“There are so many memories in these halls, Bish. So many hanging on the walls, as well.”
“Leave them, Mom. Leave them all there. We’ll make new ones and remember the good ones…but forget the ones that include rumbles in the kitchen.”
“But when you leave…when you leave me here alone, what then?”
“Mom, you’ll never be alone. You’re a highly respected and successful physician. Our home is here. Nathan grew up here. We can’t sell that. Besides, you and I are going to practice together someday, remember?”
Bishop and Constance stood on the second floor of their home, glancing over family photos in the long hallway.
“You’re right. I’m at peace when I’m here.”
“I’ll just plan on being that weird guy that never moves out. But I promise I’ll eventually start paying rent.”
“Oh, sweet boy…some day you will have a family of your own and you will want your own walls to contain your own memories.”
“I do have a family of my own…I have you, Mom.”
“You know what I mean, Son.”
Bishop scratched his head. “Yeah…that’s the last thing I want to think about right now.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“You know why.”
“Sweet boy…I think we’re far enough away from that day that you can talk to me. Talk to me about it. Please.”
Cocking his head, Bishop crossed his arms and rested his shoulder into the wall. “I don’t know what there is to talk about.”
“There’s plenty. Your smile hides your words…it hides your feelings. Talk to me, sweet boy.”
Swallowing hard, Bishop looked to the floor. “I never felt like that about someone before. I just…I never thought I could actually feel that way. It was so short but it was just…perfect and a disaster…a perfect disaster. But it was all a big lie.”
“All a lie? Are you certain, Bish?”
“Well yeah…she should have been honest with me. She should have…she should have just…”
“What, Bish?”
“It’s like there were these little moments where, in hindsight, she wanted to tell me but she couldn’t.”
“Oh. So you feel she wanted to be honest with you, yet didn’t feel she had the opportunity, correct?”
“Possibly.”
“And now that time has allowed for settling, do you see her in a villainous light? Do you find her completely unredeemable?”
“What? I don’t know…why do you ask that?”
“Sweet boy, had I thought that young woman was out to hurt you I’d have chased her from my home that morning. I do feel she made an ignorant an unforgiveable mistake, but as a whole I don’t feel she’s an awful human being. I don’t think my son could ever fall in love with an awful human being.”
“An awful human being? Geez, Mom…what do people have to do for you to write them off?”
“This isn’t about me, Bish. I’m not the one cloaked in misery. You look as though you’re the one being divorced.”
“Dad’s a douche. You’re better off divorcing his dumbass.”
“A douche, indeed, but as I said, this isn’t about me.”
Bishop stood up straight and looked to the ceiling. “It’s just something I have to get over, Mom. I’m not the first dude to get walked on.”
“Okay. Well while you’re in the process of getting over it, remember that she sought you out to ensure you were okay…not to deceive you. Even if you never speak to the girl again, I think it would behoove you to forgive her eventually.”
“Wha…well…that’s easier said than done, Mom.”
“Yes, Son, forgiving those we care about is often more difficult than forgiving enemies.”
Her comment captured his gaze, yet didn’t elicit an immediate response.
“Life is short, Bishop. Each breath is a blessing, each day is a miracle, and each minute we forget that is a potential missed opportunity to really live. Pride can be such a barrier.”
“What the hell, Mom? Whose side are you on?”
“Precious boy. I will always be on your side. And I will always defend you from anything out to hurt you. That may not include silly girls with poor decision making skills. I think you are doing a fine job keeping them at bay.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Mom. I don’t know how to forgive someone for something like that. I know how I feel about her, and I know how bad this sucks right now, but I think this is more than just an issue of pride. I trusted her with all I had and I would have put literally everything into it. I deserved more than that.”
“I agree, sweet boy. I wasn’t trying to upset you. Now, will you take that box from your father’s closet to the garage? I need to take it to the Goodwill this afternoon.”
“I see you’re moving on quite quickly.”
“Have you talked to your father, Bish?”
“Yeah…for a few minutes yesterday. He was pleasant. He cried, and that made me pretty happy.”
“He cried?”
“Yeah. He said he regretted how things happened.”
“I’m sure he does. I love you, Bish.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
Bishop kissed his mother’s cheek and watched her descend the staircase. With her gone, his attention rested once more on the memories hanging around him—smiling faces painted on a united family of four.
His gaze traced each photo. Each year, and its abundance of memories, was consolidated into an eight-by-ten or twelve-by-fourteen inch frame. He was soon inches from Nathan’s open door.
Rather than turn his head and avoid the sight entirely, Bishop rested his head on the doorframe and peered inside. Seeing Nathan’s unmade bed, knowing he was the last to climb from its white sheets, had Bishop swallowing hard. Nothing had been touched. It was as if Nathan had been home for the weekend, left for school just that morning, and his room was in typical college dude disarray.
The hamper was full; his pajamas were near the end of the bed, draping the oak bedframe.
Cautiously, he stepped into Nathan’s room—into his own past.
Nathan had an open-door policy, unless his door was closed. Bishop would often simply walk in, sit and vent. His brother would listen intently to Bishop’s problems, all benign in hindsight, and would then offer consultation.
Nathan’s room once housed a specific scent—it was nothing musky or foul. Rather; it was masculine and pine-like. That scent was gone. The room smelled like the hall.
