Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  “Y’all got problems,” one of the employees says, waving them off and making her way back around the counter with a huff.

  Alesha follows her co-worker, muttering, “Damn frat boys.”

  I help the two of them up off the ground and lead them out the door, both of them still fighting fits of laughter.

  “I said, sneak the burger out,” I bark toward Mac when I spot him on the hood of my Jeep. He’s halfway through the burger already. “And get your ass off my Wrangler.”

  “Sorry,” he says, sliding on his rear until his feet meet the ground. “But that shit was hilarious. I couldn’t help myself.”

  I motion toward the other two and then point toward Mac. “Ain’t it quite the contradictory sight to see little Mac eatin’ a Big Mac?” I chuckle.

  Following a laugh of his own, Carter asks, “There were like three other employees back there who probably saw you take the burger anyway. And they had cameras. Was the fake fight even necessary?”

  We climb into the vehicle, and I settle into the passenger seat as Mac starts the engine, and then I glance back at Carter and Jeremy with a mischievous smirk on my face. “Honestly … I just wanted to see if y’all would do it.”

  “Worth every last beautiful second,” Mac responds, chuckling as he pulls the Jeep away from the lot. “I didn’t think your voice could even register above a whisper, Carter. What was it again? ‘I will fuck your soul’?” Mac bursts out laughing. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  Carter shrugs. “Gotta stay in character,” he responds as Mac navigates the Jeep back toward Main Street.

  “Does that mean you’re game for karaoke?” I ask.

  Carter shakes his head adamantly. “Oh hell no. I’m no singer.”

  “I got this one, gents,” Jeremy says. “I have the voice of a fuckin’ angel.”

  “I figure we knock out the serenading to a stranger and karaoke in one shot. Sound good?” I ask, and Jeremy nods.

  “Sounds damn good to me, man. Karaoke spot’s just up here on your right.” Jeremy points to a hole-in-the-wall bar off Main Street, with a ‘Karaoke’ sign flickering in bright neon red.

  Jeremy wasn’t lying about his voice. Not even close. He sings “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy),” which just so happens to be one of my most reviled songs. It’s what I call ‘bullshit country,’ the kind made for money and not passion. But Jeremy’s voice is velvety and alive, and before long, everyone in the place feels what I’m feeling—captivated. He serenades a girl Carter knows from back home and surprises us all when he caps off the performance with a quick dip of the beautiful stranger, his lips against hers, welcome and waiting.

  One-upping me, Jeremy is able to knock out three tasks in one go. As we exit the karaoke spot and congregate on the sidewalk, I praise him. “That was some good shit, man. We’re knocking them off like crazy. Let’s keep it goin’.” I take the list out of my pocket and flatten the crinkled paper out, examining it. “Alright, so we’ve got two more before the big one.”

  “And what’s the big one?” Mac asks.

  “Stealing another fraternity’s letter,” Carter and I respond in unison.

  “That’s not going to be easy, and if we get caught, be ready to either run or brawl,” Carter adds.

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’,” I say. “And I’m not much for running.” I crack a smile, but Mac’s features take up a new nervousness. “We’ve got two selfies to knock out before that. With a stripper and climbing Archie’s Tower. Whatever the fuck that is.”

  “It’s this radio tower at the north end of campus.” Carter points off in the distance, but it’s too dark to see anything. As he lowers his hand, seeming to realize how ineffective pointing is in the dark, he adds, “It’s tall as hell.”

  “Who here can do heights?” I ask.

  Uneasy looks pass over their youthful faces.

  “Not a fucking chance.” Mac lets out a nervous chuckle.

  “I ain’t so good with ’em either,” Jeremy says. “’Besides, I’d say I carried my own weight tonight already.”

  “That you did,” I agree.

  Carter shakes his head stiffly without a word.

  “Didn’t you jump out of airplanes or something in the Army?” Mac questions, and I let out a heavy sigh before relenting.

  “Yeah, but I at least had a fuckin’ parachute,” I say, laughing. “No worries. I’ll take care of it. But it’s gonna take some time to get up there, so I think it’s best if we split up for these next two. Carter, you come with me to the tower, so you can let someone know if I fall to my death. I really don’t want to end my existence on this earth as bear shit. Mac, Jeremy, you guys go get a selfie with a stripper. Tough job you got there.” I smirk.

