Seven Months Later
Perhaps it was the patriotic aspect of it. They were born in South Africa but had grown up in the States. Maybe it was the countless, enriched traditions. Nah…it was what it was. It was blowing up ant dens, the rich smell of hotdogs and burgers on the air with a hint of Black Cat smoke. It was water guns and grinning kids with sparklers in the twilight—running about the green grass. The totaling factors equated to a majestic scene year after year…equated to Nathan’s favorite holiday—Fourth of July.
This year the holiday was hollow and drenched in vodka at three in the afternoon. Sporting a smirk and half-tucked button-up dress shirt, Bishop urinated near the pool of his parent’s second home—much to his mother’s dismay. The beautiful fifty-four-year-old woman watered her plants as Bishop watered the bushes.
Bishop was less than modest in front of either of his parents; however, his all-but-belligerent intoxication had his mother, Constance Holloway, irritated.
“Bish, there are facilities indoors, dear. Please, Son.”
Zipping his zipper, he walked to the shade. His mother offered a loving kiss on the cheek beneath the pergola as he poured another drink, he hoped she didn’t notice his slight stumble. “Yep.”
“You hungry, Bish? I want to feed you supper.”
“Yep.”
In a less than intrusive manner, she gently removed the glass from his hand—setting it within reach on the grill. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she embraced her son. “I love you, Bishop. I love you so much.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
“Have you…have you thought about it anymore? If now’s not a good time—”
“I have. I’ll go.”
Almost instantly the woman pulled away, looking up at her son with an undeniable smile. “You’re…you’re not just saying this because of the drinks, are you? Bish?”
“Nah, Momma. I’ve thought about it. I can’t…I can’t be here by myself. And I sure don’t wanna be here by myself when the snow comes back. I’ll go.”
“Oh! Oh, Bishop!” Hugging him once more—squeezing him, Bishop felt the breath being forced from him.
“Jesus, Mom…you trying to squeeze my intestines out?”
She lifted her face to meet his, her eyes boasted a wet pain that Bishop was all too familiar with. “I don’t wanna leave you here, sweet boy. I can’t. I need you with me. I need you safe.”
“Okeydoke.”
“You have no idea how happy this makes me.”
“I’m…I’m actually happy about it too, I think. I think I’m over this place, Mom.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. I need a new scene. I need a zebra and a giraffe or two in my life.”
“You need to rest. You need to let me tend to you.”
“Nah, Mom. I need a job. I need to stop freeloading and get my shit together.”
Her soft hand aside his face, Bishop relaxed his cheek into her palm and closed his eyes. She was a constant source of comfort. Bishop actually enjoyed his mother’s company and would pass up evenings at elite clubs with friends just to sit at home and sip red wine while playing cards with his mom. Her views, intellect, and unwavering loyalty had resulted in a fortified bond. Although he’d left her to wonder a day and a half…he knew without a doubt he’d be leaving the United States for Cape Town, South Africa. There was no reason to stay with both his parents primarily living there and with Nathan diminished to ash.
“You could study. Relax…surf…study and read.”
Smiling at the idea of the ocean breeze and his board in hand, he found himself yawning as his mother ran her fingers through his hair.
“Study what?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“Hmmm…medicine?” Smiling largely, winking at his mother, he waited for her reply.
“If you wish to do so.” Her soft eyes focused on his. “Study architecture, English, engineering, or education. Study humanities if you wish. Just learn…always learn, precious boy.”
“I’ll be twenty-four in eight months. I can’t just study indefinitely and expect you and Dad to take care of me—”
“You’ve never expected anything from us, Bish. Your father and I have worked hard to give you boys…to give you the life you have because you are our life.”
“Mom—”
“Stop thinking about it so much. Leave here. Slow down. Smile and laugh. Let me cook your breakfast and do your laundry. I need this too, Bishop.”
There was never an urge to argue or even debate. Bishop only needed clarification as to what the expectations were.
“My sweet boy. The freckles on your nose are darkening…your hair is getting lighter…I love summer. Ek het jou lief.”
“Ek is lief vir jou ook ma…I love you too.”
Kissing her forehead, he turned for the door.
“What are you hungry for, Bishop?”
“Meat.”
“Steak?”
