Like Ashes We Scatter

by Bradon Nave

  “Pretty mean.” Tyson offered a half smile, and then a yawn.

  “Mean?”

  “Waking me up…and it’s barely even light out. Mean.”

  “I’m sorry, Ty. What do you want for breakfast?”

  “I’m messin’ with you, Alex. Go to bed. I can cook my own breakfast.”

  Briefly recalling the mess Tyson conjured the last time he’d attempted to showcase to culinary skills, Alex ruffled his already messy hair and smiled. “Seriously, I’m not even tired.”

  “I guess. But I wanna help.”

  “Okay. Get dressed, Ty.”

  “Okay. Get out, Alex.”

  In the kitchen, Alex paced—phone in hand. Finally, her courage and nerves had her thumb pressing call. Thirteen seconds later—she answered.

  “Dr. Jones speaking.”

  “Dr. Jones?”

  “Dr. Jones speaking.”

  “Hi. Um, it’s Alexandra Ayers.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly who my phone said it was.”

  “Sorry. I was wondering if you could possibly make some time to maybe…to possibly speak with me today—”

  “Alexandra, is Tyson okay?” her forceful tone caught Alex off guard.

  “Oh, yeah, he’s great.”

  “Okay, I’m confused. What do we need to speak about?”

  “I just…I just had some questions.”

  “Regarding?”

  “Regarding his health. His overall health and—”

  “You just told me he was okay, did you not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then my suggestion would be to compile these questions and prepare them for discussion during Tyson’s appointment on the seventeenth. That is if he wants you there and he is comfortable discussing whatever questions you might have.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Will that be all, Alexandra?”

  “I just…I really just—”

  “Alexandra, I’ll be rounding soon. Is there anything else I can do for you—”

  “I’m scared, Dr. Jones.” The crack in Alex’s voice silenced the conversation for a few seconds.

  “I’m listening. Tell me why you’re scared.”

  “I…there was a patient you lost. I was working last night and I heard you lost a patient because her body rejected her lungs. I just want more information and I can’t keep…I can’t keep looking at WebMD and Google because it’s freaking me out. If you would just give me a few minutes—”

  “Okay. Can you meet me at the bistro across the street from the hospital at um…eleven? No, wait, you worked last night. Meet me there at three, okay?”

  “Okay. Thank you so much—”

  “I’m getting paged. Bye now.”

  Her scratchy eyes felt pried open as she stared down the countertop.

  “What the hell, Alex?”

  Startled, Alex turned to her sleepy sibling—the only thing added to his attire being wrinkled gym shorts.

  “What? What the hell about what, Ty?”

  “You haven’t even preheated the oven yet, dumbass. Go to sleep. You’re sleeping on the job as it is.”

  “You little douche. I’m not leaving you to cook unsupervised. Besides, I feel like I haven’t seen you in like…forever.”

  “Awe…you mith me, Alex.” Accepting his hug, Alex kissed her brother on top of his head.

  “You’re silly.”

  “That’s what I’m told.”

  “Other than my intrusion did you sleep okay, Ty?”

  As he walked to the fridge, stretching his balled fists to outward and yawning, he shook his head no. “Nah. I dreamt about her…again.”

  “Mom?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh.”

  Milk jug in his hand, Alex pretended not to notice as he drank directly from the carton. Mouth wiped, he closed the fridge. “It’s like it’s her but it’s not. And then I wake up and I have this awful…just this awful sad and scary feeling. It’s not cool.”

  “I’m sorry, Ty.”

  “You should be…you still haven’t preheated the damn oven.”

  ***

  The bistro was trendy yet being so close to a teaching hospital, it attracted an eclectic crowd. Some patrons appeared nearly transient, while others sported lab coats or suits.

  Nestled in the corner—picking pieces of a bagel—Alex glanced about the bustling atmosphere while she waited for Dr. Jones to end her phone conversation.

  “My apologies, Alexandra.”

  “Oh no, don’t apologize. Thank you for meeting me. I know how busy you are.”

  “Tyson’s well?”

  “Yes. He’s doing great actually.”

  “His appetite still healthy?”

  “Oh my god, yes. That boy…and he’s doing great in school.”

  The darks of her eyes had a narrowing quality about them as her gazed zeroed in on Alex. “May I ask why we’re here, Alex? Why are you fearful for your brother’s wellbeing?”

  The question was baffling—derailing the small talk and passive smiles.

  “Um…if…well if it can happen to her. I don’t know why we’re here. I guess I was looking for some sort of reassurance. I’m sorry.”

  “Alexandra, our correspondence and interaction throughout the years has led me to believe you’re an intelligent young woman. You’re mindful of your craft and I’m sure you’re resourceful in regard to research. No two patients are the same—this you know.”

  “I know. I just…I don’t know what I was…I’m sorry.” Diverting eye contact, Alex felt her eyes welling with tears.

  “Sorry for what, Alexandra? If I’ve given you the impression that I’m upset, I apologize. That’s not the case.”

  “I spent so long preparing myself for when he wasn’t here and forcing myself to imagine what life would look like here without him…and then…and then there was this chance. But this chance comes with this caveat—”

  “Chance?” The sharp tone supporting Dr. Jones’ voice was no more. Her slender hand slid solemnly across the table, resting atop of Alex’s. “Alex, let us pretend for a moment that a hypothetical patient received a life-saving lung transplant. However, post-procedure and recovery, this recipient was not only non-compliant in regard to maintaining the therapeutic plan put into place, but she…but this patient blatantly refused any and all interventions, including medications required. This patient even smoked cigarettes. She was basically self-destructive.”

