by Bradon Nave
“Didn’t?” Monica’s tone sharpened as she propped her head atop her hand, looking toward Bishop.
“Yeah. I didn’t understand what it was like to be that sad until Nathan died. Now it’s like I…” Bishop’s words trailed as his eyes glistened.
“It’s okay to cry here, Bishop.”
“I know. I cry all the time.”
“Can you continue, or at least try?”
“It’s like I wake up sad and I go to bed sad and there’s brief moments throughout the day—little tiny moments—where I’m not sad but only because I forget for like a nanosecond. And then I basically feel guilty for feeling anything but sad I guess. So, I guess I get it now. I get what it’s like to be sad all the time.”
“But, Bishop, do you ever feel sad enough to do what Nathan did? Do you ever think about suicide?”
Again—the scour pad.
“Yes.”
“How often.”
“Every day.”
“And have you ever acted on those impulses?”
“Acted? Nah. I just drink and pop a couple pills and try to sleep.”
“Bishop, did you ever think about suicide prior to what Nathan—”
“No. Never. I never once thought about anything like that.”
“Bishop, I feel you’re being genuine and honest with me. Do you feel you’re at risk for hurting yourself?”
The question left Bishop dumbstruck for nearly three seconds. “It’s not that I don’t like life. I miss it. I miss waking up happy and wanting to get out of bed. If I knew how to get back to it, I would. I don’t know how to do that without…” Burying his face in his palms, Bishop began crying.
“Without what, Bishop?” Her words—motherly and soft—exacerbated his tears.
“Without leaving him behind.”
“You feel guilty because you feel like you’re leaving him behind and continuing on with your life?”
“Y…yes.”
“Bishop, that’s completely natural. You’re stuck in this—”
“I didn’t know it was possible to miss someone this much! I’ve…I’ve heard of it and seen it and shit…but I didn’t know it was actually possible. I’ll never get over this. I miss him too much. I can’t live without my brother.”
Bishop’s face remained planted in his palms as he felt Monica’s hand on his shoulder.
“There, there, Bishop. This is common. We are going to get you through this, okay?”
“I just…I don’t see how it’s possible.”
“A lot of things might seem impossible from where you are right now, Bishop. That’s why you need to let someone else guide the way momentarily. This process is tricky and often extremely taxing. With dedication, there can be resolution.”
Attempting to wipe his saturated eyes, Bishop finally raised his face—his gaze meeting Monica’s.
“I want to help you, Bishop. Let me help you.”
Forcing a half-smile while nodding his head, Bishop’s ailing voice produced but one word. “Okay.”
Chapter Twelve
Cautious in her approach, Alex pried Tyson’s door open and peered inside. Unsurprisingly, she found him sobbing softly—sitting on the edge of his twin-sized bed.
Creeping in and attempting to remain unobtrusive, she calmly sat next to him, placing her arm around his shoulders.
As he rested his head into her, she kissed him on top of it. “I’m so sorry, Tyson. It’s been one thing after another. I promise you this life has big plans for you…it’s just being a bitch right now. It’s been a bitch for a while now.”
Almost instantly, Tyson raised his head from his sister, making immediate eye contact. “Wha…what? Alex, no. Life is awesome. My life is awesome. My life is anything but a bitch.”
His expression assured Alex he was completely genuine in his assertion.
“You don’t feel shortchanged?”
“What? No, Alex, look at me. I haven’t been this healthy in years. I’m doing things now that I thought I’d never do.”
“I know, Ty, but we buried Mom today and Dad fourteen years ago. And you’ve been through so much—”
“We’ve been through so much, Alex.” Tyson took her hand with one hand and wiped his eyes with the other. “You’ve been there for me through everything. All the struggles and the near misses…they just make this time right now even better. I don’t say it enough, Alex, but I seriously love the shit out of you. I owe you so much—”
“Tyson—”
“Alex, please. When I was a freshman you handed over nearly all your savings just so I could play baseball. Look at everything you sacrificed for me while our mom was passed out on the couch. You were at nearly every one of my baseball games and at every single one of my appointments. You never gave up me. You put your own life on hold to give me what I have today and I seriously have never been happier. You’re my family, Alex. You’re the only family I need. I’m just sad for her…I’m sad for Mom. Not for me. I’m not crying for me.”
His words—confident and clear—sent a sense of pride coursing through Alex. Looking to her brother, she couldn’t help but feel proud of the kind, confident and ambitious young man she’d helped raise. “Tyson, I have never been more proud of you.” As she kissed his forehead she heard him inhale deeply.
“I promise you, Alex, as long as I’m breathing I’ll try my hardest to never let you down.”
“You could never let me down, Ty. It’s not possible.”
“Even if I told you I was starving…only an hour after our mother’s service?”
His smile almost involuntarily evoked a smile of her own every time she witnessed it. “Nope. I’m a little hungry, too.”
***
At the go-to café, Alex and Tyson completed their post-funeral meals with malts. Alex didn’t know whether to be offended or appreciative of Tyson’s comment regarding her ability to match his caloric intake. They’d both ordered large meals, and both completely polished their plates.
