The commotion from the lower level woke Bishop. The arguments weren’t foreign to him, but this was something different; this was something deeper with a definitive tone. His mother sounded as though she was crying, and his father’s voice continued to escalate.
Bishop flung his bedding to the floor and flew from his room in his pajamas. He raced down the stairs to the kitchen.
Regardless the debate, there was no reason for his father to speak to his mother this way. Bishop was enraged.
As he reached the kitchen doorway, he didn’t pause in the entry; he bolted through, catching his parent’s attention. “Who the fuck do you think you are talking to her like that?”
“Bishop!” Constance attempted to interject but Bishop was now only a foot from his stunned father.
“Leave, Mom. Father and I need to talk.” Bishop’s tone was low, his fists balled and his gaze piercing as he stared his father down.
“Sweet boy…I don’t…I don’t think that is a good idea.”
“Please, Momma.”
Constance inhaled deeply and exited the backdoor.
“I don’t know why you’re here…your life isn’t here anymore—”
“Silence, you ungrateful mosquito. You would dare speak to me this way in my own house?”
His father was dressed in a suit, as if he were seconds away from a board meeting rather than drinking coffee and arguing in his own kitchen.
“I’ll move. I’ll move out—”
“With what? Please enlighten me, Son.”
“I don’t understand why you’re here. You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to be a part of this anymore—”
“And you would know exactly what it is I want? Such a bold and defiant rebel I’ve raised.”
Bishop stepped back. “Your life isn’t here, Dad. You know that. You just show up, make a mess of things and leave.”
“I’m to blame? Me? Explain.”
“I know you’re off sneaking behind Mom’s back. I know—”
“Shut your mouth. I would remind you that you stand in my kitchen, eating my food under my roof and wiping your ass with my bath tissue. You are nothing without the provisions I’ve provided.”
“I’m here with my family! With my mother! You are the one who left, not me.”
“What is your point, Bishop?”
“You don’t want to be a part of this anymore, Dad. Just admit that—”
“I have.” He smirked and pointed toward printed documents on the countertop.
Bishop glanced the stack over—divorce papers. Seeing the word divorce watered his eyes instantly. “Well…okay then.”
“I’ll be gone in a few days’ time. You’ll be free to suckle the teat indefinitely.”
“I’m going to go to medical school! I’m going to be a physician too!”
His father laughed. “Please, Son, let us not create fictitious and ludicrous scenarios simply to make us feel some small sense of accomplishment. At best you will be a thirty-year-old recovering alcoholic with a mediocre income living in a tarnished apartment complex.”
“What? No! I’m going to be a doctor! I’m going to help people—”
“You couldn’t even help him!” His father’s blurted statement came with bulging, ferocious eyes. His words hurt; they tore through Bishop like hot iron.
“Him? Nate?” Bishop stepped backward, his fists relaxing as he looked toward the floor. “You blame me for Nathan’s death…you really do hate me.”
“Bishop…I’m sorry.”
“He was always your favorite, and you blame me because I couldn’t stop him.” As if he’d been kicked in the core, Bishop found it difficult to inhale. Tears tore down his cheeks.
“I love both of you boys, Bishop. But there isn’t a day…or even a second that goes by that I don’t wonder what the outcome would have been had he not called me that night. Why didn’t my boy call me?”
Bishop’s knees trembled, his words escaped him. He leaned over the granite countertop and cried—silent tears. His father’s words were acidic and cruel, they were debilitating.
“Bishop…Son—”
“What is going on here?” Bishop heard his mother charging through the back door. “You sonofabitch! Why is he crying? What have you done to him?”
“Constance, things were said…Bishop, I’m—”
The sound of physical altercation had Bishop looking up. His mother’s open hand met his father’s face with a tremendous force.
“Fok jou!” Constance continued her wrath as Bishop watched his father attempt to shield himself. The enraged woman reached for a pan near the sink and struck her husband on the head with it. A sickening ‘thud’ resounded as Bishop grabbed his belligerent mother.
“Leave here! Leave here now!” She kicked at him from Bishop’s embrace.
“Constance! You’re insane! Have you gone mad?”
“I tolerated your lies and your whore, but not this! You will not hurt my sweet boy! Leave now or I will end you, bastard. I will kill you.”
Bishop walked his mother backwards as his stunned father collected himself, prodding his head with his fingers.
“This is how we end, Constance? We end like ruffians, like mortal enemies that have not spent our adult lives beside one another.”
“We ended long ago, you know this. You wet my boy’s eyes and I’ll break your bones. Leave…now.”
Shaking his head, he turned from his infuriated wife and distraught son and left the kitchen.
Few words were said between mother and son, and finally Bishop’s father reappeared, toting a suitcase. “I’ll send for the remainder of my belongings. Bishop…I love you, Son. I mean that.”
Bishop looked to his father through blurred vision. “Love you too, Dad. Now please…just go.”