The sweat entered his eyes as he stared toward Tyson on the mound in the center of the diamond. He nervously held the bat, anticipating the ball to come flying in his direction under the relentless sun. The drive to the field had been borderline awkward as neither young man seemed eager to engage in conversation.
The glare in Tyson’s eye gave Bishop the impression there might be some resentment toward the relationship Bishop and Alex had developed. As Tyson released the ball and sent in sailing in Bishop’s direction, Bishop was relieved to find the baseball coming to him at a practical speed. Regardless, Bishop’s attempt to make contact was futile. Strike one.
“Holy shit, dude. You really do suck.” Tyson walked from the mound, smiling largely.
“Yeah, man, I told you.”
“Here. Like this.” Tyson took the bat from Bishop and demonstrated once more how to properly hold it and stand. He returned to the mound and after about fifteen more attempts, Bishop had only clipped the ball a few times.
Frustration mounting, Bishop threw the ball back once more and took his place. Never one to give up easily, he waited for the ball to come at him again. As he swung, sheer pain radiated up his shin as he idiotically made contact with his own leg.
Dropping the bat, Bishop hopped on one leg. Unfortunately the leg he hit was opposite of the foot he’d pulled the thorn from a few days prior. It was still somewhat achy. He panted and attempted to walk it off and preserve some form of dignity as Tyson cautiously approached.
“You okay, man?”
“Good.” Bishop limped in circles—his hands resting behind his head.
“That’s gotta sting.”
“Yup.”
“So…it’s hot as balls out here. You wanna hit up the pool at the apartment?”
Still hobbling, Bishop shook his head. “Nah man…let’s…let’s just go to my place and swim.”
“You have your own pool? You like a lawyer or some shit?”
“Nope. I’m an indecisive dude that still lives with his folks.”
“Aww. Cool. Let’s swing by the apartment so I can grab my trunks.”
The drive from the field was more productive. Tyson continued to pry into the nature of his sister and Bishop’s friendship—continuously referring to them as just friends in a condescending tone. Finally, the conversation grew tiresome and Bishop decided to offer some genuine insight.
Pulling into the apartment complex at a slow pace, Bishop turned to Tyson cautiously from the driver’s seat of his modest Civic. “Would you have an issue with your sister pursuing a relationship?”
“Pursuing a relationship? What are you, fifty-five?” Tyson shook his head and smiled. His tone and expression gave Bishop the impression that he was irritated, like he’d painted a smile over anger.
“Nah…twenty-three. I’m serious.”
As the car rolled to the curb, Tyson stared at his knees. “Of course my sister can do whatever the hell she wants. She’s a grown-ass woman. It’s just…”
Bishop impatiently awaited the reply.
“It’s just that she hasn’t even mentioned you, dude. My sister tells me literally everything and she hasn’t said anything about you. Today’s tirade in the living room was the first I’d ever heard of you.”
His words hurt, and they had Bishop’s mind assuming the worst. Is she ashamed of me? Is she having second thoughts about us?
“How long have you two been going at it?”
“What? Going…nah dude. We started as running buddies and it just—”
“Running buddies? Alex…a runner? Okay. Look, man, if she’s happy then I’m good. I don’t know why she didn’t say anything but whatever…that’s her business. If you’re a good dude then I’m sure we’ll be buds. If not then I’ll be happy to help my sister kill you.” Tyson’s devious smile left Bishop’s mouth agape. Finally Tyson socked him in the shoulder. “Messing with you, man. I’ll be right back.”
***
Tyson’s reaction to the Holloway residence only reassured Bishop that the young man knew nothing about Bishop or his family. Seemingly impressed by the luxurious surroundings, Tyson was treated to a brief tour of the main floor, kitchen, and then the pool area. Within minutes of arriving the guys were cautiously entering the cool water. Bishop sported only his bright blue trunks. Tyson wore orange trunks, yet kept his t-shirt on.
A few minutes were dedicated to disclosing details regarding Bishops parent’s massive house and origins of his ‘funky’ accent. Bishop noticed Tyson’s near-defensive position transitioned only moments after Tyson enquired as to why Bishop had a meltdown at the apartment. Always one to air on the side of honesty, Bishop told Tyson the truth about Nathan as they waded in the water. The conversation left Tyson expressionless and hosting a trace of guilt in his eyes.
In an effort to lighten the mood, Bishop pulled himself out of the water only to cannonball right back in. A few more and both of them were drenched, as was the surrounding patio furniture.
“Have you heard from your sister?”
“Nope. She takes her work pretty seriously…but you probably already know that.”
As Tyson hoisted himself from the water, Bishop took notice of the scar peeking through his drenched and semi-transparent, white shirt. The conversation up until this point had been open and honest, Bishop felt no need to wonder when he could simply ask. “So, did you have an operation or something?”
