Bishop (A Frat Chronicles Novel)

by B. T. Urruela

  “I mean, I can pull back a little. You need me to insult you? Even things out.”

  Taking a sip of her soda, she shoots me a glare, and after swallowing, she says, “That depends. Do you value your life?” Her face remains straight, no sign of breaking.

  “I do, in fact. And I’ve seen you in action. So, no, thank you. I’ll stick with the compliments.”

  She smiles and says, “You’d actually be pretty proud of me.”

  “Oh yeah? More so than I already am?”

  She nods. “I think so … in a week, I’m heading to Europe. London first, and I’m just going to wander by train all over the place from there for a month, maybe two. Who knows? The one-way flight there is already booked.”

  “Wow! Congratulations, Em! That’s such big news! I’m proud of you, you know? You’re gonna have the time of your life.”

  “Thanks.” She smiles sweetly. “I’m crazy excited about it. It took a little bartering with the parents, but when I informed them of just how much money I have the potential of making through vlogging, they caved.”

  “You’re gonna crush it!”

  “Thanks, Bishop. So are you! I really can’t wait to see you be everything I always knew you could. You have this good aura around you. You’re inspiring, charming and intelligent. You’re going to make it in no time at all.”

  I laugh, brushing her comment off. “Yeah, well, I won’t be holdin’ my breath, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  “I know you’ll make it. And I’m always right, so….”

  “Shoot, how did I forget that?”

  “The typical senility that comes with someone your age?” She laughs out loud, poking a tongue out at me once she’s finished.

  “And you must’ve forgotten that age old sayin’, ‘Mind your elders.’”

  “I haven’t forgotten, Old Man. I simply like breaking the rules.”

  Letting out a laugh, I eye my watch and sigh. My smile fades.. “Well, fuck…”

  “Gotta go?”

  “Unfortunately. Jeremy should be done with his final by now, and we’re tryin’ to make it to St. Louis at some point tonight.”

  “Damn! Yeah, that’s a lot of driving. Well, you have fun on your adventure, and don’t be a stranger, okay?”

  “You better not be either. You have to tell me all about your European trip this summer. And when you get back, maybe come out to Cali for a little bit for a visit?”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Well, I’d love to, even though I’m not so sure you’d be able to handle more than a few days with me around. I can be quite the handful.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” I reply, smiling. “And I’m a handful myself. We’ll cancel each other out.” I stand, pushing my chair in. “Keep in touch between now and then, you hear? I mean it. I’m gonna be gettin’ a new number once I get to LA, but I’ll make sure you get it,” I say, taking a few steps toward her.

  She stands and says, “I will. You better keep in touch too. You don’t have a very good track record.” She cracks a smile as I rest a hand against her hip, pulling her in.

  Wrapping my arms around her, I say, “I can appreciate the doubt. Happy to prove you wrong, Ember. I hope I get to see you soon.”

  As I’m about to let her go, she tightens her grip on me, squeezing her arms as she rests her head on my shoulder. She takes a deep breath and exhales unsteadily. I’ve missed the feel of her slim body enveloped by my thick arms, the smell of her perfume lingering in the air. Something about her calms me, helps me to feel at peace, if only for a moment.

  I’m hit with a tremendous jolt of pain, centered in my chest, as I leave her in my wake. I look back and see she’s still standing, her hands resting in front of her, a sadness in her eyes. I force a tight smile and pass her a wave, my heart made to feel heavier as she blows me a kiss.

  Turning, I take a deep breath, and I will myself to stay positive, to not let the ‘what ifs’ scare me into paralysis, and to embrace the unknown that lies before me.

  Once outside, the sight of Jeremy and Sarge standing beside the Jeep with Carter takes away a little of the sting I feel leaving Ember. I pass a slight smile when Sarge spots my approach.

  “Sarge, what’s up, buddy?” I ask, greeting him with a hug. “I wasn’t sure if you were gonna make it.”

  He shakes his head. “No way I’d miss seeing you guys off. I’ve got a summer course to finish up here until mid-July, and after that, I’m right behind you. I’ll definitely be taking you up on that offer to come visit. I’ll need a vacation when it’s all said and done.”