He turned and offered a sarcastic smile, then nodded and walked through the door. Through the immaculate kitchen—dazzled with granite and hardwood—and up the spiral stairs to his semi-transparent bottle of anti-depressants, which blatantly warned against mixing with alcohol.
Glancing about his bedroom, he popped the cap and downed two pills with vodka and tonic. Soon he’d be numb—but only physically. Physical sedation was better than absolute awareness—he’d take it. Walking down the hall, his glance traced the wall opposing Nathan’s bedroom. Although the bedroom door remained open, nothing within it had been resituated. Unable to look on the contents, Bishop looked away from it, as though it were a gruesome animal splatter scene on the highway, every time he passed the room.
Through the bathroom door, he’d no sooner glanced at his reflection when an alarm beeped from his pocket. Dammit.
Removing his phone, his heart raced as he read,
Interview with Melony Readers—17:30.
“Shit!”
Opening the bathroom door, Bishop headed for the staircase, his belly woozy from the alcohol and summer sun. The doorbell resounded through the two-story house—she was here. Melony was here from the college to conduct the interview.
Down the stairs and to the front door, he opened it to a short red-headed girl and tall kid with a bag.
“Hi.”
“Hello! Bishop Holloway?”
“Yes.”
Basically forcing her way past Bishop, the girl looked about the beautiful home. “Is this where we’re setting up?”
“Um…sure.”
“Are you wearing that?”
“Uh…is this going to be on camera? Are you filming this—”
“You goof! Yes. This story is my two birds, one stone feature. It’s also been selected to air on Tuesday at six. News Channel Sixteen.”
“What? Oh, I can’t go on film. I look—”
“You look natural and relaxed. You look perfect. Where will you be sitting?”
Watching Melony and her cameraboy unpack, Bishop felt a nauseating anxiety brewing.
“I…I guess here.”
“Ya know…when I first got the lead and read you and Nathan were from South Africa, I foolishly assumed you were both black.”
Her crass statement and bulldog approach had Bishop wanting to evict her. Watching the doorway, he prayed his mother would appear from the kitchen and demand they leave.
Ten minutes later, a medium-sized camera and an ambitious journalism student were both staring Bishop down. Bishop’s mother did finally appear, but only to say hello and smile as if she were looking on playing children. She excused herself to the yard and the grill to prepare supper for herself and her son.
“Bishop, you’re a recent alumnus and your brother was a freshman, correct?”
Feverishly pressing his sweaty palms together, Bishop composed himself and forced a smile. “That’s correct.”
“Is it safe to say you enjoyed your academic experience?”
“Um…yes. I feel it’s prepared…prepared me for the next phase in my life.”
“Excellent. Bishop, you and your family recently suffered a significant loss, correct.”
“That’s correct.”
Silence filled the room as Melony’s prodding eyes worked to elicit additional details.
“My brother…my little brother, Nathan, shot himself last December.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Bishop. Where did this take place?”
Swallowing hard, Bishop inhaled deeply and passively allowed his breath to escape him. “Near the woods on campus.”
“And you, Bishop, were actually on the phone and engaged in conversation with him when this tragedy took place, correct?”
“Yes…I was talking to him when it happened.”
“Now, Bishop, tell me, were there any signs leading up to this? Did you ever think your brother would do something like this?”
The question was coupled with the numbing effects of the antidepressants—warm and swimming in his belly and blood. “Nah…I never thought that this would happen. I never thought he’d do that.”
“And how well did you know him?”
Instant irritation took over—nearly replacing the resident anxiety. “How well did I know him? He was my brother and my best friend.”
“Okay. So you feel he would have told you, or perhaps you would have picked up on clues?”
“Yeah.”
“How has this tragedy affected you and your family? How have you moved on?”
Words can choke—Bishop only just now realized this. So much behind one question. So much pain under one answer. “My family has been devastated. We’re just, I dunno…we take it day by day.”
Her mannerisms and shrew-like features had Bishop wanting to tell her to piss-off. Her eyes were overly aggressive and her poise intrusive from five feet away.
“Would you call what your brother did, and the pain that he has caused you, a selfish act?”
“What?” Heart rate accelerating, Bishop felt his blood pulsate under the skin of his neck. “My brother wasn’t selfish.”
“Understandable, but the act, Bishop…the act of suicide…would you call that selfish?”