“Huh?” Tyson sat poolside looking over the water while soaking his feet.
“Did you have surgery?”
The bizarre look Tyson offered gave Bishop the impression he’d said something wrong.
“Did my sister not tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“About my operation?”
“Nope. Is that why you’re wearing that holy shirt?”
“It’s a pretty ugly scar, dude.”
Swimming toward Tyson, Bishop chuckled. “Come on, bud. Let’s check it out.”
Tyson removed the wet shirt and tossed it aside, revealing the ribbon-thin scar.
“Dude. That’s not that bad. No reason to deny your white ass a tan.”
“Really? People stare in the gym sometimes.”
“They’re probably scoping out what you’re benching. You’re fit, bro. You shouldn’t be ashamed by that badge of honor. Scars are like tattoos without words or pictures…they’re that much cooler. Their stories come from real shit—real pain.”
“I don’t know, Bishop. I’ve seen some tattoos that tell a pretty painful story.”
“Yeah. Heart surgery?”
“Um…no…lung.”
“Oh. How often do you go to the gym?”
“Couple of times a week. I go to the apartment gym with two dudes I met there.”
“Sweet. I go at least two or three times a week. You’ll have to check it out sometime.”
“For sure. Dude, I need to piss. I’ll be right back.”
Bishop floated on his back as Tyson dried off and disappeared into the empty house to use the restroom. What seemed like an eternity had Bishop wondering if Tyson were inside exploring or perhaps talking to Alex on the phone. Finally, nearly twenty minutes later, Bishop exited the water and grabbed a towel.
He briefly checked his phone, only to be disheartened by the message “phone temp too high for use.” He’d foolishly left the devise in direct sunlight.
Once dried, he made his way through the backdoor. Much to his surprise, he found a smiling Tyson seated at the granite bar across from Bishop’s doting mother. Tyson was being treated to lemon cake and a tall glass of milk while Constance smiled and listened to him talk.
“Hey, dude…I thought you fell in.”
With a mouth full of cake, Tyson turned to Bishop. “My bad, man. I kind of had to introduce myself when I bumped in to your mom.”
“I’m so glad you did.” Bishop’s mother’s voice was soft, her words kind and mothering as she watched Tyson eat.
“I’m gonna throw your shirt in the dryer and grab you one of mine.” Bishop held up Tyson’s wet shirt. Tyson only nodded as he downed his glass of milk.
Returning from his room with a dry t-shirt for Tyson, he found his mother smiling yet her eyes housed a certain sorrow as she and Tyson continued their conversation. As Bishop approached, Constance merely touched his shoulder, smiled and excused herself.
As she left the room, Bishop looked curiously to Tyson. “So…what’s with my mom, dude? She feeds you and then takes off without offering me anything?”
“Ha. I dunno, dude. She’s awesome though. That cake was legit.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Following his mother to the second den, he found her with her back to him.
“Mom. Mom what’s wrong?” His soft tone had her turning to him, her hand over her mouth and tears welled in her eyes.
“You should have told me, Bishop. I needed warning. You should have warned me.”
“Warned you about Tyson?”
“Yes.”
“I think he can be a little crass sometimes. Did he say something—”
“Don’t be coy with me, Son. Tyson is a sweet boy. You know what I’m talking about.”
Her gratuitous gaze harassed his for the truth. He had nothing to offer. “Mom, I don’t know what you mean. I’ll let you know before I bring people over but I just met the dude. It was a rough morning and I went there to—”
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“Huh? Know what?”
“I’d imagine he doesn’t either.”
“Mom…you’re acting bizarre. What don’t I know? Is Tyson a serial killer or some shit?”
“No, sweet boy. Tyson is beautiful. He’s welcome here always. Please, bring him often. Now I’m tired and am going to lie down for a bit. I’ll be out after a while. I love you, Bish.”
“Um…I love you too, Mom. Are you sure everything is okay? Is Tyson okay?”
“Yes. Tyson appears to be perfect. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to lie down.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“And I love you, my sweet boy.”
Bishop watched his mother leave the room and was quick to make his way to the kitchen to Tyson. “Dude, what did you and my mom talk about?”
Taken aback by the change in tone, Tyson set his plate and glass in the sink and approached Bishop. “Nothing really. Introductions, she asked me about school and Alex…she asked about my surgery and I asked if she knew my physician. She does, dude. Small world. It wasn’t anything too intense.”
“Oh. Okay. My mom is off sometimes. Maybe having a dude close to Nate’s age in the house is weird for her.”
“My bad man. I don’t have to come back if it bothers her having me here—”
“Not at all, Tyson. She said she liked having you here.”
“Sweet. I’ll take more of that cake anytime.”