  “Harder than ya think,” Jeremy says, grinning. “Crescent Falls strippers are fuckin’ succubae, man. And we’re fresh outta cash.”

  I chuckle as I gesture toward Mac for the keys with gimmie fingers. “Improvise.” I laugh, winking. “And remember to protect the boys. Stilettos are fuckin’ deadly.”

  “You alright to drive?” Mac asks, handing over the keys.

  I snatch them from his hand, rolling my eyes. “It’s my fuckin’ car, bitch. And I wasn’t born yesterday. Two shots and a drink are like child’s play in my world.”

  Mac shrugs, taking a step back and putting his hands up. “Alright, alright,” he says.

  “Just get your selfie done and we’ll meet up after, alright?” I ask with no intent on waiting for responses. I head toward the Jeep and Carter follows suit. “Text me when y’all are finished,” I add over my shoulder, climbing into the vehicle, Carter close behind.

  After a few minutes on the road, I turn to Carter and ask, “So how tall we talkin’ here?”

  “A hundred feet. Maybe more.”

  “Fuck me runnin’. All this shit better be worth it, goddammit.”

  “What are you even doing rushing a fraternity anyway? You know there’s going to be a lot of bullshit you have to go through. They’re not going to fuck with you too much or anything, at least I don’t think so, but you’re going to have to do some really stupid shit.”

  I shrug. “You spend enough time alone with the kind of thoughts I got, and a little bullshit starts lookin’ quite alright.”

  “I can only imagine.” Carter’s focus shifts to the dash, wrinkles of uncertainty taking up his forehead. I wonder just how much this kid holds on to. By the look of it, he’s got the whole damn world on his shoulders sometimes. “It’s up here on the right,” Carter says, pointing toward a clearing in the pines. He ducks his head a little to get a better view of the tower through the windshield.

  I take the turn and slow the vehicle, also dipping my head to try and get a glance at it but to no avail. After a few moments, I finally spot the steel gargantuan tower jutting into the pitch-black sky, so far up that I can’t see the top through the clouds. I let out a heavy breath as I slow the vehicle to a stop, and then I glance over at Carter as if there’s a leg sprouting from his forehead.

  “People really do this fuckin’ shit?”

  “Yeah, they have for decades, my man. My dad did it with his pledge brothers. And his father, my grandfather, did it before him. It’s something of a DIK tradition.”

  “I keep hearin’ about these fuckin’ traditions tonight, man,” I say, shaking my head as I swing my door open. “At some point, logic’s gotta win out.”

  “It’s just a part of the process, Bishop.”

  “Do you wanna do it?” I ask rhetorically with an eyebrow quirked.

  Carter’s face goes white. He gives his head a quick shake. “Nah, I’d rather not.”

  “Alright, so just let me bitch then. I didn’t say I ain’t gonna do it. I’m just sayin’, somebody, at some point, has to scratch their head and say, ‘Hey, maybe this isn’t the smartest move here, havin’ eighteen, nineteen-year-old kids climbing fuckin’ radio towers.” I chuckle, heading out into the icy air. The smell of pine and frosty d
ew surrounds me.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got a veteran to do it then, huh?” Carter jokes, hopping out of the Jeep as well, shutting the door behind him. His gaze shifts toward the clouds that surround the tip of the tower like a bonnet. “Fuck,” he mutters.

  As I grab a pair of combat gloves from my center console and slip them on, I ask, “Yeah, ‘fuck’ is about right.” I shake my head, taking a few deep breaths as my eyes trail slowly up and down the frosted metal monstrosity. “Why do they call it Archie’s Tower anyway?”

  Stepping up to the base, I put my hands against the thick steel—cold even through the gloves—before looking back at Carter, who hasn’t answered me yet.

  “Well?”

  “This kid named Archie Dugan, back in the sixties or seventies, or something like that …” Carter’s voice trails off, his eyes traveling from the base of the tower to the very top again before looking back over at me. “Ended up falling from the top of that thing, trying to take a polaroid. Died from it.”