The words leapt from his mouth before his brain could saddle or even evaluate them. “If the Board of Psychiatry and the medical community in general don’t completely understand depression, why would I? Why would you? Why was it selfish? I don’t know why he did what he did and I’ll never have the opportunity to ask him but the last thing I want you reporting is that I think my brother is selfish.”
“Emotion…good. So, do you condone what he did?”
“Of course not…I don’t understand it so I can’t judge it and neither can anyone else. It’s not about them and if they say it is then they’re the ones that are selfish.”
“Indeed, Bishop. Tell me, if you could go back to that night, what would you have done differently? Would you have begged, or possibly—”
“I did beg!” Bishop’s nerves felt afire—blistering beneath her interrogation. “I…I did beg him.”
“I’m sure. Bishop, would you say suicide is an epidemic in America? Would you say it’s reached proportions that require major intervention?”
“What? If…if only one person takes their life then I think it should require major intervention. If someone’s that sad…there’s more to it than the end. It’s more than our suffering. I wish people could see that part.”
“That part? Expand on that.”
“Everyone focuses on how it affects them and how selfish they were and they fail to remember that their friends or family members that jump, hang themselves, down a month’s worth of meds, or blow their brains out, didn’t do it because they were happy. They were sad. That’s what we should focus on. Why are we so sad? That’s the epidemic…the suicide is just a tragic way to escape it.”
“Excellent point, Bishop. It seems as though you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“Um, yeah, my brother killed himself. I’ve given it a bit of thought.”
“I’m sure, Bishop. What would you like us to know about Nathan?”
So much—too much. Nathan was so much more than a chemical imbalance…so much more than what took him. So much more than a statistic. “Just that he was the best brother a guy could ask for…he was my best friend and a hero.” Losing his words—nearly his voice, Bishop’s eye’s began to dampen with despair.
“A hero?” Melony’s condescending tone was an evil nail on a vicious chalkboard.
“Yes…a hero. He saved five lives by donating.”
“Organ donation?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. He was a registered donor. Bishop, have you met any of the organ recipients?”
“Um…nah. We got a letter from the man who got his left kidney. We’re supposed to meet him pretty soon.”
“You said five people?”
“Yeah, his heart, lungs, liver, and both kidneys all went to save other people’s lives.”
“And you’ve yet to meet them?”
“Not yet. We learned his lungs and liver went to local people from around here…but us finding out was a slip up.”
“You’re not privileged to that information?”
“Nope.”
“Tell me, Bishop, does it anger you that your brother gave this ultimate gift of life, and only one of its receivers has stepped forward to offer thanks.”
Her scowl and predatory gaze was no longer intimidating. Along with her questions—all she was offering was annoyance at this point.
“No. I have no idea what it’s like to be in their position. How…how do you thank someone for something like that?”
“So you don’t find it selfish—”
“No, I don’t think they’re selfish, I don’t think Nathan was selfish and I don’t think I want to talk about it anymore.”
“Just a few more questions, Bishop.”
“You heard my boy. There will be no more questions.” The scene fell solemn as the attention was turned to Bishop’s mother, standing in doorway, eyeing Melony like an angry lioness ready to kill for her cub.
“Oh, hello there. Do you have anything to add, Constance?” Standing to greet the woman, Melony adjusted her skirt and walked to Bishop’s mom. “I would—”
“You’re leaving.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You’ve upset my son. I won’t ask politely again.”
Stunned, seemingly appalled, Melony flushed red—her jaw agape and her nostrils flared, she turned from Constance and motioned the camera boy to pack it up. “He agreed to the interview. Just saying.”
“I’m sure he did.” Constance stepped into the living room, her gaze set on Melony—her tone soft yet stern. “All’s well until you upset my boys…you’re lucky his face is dry.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted to something darker—something Bishop could only vaguely understand from afar. His mother had always been hyper-protective of both him and Nathan, but with Nathan gone it seemed Constance longed to shield Bishop from the world’s unnecessary cruelty…from the world’s untactful journalism students.
Ushering them from the home, Constance bolted the door and turned to Bishop. “Supper is ready, Bish.”
“This is freakin’ great.”
“What?”
“I’m gonna look like a fool on T.V. because of that bitch.”
“My sweet boy…that bitch should know better than to cross me a second time. I’m positive your fifteen seconds of fame will reflect positively on your character. Come…eat your supper.”