  “Always welcome, my friend. July-ish oughta be perfect. We should have the new apartment all set up by then.”

  “Great. Well, I won’t keep you guys. I know you’ve got a lot of driving to do today.” He takes me in for another hug, tighter this time, and he draws in a heavy breath as he does. He lets it out slow, and then, as we separate, he says, “Man, I just, uh, gotta say what an honor it’s been, you know, getting to know you.” His voice cracks, his eyes glistening. He shakes his head and groans. “Fuck, I hate this sappy shit. Just know, it’s an honor to call you my brother.”

  “Honor’s all mine, Sarge.” I can feel the lump in my throat, beckoning the tears, but I fight them off, swallowing hard against the pain. “Thanks for everything this semester. I really don’t know if I would’ve made it through this bullshit without you.”

  He shrugs. “Happy to help, man. Save me a chair and a margarite by the pool, motherfucker. July, we are doing some damage.” Smiling, he waves to Carter, who has already claimed shotgun. “Hey, take care, Carter.”

  “Hey, you too, Sarge. Try to stay out of trouble.”

  “That’s a hard thing to do when you make your own explosives, my friend,” Sarge responds matter-of-factly and then laughs as he approaches Jeremy and hugs him.

  Hopping into the front seat, I snap my fingers in front of the rearview.

  “Let’s go, Jeremy. Christ, as it is, it’ll be two in the damn mornin’ by the time we get to St. Louis, thanks to you.”

  “I had a test, you dick,” he complains, approaching the back door, opening it, and hopping inside. “And I still had to pack.”

  I turn back, narrowing my eyes at him. “Whose fault is that?”

  “I’m gonna say … Carter’s?” Jeremy says as he settles in his seat and shuts the car door. He smacks the back of his hand against Carter’s arm.

  “Oh, fuck you, Jeremy. I’m not your daddy,” Carter responds.

  “As far as you know,” Jeremy says, grinning.

  Sarge whistles loudly from behind the Jeep, drawing our attention. He removes the backpack from his shoulders, opens it, and digs inside. He pulls out a jar of moonshine and stuffs it between all of our bags in the rear section of my Jeep.

  “So, you’ll think of me your first drunk night in California,” he says with a grin. Motioning toward Carter and Jeremy, he adds, “Watch it with the kiddos. It’s the potent stuff.”

  “Will do, Sarge. Thanks, bro!” I throw up the shaka as I put the Jeep in park, and start to pull away. I watch Sarge shoulder his backpack through the rearview, and then he disappears into the Commons just as we reach the top of frat row, the DIK house to our immediate right. The front of the house is void of activity except for one shirtless brother throwing trash off the porch onto the front lawn where more trash sits—lamps, a few old game systems and TVs, splintered bed frames, stained mattresses, and all other things one would expect to find in the dumpster of a frat house or dormitority at the end of the semester, not necessarily on the lawn. I imagine now that they don’t have pledges to clean up after them, and with the dumpster stuffed all the way behind the house, keeping any sort of cleanliness standard goes out the fucking window.

  As I slow the Jeep, and pull to the side of the road, I can see Carter through my peripheral, a curious look on his face. Once the Jeep stops, and I shift it into park, Jeremy leans in bet
ween the front seats and stares at me until I face him.

  When I eventually do, he asks, “Uh, what’s goin’ on, Bish? You forget somethin’?”

  “In fact, I did. Y’all wait here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  “What are you doing?” Carter asks.

  I exit the Jeep, shutting the door behind me and not answering him right away. After a moment, I say, “Unfinished business. Just keep her runnin’. I’ll be back in a second.”

  As I make way quickly toward the porch, Carter calls out, “Hey, Bishop, come back here, man. What the hell are you doing?”

  I wave him off without turning around, as I stride across the porch to the front door.

  “Go after him,” I hear Carter say to Jeremy.

  I abruptly turn on my heel, and then I lean my hands against the porch railing, peering down at them. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare!” I warn. “Keep your asses in the Jeep. I’ll be right back.” I then continue into the house.