  “You have got be fuckin’ kidding me.” I shake my head, heaving myself up onto the first rung, my heart pitter-pattering in my chest.

  “It’s only a tall tale. Nobody knows if it’s actually true or not,” Carter assures me.

  I glance down at him and smile. “Well, if I fall, I’m headin’ straight for your fuckin’ head. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I laugh, starting my reckless ascent.

  Halfway up, I think my heart might just burst from my chest. I don’t bother to look down, as I know it’ll likely make me sick and freeze me right where I’m at. I’ve never been good with heights; airborne training was the worst, but that’s exactly why I did it. I get off on those things that terrify me the most. Unfortunately, in this instance, I find that, without a safety harness or parachute, my fear is taking much of the satisfaction I’d usually get from a situation such as this. The air is also frigid, my face numbing by the second, my muscles trembling in an attempt to warm them.

  Breathing slow, steady breaths, I continue up one rung after another, until I’m nearly at the top, the air around me sending shivers down my spine. There’s a churn in my gut as I imagine slipping on one of the last few steps I have left and falling mercilessly toward the frozen, unforgiving ground.

  I shake away the thoughts and push on, one slow, steady step at a time as I sing ‘The Crimson’ by Atreyu loudly to busy my mind. Eventually, I’m at the top and amongst the clouds. Taking a deep breath, I pull myself tightly into the steel beam, locking it into the crook of my elbow, no space between me and the metal. I pull my phone out of my pocket with my free hand, and as I hold it up to take the selfie, I can see the speckled lights of downtown Crescent Falls off in the distance behind me. A smattering of twinkling stars is set behind it.

  “Are you alright up there?” Carter calls out, his voice distant, nearly inaudible.

  I lift a half-assed middle finger on the hand belonging to the arm that grips the beam and snap the selfie, shoving the phone back into my pocket quickly once I have it and then grabbing the beam with both hands. For the first time, I look down, and I’m hit with cold sweats instantly. My stomach is set to tumble dry. My heart drums like a Neil Peart solo.

  “Havin’ the time of my fuckin’ life!” I yell down through clenched teeth, dizziness forcing me to bring my eyes back to the horizon. I shut my eyes, taking steady breaths to try and control my rapid breathing.

  What in the ever-lovin’ fuck am I doin’ up here?

  I slowly start my descent, which is far worse than coming up the tower, as I must blindly search for the rungs with my feet.

  The last thought that crosses my mind, as my foot slips, is how fucking stupid I must be to be in this position. I don’t have long to ruminate over it, though, as the weight of my lower body jerks me down with great force. The breath lurches from my lungs as I squeeze the steel beam with everything I have, envisioning my hands slipping off the frosted metal. As I try and position my dangling feet on the next rung down, I feel the strength in my arms giving way. My mind runs through options and outcomes, my heart racing with every hair-raising second.

  Complete and utter panic sets in.

  “FUCK! BISHOP, YOU OKAY?” CARTER calls out.

  I take a deep breath, my feet finally meeting the rungs and settling, my arms still wrapped tight around the beam.

  “I think I may have just shit myself,” I yell back to him, waiting for my heart to stop thrashing in my chest before I continue my descent.

  “I thought you were falling, man. Shit. I thought that was it. I was down here ready to catch you, though.”

  I inch my way down, slower this time, and I reply, “You know that would’ve just killed you too, right?”

  “What?” he yells out in response.

  “Hold on a damn second! I’m tryin’ not to die here,” I grumble, continuing slowly for a few moments before I eventually come within non-lethal falling range. A few more feet and I’ll be back on solid ground.

  “If you tried to catch me fallin’, you would’ve died too. That’s what I was trying to say,” I repeat, hopping off the last rung and breathing out a heavy sigh, never being so happy to feel the ground beneath my feet.

  Carter shrugs. “Well, good thing you didn’t fall then.”

  “Yeah, good thing,” I say, chuckling and then letting out a heavy breath as my heartbeat steadies.

  “Holy fucking ballsack, that’s crazy, dude,” Mac says, eyeing the selfie I took not twenty minutes ago from the top of Archie’s Tower. Even after making the trip back to the frat house, a surge of adrenaline still courses through my veins.