Relaxed in the booth, neither sibling seemed overly anxious to engage in conversation—as if each other’s company was enough regardless the lack of verbal communication.
Basking in the sun and silence, Tyson finally stretched and spoke.
“I think she did the best she could with what she had. Like, she loved us the best she knew how.”
“The best she knew how? Explain.”
“Like…I don’t know. She loved us the best that she could. It wasn’t her fault because she only had what she had.”
Alex found her brother’s comment laughable. The seriousness of the situation coupled with the day’s events anchored her from debating his generous theory, but not from offering some sisterly insight.
“Tyson…when I look at you now, or when you get home from class, or when I’m doing something that reminds me of something silly you’ve said or done, it makes me smile and reminds me of how lucky I am to have you in my life. It’s a natural connection…a bond that can’t accurately be described, and there’s really no need for a description—it just is. I’m thankful that you can find peace in believing that Mom didn’t necessarily have that natural bond shit. Maybe someday I’ll be at peace with it too.”
“I mean…that’s really what it comes down too. I don’t think she had it in her to be a mom.”
“Tyson…every time Mom opened her mouth I could be sure of one thing only; that was that whatever she was saying was either going to be exaggerated or fabricated all together. I could never use her as a credible source for information because she was entirely full of it. But you know what? That’s not what gets me. What gets me is that there were so many times where it could have gone bad—much worse than it did—all because of her inability to be an adult. I understand that maybe she couldn’t muster up enough affection to pretend to love her own children, but leaving us alone for days at time or forgetting to fill your prescriptions—”
“She’s dead now, Alex.” Tyson’s words were soft yet stern—much like his g
aze. “She’s dead and now it’s just us and the world.”
“It’s always been just us and the world, Ty.”
“Yeah…but now we got a butt-load of insurance money headed our way.” His crass comment and boyish smirk left his sister’s mouth agape until finally she felt her own lips curling into a smile as well.
“You little shit.”
“What? We can talk about it. It doesn’t make us bad to talk about it.”
“No…it doesn’t. There’s the money and the house—”
“I don’t wanna move back into the house. We’re not moving back in are we?”
His piercing gaze annihilated any remaining ideas of repatriation to their childhood home. “Um…no. I think we’re good where we’re at.” Sipping from her malt, Alex watched her answer erase the worry from Tyson’s face.
“Me too. Sell that bitch.”
Nearly spitting her mouthful of malt out, Alex laughed. “Sell it? You hate it that much?”
Watching his smile fade and his gaze fall to the scratched booth table, Alex waited for his reply.
“It’s us and the world…not us and that house…and those memories.”
Her drink sat aside, Alex sat up confidently. “Okay. Consider it done. We’ll start boxing and selling and all that fun stuff as soon as the semester is over. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Chapter Thirteen
The park, buzzing with life and activity, was something Bishop rarely took the time to fully appreciate. Normally he’d be running through full-speed with earbuds in—basically ignoring the surroundings rather than taking them in.
Today, however, the mild weather and cozy temperatures had him dressed in his summer best and strolling casually through the park at a leisurely pace.
His eyes and mind clear—his insides free of the ache—Bishop felt rejuvenated and rested. Two sessions with Monica had him analyzing and reanalyzing, but in an effective and productive way.
Watching young couples, young parents, older people, and dog-walkers, Bishop found himself feeling appreciative for the day. Although the tragedy was lurking at the base of his psychology, today it was only lurking rather than at the forefront.
The winding sidewalk had Bishop passing several smiling faces—and then he saw hers—Jenna Hall.
The urge to turn walk briskly from her was killed when she smiled largely at him—some unknown brunette by her side.
Jenna was a quirky and semi-likable blonde…quirky, likeable, and loud.
“Bishop!” Running toward him in a white tank top, Bishop acted as though he’d only just noticed her.
“Oh…hey there, Jenna.”
“Hugs!”
As she squeezed him, he felt her hand gripping his butt-cheek.
Chuckling, Bishop smiled as she stepped back. “Nice to see you too, Jenna.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.”
Jenna’s loud voice and boisterous actions seemed to obstruct the majority of the path, leaving others to leave the sidewalk and walk in the grass around the trio.
“Bishop, this is Cammie…we’re all B.F.F.’s and shit.”
“Hi, Cammie.”
“Hello.” The girl seemed nearly as embarrassed by Jenna’s behavior as Bishop. Bishop believed if she were truly Jenna’s best friend, she would know better than to venture out with her in the daylight hours.
“How have you been, boy? You look fine as hell today.”
“Thanks, Jenna. Not too bad yourself.”
“It’s been a minute!”
Scratching his head and glancing about, Bishop longed for a thunderstorm or even a mugger to interrupt the interaction. “Yeah…I think the concert, maybe?”
Holding her hands up—fingers extended—Jenna gave an exaggerated smirk. “Oh you mean, night of the blowjob?”
Her inquiry, loud and resounding, had Bishop smiling but feeling his face flush—his gaze diverting to the tree line.