  Once inside, I march down the hall to the third door on the right, Brady’s door, and I bang a balled-up fist against it. A few of the brothers who were cleaning out their rooms are now watching with intrigue. I ignore them, banging my fist against the door once more before it finally swings open. Brady, at first, sneers at me, and then, upon recognition, a look of confusion crosses his face.

  “What the f—”

  “This is for that Sigma Kappa girl you tried to rape,” I say, interrupting him first with my words, and then I immediately follow them up with a swift one-two punch combination. My right fist connects with his temple, staggering him a little at the very moment my left fist smashes into his nose. The force of the second blow knocks him back, and he trips over a half-packed suitcase, crashing to the ground.

  Blood drips from his nose, which now juts to the side a good twenty degrees, as he tries to get himself back up on his feet. He groans, swaying on two wobbly arms. He turns his head toward me, his eyes on mine, but they’re distant, empty.

  “I told you I’d get you, motherfucker. And if you ever even think of hurting another woman, and I find out about it, I’ll kill you.” I pause, taking a step forward, and then I yell, “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you, dumbass. You hear me?”

  Brady spits a thick blood clot to the ground, and then he uses the bed frame to pull himself up straight. He steadies himself as best he can against it, and then faces me. A new look of anger creeps onto his face, but he’s still not stable enough to retaliate.

  Pointing a finger at him, I continue, “I will fuckin’ strap you up by your balls and slit your fuckin’ neck like an animal.” I take another step forward, putting my finger into his chest. “Try me. Just try me,” I mutter, and then I promptly turn, walking past the gawking brothers who now stand in the doorway, and picking up the pace until I’m down the hall, out the door, and off the porch. Jeremy’s door is open as if he was about to get out, but he freezes when he spots me hurriedly striding toward the driver’s side.

  “What the fuck did you do?” Jeremy asks, complete confusion on his face as he shuts his door.

  Just as the front door of the frat house opens, and a few brothers pop their heads out looking for me, I put the Jeep into drive and tear out of the spot with an ear-piercing screech.

  Going fifty in a twenty-five, I guide the Jeep down sorority row, right across Main street, toward the back roads.

  Jeremy clasps a hand against my shoulder, and he says, “Yo, Speed Racer, start talkin’! Why the fuck are you drivin’ so fast, and do your knuckles look freshly swollen.”

  “Huh?” Carter snatches my right hand from the shifter and inspects it for a moment, before his wide eyes trail to mine. “Brady?”

  I nod, smirking.

  “You idiot!” Carter scolds. “Why would you do that? You just got out of trouble.”

  Shrugging, I respond, “It needed to be done.”

  “What if he calls the piggies?” Jeremy asks.

  “I don’t think he will.”

  “But what if he does?”

  “We take back roads to Ohio. We’ll be good after that.”

  “You sure about that?” Carter asks, an eyebrow quirked.

  “No, but I’m damn sure hittin’ him felt real fuckin’ great! Better than I even imagined.” My lips turn up into an evil grin.

  Jeremy laughs. “I can’t say you’re the smartest guy I know, but goddamn do you got some brass balls.” He settles back into his seat, laughing again, as Carter shakes his head in disapproval beside me.

  I glance toward him and shrug, choosing to say nothing, and instead, letting the sound of the warm air as it rushes passed us, and the twang of the six string as a country song plays on the radio, take over.

  As the summer sun’s rays tease my exposed skin, I find myself filled with an unbelievable amount of hope.

  Hope for the future. Hope for myself. Hope for my friends.

  I find myself hoping for a life no longer controlled by my past and, for the first time in probably forever, it’s right there within reach, just waiting to be grabbed, held tightly, and ran with like I’ve never run before. Toward my dreams, and life, and love, with two of the best friends a guy could ask for, and with one watching over us from above.

  Carleigh (cmjacobs@pittvamc.org)

  M. Bishop (bishoparmy@mymail.com)

  7/25/11 12:29AM EST

  Subject: I’m so so sorry…

  Bishop,

  What do I even say here? I’m an asshole. The biggest asshole. I’ve spent days trying to figure out how I was going to word this, what I was going to say. I’ve tried you through text a few times, with no response, and I’m assuming there’s a reason for that. Yet, here I am, hoping that it’s because you got a new number. And hoping, maybe, you’re wanting to hear from me too.

