Editorial Assistant for the literary magazine, CRAFT.