“Did you really just say that?” Bishop’s low-key tone and crouched demeanor seemed to delight Jenna.
“Oh I said it…and it was a mouthful!”
With this, Bishop stood solemn—hands in his pockets as he stared at the cement beneath him.
“I’m messin’ with ya, Bishop.” Hugging him again, Jenna seemed to recognize the somber and defeated stature of her victim. “For real…how have you been?”
“I’m okay, Jenna.”
“I’m ah…I’m sorry about Nate. I should have called.”
“It’s okay.”
Shaking his shoulders lightly, Jenna smiled. “No it’s not. Let me make it up to you.”
Bishop smiled, shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but I’ll pass. I can’t risk you announcing it to every living being in the park a year from now.”
“You dork. Let me take you out tonight…just friends. Grab a bite…a drink. Just friends. Cammie’s coming too.”
Jenna’s friend seemed slightly put-off as she wandered further away.
“I don’t know, Jenna. I’m trying to slow down and stay away from—”
“Hot girls with limited gag reflexes?”
Feeling flustered, Bishop exhaled forcefully. “Please stop. You’re embarrassing me.”
“Okaaaay. You’re no fun today. Just trying to loosen you up.”
“Can you pick me up? I don’t feel like driving. Just call before you head over.”
“Holy shit. We’re going out?”
“I need out. But please, Jenna…chill with the public humiliation tactics.”
“I can do that.”
“Cool. See you tonight.”
Chapter Fourteen
Even the stoutest cup of coffee couldn’t have coaxed her back to complete clarity. Nearly six thirty-five in the morning, Alex wasn’t certain how she’d last until her shift ended at seven.
The night had been anything but ordinary or passive. All critical, each of Alex’s patients required her complete attention throughout the night. This left little time for breaks of a biological nature or time to check up on her brother.
As the hour crept on, Alex slipped into the intensive care break room. Removing her phone, she was quick to glance over Tyson’s Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook to see if anything out of the ordinary had been posted.
As her butt met the worn couch her eyes bounced in her skull as she attempted to keep them fixed on her phone screen.
Nothing had been posted to Tyson’s accounts. Ever the investigator, Alex tapped the search bar to find Becca—perhaps she could offer some documented insight.
Among the recent names searched was Bishop’s. Instantly, her thought process shifted as she touched his smiling face on her screen, taking her to his profile.
The sensation of an actual knot formed within her throat as she glanced over his most recent post—from only a few hours prior.
Maybe it is too much…maybe it is too big…
What the hell could he mean by that? Surely not…
Just as her mind began venturing, the breakroom door flung open—producing a teary-eyed nurse.
“Tonya…are you okay?”
“I will be, Alex. I just hate seeing Dr. Jones like that.”
“She was over here? Was she a bitch to you or something?”
Making her way to the coffeepot, Tonya turned, smiling while shaking her head. “No. No she and I go way back. When she loses one she usually comes over from pediatrics to vent to me if I’m here. This one really got to her.”
A dizzying nausea overtook Alex as she absorbed Nurse Tonya’s words. “Loses one?”
“Yes, dear. Jessica Beck rejected her lungs. It was nearly two years.”
“Oh my God…she died?”
“About two hours ago. Poor baby…only eighteen.”
The walls around her were now coming in on her—chest tightening as Tyson’s face flooded her brain.
“Did you know her, Alex?”
In an effort to halt her hyperventilation, Alex focused solely on
Tonya’s face. Slow…deep breaths.
Coffee in hand, Alex’s relief came through the breakroom door—smiling and ready for report.
***
Trembling as if they were the hands of a ninety-eight year old, Alex nearly lost her grip on her keys. Finally, she was in her apartment—their apartment. She raced to Tyson’s room, tearing the door open as the panic in her chest clawed from inside out.
And there he was—sleeping peacefully—his comforter to his chin.
Flinging the bedding from her sibling, she hugged him in the dark—sobbing.
“Hey!” Completely startled, Tyson worked to pry his sister off of him. “Alex! Is that you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Alex! What’s…what the hell is wrong? What’s going on?”
“I love you, Tyson.”
“Alex! What happened?”
Releasing him, she felt instantly horrible at seeing the fear in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I was…I was just worried.”
“Worried…what the…about what, Alex? I tried to call you twice. I left a voicemail saying goodnight.”
“I know. I know, Ty. Dr. Jones lost a patient. A cystic fibrosis patient. She rejected her lungs.”
Squinting and propping himself up, Tyson scratched his head. “Did you know the patient or something?”
“No…no I just freaked out. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
A look sitting somewhere between amusement and irritation slid across Tyson’s shadowed face. “So you scare the shit out of me…wake me up on one of the few days I get to sleep in…and hug me all dramatic while I’m in nothing but my underwear? Awkward, Alex.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll make you breakfast. You want an omelet like I used to make—”
“I’m okay, Alex. We went over the results, the matching procedures and what they mean. My new lungs are perfect for me. I do exactly what Dr. Jones tells me to do and I’m getting stronger. I’m okay.”
“I know…I know, Ty. This is me being stupid.”