  I can only imagine the anger you hold for me is still alive and well. I’d hate me too. I can’t explain what happened any other way than … I freaked out. I was falling for you, Bishop. Every dang day you spent in that chair, I fell a little more for you. There aren’t many like you in this world. Not many at all. And I’m sorry that things ended the way they did. I made a mistake with my ex (yes, he is actually an ex now. I really did it!) and I let myself get freaked out by my feelings for you. It’s not easy for me to really even think about, and trust me, I do think about it all the time. I always worry that I may have hurt you. I ALWAYS wonder how you’re doing out there in sunny California. So very proud of you for making the move, and though I know it doesn’t mean much to you, it comes from a very genuine place.

  I hope to hear from you. I’m dying to hear from you, to talk to you (maybe a phone call sometime?), to prove to you how sorry I am. How completely, embarrassingly, emphatically sorry I am for how I treated you.

  I hope one day you can find it in yourself to forgive me. I’ll be here waiting. I’ll always be here waiting.

  With all my heart,

  Carleigh

  Five Months in LA

  “SO, WHEN’S YOUR LADY GETTIN’ here? Or when do I gotta put a shirt on, I should say.” Jeremy laughs, sitting on the couch in our apartment living room, the apartment we’ve had for the last three and a half months, and much nicer than the shithole we called home for the first couple months.

  “I have no clue, man. I told y’all that this mornin’. Two p.m., she gets in, but God knows what traffic will be like.”

  Jeremy glances as the clock on the wall, and says, “Yeah, so I got time.”

  I narrow my eyes at him, a finger pointing his direction. “I’m tellin’ you, fuckstick. If you still don’t have a shirt on when she gets here, I’m deleting some Entourage from the DVR again.”

  Jeremy pauses the game, and turns toward me slowly, glaring. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Shit, I’ll fuckin’ delete Glee this time.”

  “Hey now,” Carter pipes up from across the room. “Don’t punish me too, man.” He chuckles.

  Carter continues cooking up a storm in the kitchen, and Jeremy conti
nues mashing buttons on an Xbox remote, Madden on the TV, as his six-pack remains on full display.

  “Why you so worried anyway, Bish? You scared she might see what ol’ Jeremy’s workin’ with and come sniffin’ around?”

  I scoff. “Please, you wouldn’t know what to do with her even if, by some miracle straight from the Lord himself, you had the chance. She’s not the docile type like you’re used to workin’ with.”

  “Jealousy is really ugly on you, man,” he says with complete sincerity, before he flashes me his pearly whites.

  “One-thirty, shirt goes on, fucker,” I warn, heading back to my room to continue prepping for her arrival.

  The thing is I am jealous of that fucker’s abs. He does nothing to earn them, no regulated diet or strenuous exercise, but they’re chiseled like the Statue of David himself, and shit, who wants to look at that all day? My abs are much more defined than they’ve been in a long time, thanks to a new training regimen and a strict diet, but they’ll never look like Jeremy’s. I swear the guy must ingest tapeworms or something. No other way to explain it

  Me? Well, over the past four months, I’ve maintained a diet that consists of chicken breast, rabbit food, and more chicken breast, and after a few miserable months of carb withdrawal and chicken breast overdose, my body really started to respond. I’d like to take all the credit for my new training regimen, and the diet that’s borderline torture but effective as fuck, but who am I kidding? I have about as much self-control as Tony Montana with a rail of coke in front of him and a rolled up hundred in his nostril. No, my agent of four months, Baker Richmond of Richmond, Scott, and Taylor, is the man behind my lifestyle change. My buddy Jude got me hooked up with him when we first arrived, as Baker is his agent for stand-up gigs, and after an inspired meeting, he agreed to take me on too. Baker is even working with JD now, who I suggested to him after catching his act, and feeling he could be something special with a little guidance … okay, a lot of guidance. Still, the mouthy redneck’s not so bad once you get used to him. He sure is good for a laugh when you’re feeling down. No quarters required. Just hand him a beer and watch him go.