Bishop felt uneasy as he looked toward the floor. Dust had accumulated heavily on Nathan’s keyboard and computer screen. There was a plate and fork in front of the computer from a brownie Nathan had consumed just days before the incident.
As memories flooded, so did Bishop’s eyes. He turned to exit as his gaze caught sight of a red notebook, half-tucked from near the end of the bed on the floor.
His initial instinct to walk past was overcome by the longing to connect—to feel closer to Nathan without feeling like a common trespasser. Without a second thought, he reached for the notebook and quickly made his way from the room.
Safely behind the closed door of his own room, he sat on his bed with the notebook in his hands. Knowing that the last hands to rest on the spiraled book were his brother’s made him feel something calming.
His hands trembled as he opened the cover. Small doodles and few phone numbers lined the first page—nothing worth more than a glance or two.
The second page had him swallowing hard, scratching his head nervously, and anxiously preparing to read what appeared to be a poem.
His eyes and fingertip traced the words, not ready to absorb them quite yet. He looked away repeatedly until finally he anchored his gaze to the title—Still Nathan.
Still Nathan
I’m still Nathan; I work hard to be,
Ambition and smiles when you look at me.
I’m still Nathan, at least for today.
Tomorrow may come and sweep me away.
I’m still Nathan—chasing my dreams.
Some dreams chase me back and unravel my seams.
I’m still Nathan, I can’t pretend.
I’m clueless and weak, lacking means to defend.
I’m still Nathan, don’t leave me behind.
Held captive and crumbling within my own mind.
I’m still Nathan. My smile is tired.
My dreams, my today, tomorrow…undesired.
I’m still Nathan. I love you no less.
I cannot continue…but only rest.
I’m still Nathan. Stay with me awhile.
Trade me your courage for a fading smile…
I was Nathan—remember my laughter.
Carry this smile with yours ever after.
I was Nathan…I’ll always be.
Remember that when you think of me.
I’m still Nathan.
Bishop stared at the lines, mouth agape and lip quivering. A dizzying nausea nearly overtook him—the feeling one may experience moments prior to passing out wasted on the floor. Room spinning—difficult to inhale entirely—diaphoretic and on the verge of purging…and then he was yelling with all he had left.
“Mom!” His voice cracked. “Mom!”
He heard her racing up the stairs within seconds but seconds were decades.
“Bishop! What…what is wrong?” She raced down the hall, she flung the bedroom door open—taken aback to find her son holding Nathan’s notebook. “Oh…oh, sweet boy, no.” She gently removed the notebook from Bishop’s hands and took his face in her cool palms. “Breathe, Son.”
“You…did you know about that?”
“Breathe, Bishop.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s just anxiety, sweet boy. Breathe.”
“Have you read that, Mom?”
Her eyes answered him as they glistened. She smiled and kissed his forehead. “I read it at least once a week. There are some beautiful words in there—”
“That’s not beautiful, Momma, that’s a fucking suicide note!” He stood from the bed. “How could I have missed that?” Pacing, he attempted to maintain his breath—his gaze tattooed on the floor, his hands behind his head. “I say…I tell people he was my best friend but how could I miss that? How? How did I miss that?”
“Bishop…you didn’t know.”
“Hell no, I didn’t know!” His pace quickened. “I just assumed there would be jerk-off material under his bed…not a book of suicidal poetry. And I just assumed that I’d be his best man, and he’d be mine. I assumed he was joking around when he called but he wasn’t, Mom! Well no more because you know what? Dad is right! If I would have just…If…if I could have just known. If I would have just…and now…”
“Bishop, sweet boy—”
“No! No more assuming. I failed him and now my head is just as screwed as his was. I lost my best friend, Mom! I lost him and he told me I was going to. I just ignored him. He prepackaged it into a pretty little paragraph, and I still missed all the signs.”
“Enough!” Her grip on his bicep was firm and affixing. “I will not allow anyone to disrespect you in my presence. That includes you. You couldn’t have known. This was not your fault and your father is a fool for ever allowing those words to leave his mouth.” She forcefully pulled him into her, embracing him. “Your mind is beautiful. You are beautiful. There has certainly been a hiccup but please do not allow a poem to derail you, Son. You have a plan…you have a goal here. Continue to heal and to grow into the awesome man you are becoming.”
“I miss him so much, Mom. I shouldn’t have read that.” His voice was high pitched—tears streaming as he pressed his cheek into his mother’s hair.
“I know. As do I. You boys are my life. You are both so precious to me.”
“I love you so much, Mom. I can’t do any of this without you.”
She looked up to him, smiling sweetly. “Bish…you can do anything you want. The world is yours, Son. You cannot allow a decision your brother made to define your future. You know how much Nathan loved you. He would never hurt you. You didn’t know he was sick because he loved you, and he wanted it that way. This isn’t on you, baby boy.”
“Then why is my heart still breaking?”
“You have the biggest heart of any man I know, Bishop. Something that large will take time to mend. You’ll get there, sweet boy. We’ll get there.”
Bishop wiped his eyes once more. “Somedays I wonder what the hell I did to deserve half this shit dumped on me…but I honestly have no clue what I did to deserve such an awesome mother. You really are the best, Mom.”
“You are the best, Bishop. We…are the best.”