  Mac and Jeremy had their own story, of course, and they’d told me and Carter all about it the moment we met up as I was still trying to snuff out the steady waves of anxiety. The party rages inside already, the beats from the subs pouring through the side door sound much like my heart when I clung to the top of that tower.

  Mac’s selfie, by all accounts, is no selfie at all, as just a speck of the topless stripper can be seen at the very top of the dark photo.

  “I’d say a hell of a lot better than your ‘selfie,’” I jest, throwing up air quotes as I lean my back against the Wrangler with a wide grin. “You know you’re gonna get an earful for that.” I slip a hand into my pocket and dig out my pack of cigarettes.

  I pull a cig from the pack and slip it between my lips as Jeremy reasons, “We were outta options.” He shrugs. “Them ladies weren’t messin’ around. Smelled us comin’ from a mile away.”

  “Obviously,” I tease, nodding toward Mac’s phone as he pockets it. “I would’ve laughed if you left the flash on or somethin’ and she caught y’all.”

  Jeremy laughs as a look of shame falls on Mac’s face.

  “Tell me she did. Please tell me she did.” I put my hands together in mock-prayer.

  “She chased our asses outta there with her fuckin’ stiletto,” Jeremy grunts, laughing loudly. “And we’re fuckin’ blinded by fucksticks flash.”

  “No fuckin’ way! That shit’s great!” I howl.

  “You bet your ass it happened,” Jeremy responds, two hands to his gut as he doubles over. “She nearly caught the little fucker.” He points toward Mac who flashes him a look of detest.

  I rest a hand on Mac’s shoulder and ask, “I’m glad you survived to tell the story, my friend.”

  He scoffs, his eyes wide. “You’re telling me. I was scared for my life. It wasn’t only the stripper, it was the bouncers, too. And those WWE wrestling, quarterback-sacking bastards could’ve eaten me whole if they caught me.”

  Jeremy laughs harder now.

  “Y’all, I can’t even paint this picture for you. It had to be seen in person, and goddamn, I’m sure glad I was able to see it with my own eyes.” Jeremy points toward Mac. “This motherfucker turned ghost white. Fuckin’ hightailed it out of there like his ass was on fire.”

  “Not like you helped any, you fucking scrotum.” Mac narrows his eyes at Jeremy. “
Fucker bounced before I even took the picture.”

  “I couldn’t fuckin’ see, man!”

  Our laughter fills the night air now, loud and boisterous, broken up after a few moments by a high-pitched whistle. We look back and find Damian coming up the road with a six-pack in one hand, and his thumb and pointer retreating from his pouted lips.

  “What the fuck you guys doing out here?” he barks. “Don’t you got shit to do?”

  “We’ve only got one more thing left to do,” I respond, taking a drag of my cigarette as Damian analyzes me.

  “Well, that was fast. Let me guess which one you got left—Archie’s Tower,” he asks, more like a statement, followed by a hearty chuckle.

  “Nope, Bish did that already,” Mac says, a look of unearned pride on his face.

  Damian’s laughter stops abruptly. His eyes dart to mine and he passes me a doubtful look. “Fuck you. No, he didn’t,” he says, looking at me but seemingly speaking to Mac.

  “He sure as shit did,” Mac responds, motioning to my pocket. “Show him, dude.”

  “Yeah, show me,” Damian agrees, a smug look taking up his features.

  I pull out my phone, locating my photo album first, and then the tower selfie, handing the phone off to Damian.

  He takes it, looking closer for a moment, his eyes going wide. “No fucking way,” he mutters, pulling the phone closer to his face. He stares intently and then turns and motions for us to follow him as he announces, “Trevor isn’t gonna fucking believe this shit.”

  He opens the side door, and dance music and lights come pouring out from inside. We follow in after him as he maneuvers his way through the crowd to the couches in the middle. Each of our heads is on a swivel. There are probably a couple hundred people in the basement at the moment, scattered throughout the large room in co-ed clusters. Women outnumber the men three to one, and all the other men have letters on their chest but us.

  “Yo, pledges,” Damian says, whistling again with his fingers to his lips, and then motioning for us to hurry up with the same hand.