  Dr. Jones paused slightly. “Now…let’s say we have another patient. This patient is not only active, and completely compliant, but his lungs couldn’t have been a more beautiful match. Everything was as it needed to be. This patient continues to prove each and every day that success stories are achievable. Perhaps this patient will need another transplant in the future…perhaps he will be a progressive leader for our country, who knows? But for now, I’m completely thrilled with the progress of this patient and comparing him…them to a patient at the opposite end of the spectrum is silly. Understand what we’ve done, Alex. Organ transplantation is exactly what it sounds like. Taking an organ out of one body and placing it into another. There are risks and there are failures. I am telling you as a doctor…his doctor, that right now is a good time. Tyson is gaining strength and life is no longer measured in months and weeks. Respect that…enjoy it. And know if something happens I’m on the other side of it…working tirelessly to figure it out. Relax…breathe.”

  Her words, calm and soothing, had Alex smiling. “You’re so right…and here I’ve wasted your time.”

  “No, dear, you haven’t. I needed to speak with you regarding another matter entirely.”

  The sharpness returned as her hand returned to her lap. “I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it prior. I think it would be a fine solution for all involved.”

  “What? I’m lost.”

  “You’re currently working nights across the street, is that correct?”

  “Um…yes.”

  “That is
n’t optimal for Tyson, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I would but—”

  “I’d like you to work in my clinic with me. Monday through Thursday from nine to noon you’d be doing pulmonary function testing, and the afternoons would be mostly assisting me with diagnostic bronchoscopy. Fridays you would work recovery which would allow you to keep up your ventilator and critical care skills. Do you think that’d be something you’d be interested in?”

  Buzzing with enthusiasm, her head felt as though it were floating above her. Alex was elated at the idea of such an opportunity. “Oh my god, yes. I just…how do I apply?”

  “You don’t. I’ve already spoken with your director. She hates the idea of losing you but she’s not about to tell me no.”

  “Oh…so…this could really happen?”

  “It will happen if you so choose. Starting the first of next month.”

  “I do. Oh my god I do choose.”

  “Fantastic. If you have any free time this Saturday, you and Tyson can come by the clinic and look over the pulmonary function lab set up. I’ll be there all afternoon.”

  “Yes! Of course. Dr. Jones, thank you so much. This means so much to me. Ty’s going to be thrilled.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  If the water was even a few degrees hotter it would be completely unbearable. The cast-iron claw foot tub was long and deep enough to submerge him completely—yet it couldn’t drown the guilt from his psyche. The ache was back in his belly and his head pounded as the sweat poured from his brow to the water he was soaking in.

  He had not only drunk alcohol—he had wasted the entire morning attempting to recover from the night of drinking. Recollecting memories of the previous evening conjured nothing even remotely inviting. Disappointment, fatigue and the general feeling of worthlessness all seemed un-washable.

  Pink and nearly desensitized, the skin on either thigh submerged beneath the water bore a stark difference to the white skin sticking out of the steaming bath water.

  All but silent—all but still—the house was a lonely place to retreat. His body wasn’t all that was soaking. His mind was saturated in ill thoughts—thoughts inconsistent with the ability to thrive.

  More than a hiccup or a slipup, the night out had proven to be a disastrous detour, leaving Bishop longing for some sort of comfort, yet yearning to be free of any form of communication.

  It couldn’t be described as numb. Numb comes with benefits—numb is earned through withstanding and eventually growing immune. This was something more.

  He wondered where he’d be if not for his parents and his privilege. Would he be homeless? One might assume he’d be grateful for the refuge, yet Bishop harbored a certain resentment toward his folks. If not for them, he could go too. He could leave this wretched world without any worry of the aftermath touching his loved ones. If not for them…he could drift away.

  Pinching his nose, he slid under the water—opening his eyes. Several seconds passed and he was screaming under the water. As he emerged—fists ready to pummel something—he looked frantically toward the medicine cabinet.

  Silence.

  The only sound was drops of water diving from his hair and face to the bath water below him as he eyed the large antique oak cabinet in the corner of the elegant bathroom.

  There’s nothing wrong with looking.

  Lifting himself from the steaming water, he made his way to the cabinet without even attempting to towel off.

  For being physicians, his parents didn’t practice proper medication disposal well. The cabinet contained an assortment of expired narcotics and relaxants—everything one might need to feel altered—or to sleep indefinitely.

  ‘To alleviate pain’ the words read so simply—as if it were that simple. Setting the bottle down, Bishop imagined his parent’s pain if they lost him too. This wasn’t him. This couldn’t be him. But there was no escaping this ache—this feeling. This wasn’t escapable with painkillers or vodka. This wasn’t something that would wash down the drain like a long day. Still, he slid back into the uncomfortably hot bath and continued to soak, hoping something would suddenly change or self-resolve.

  At least thirty minutes later—his skin wrinkled and waterlogged—he made his way dripping down the hall to his room. Slipping into some boxers, he crawled back into bed. It was nearly eleven in the morning, but with sleep comes escape and Bishop longed to escape what he was feeling.

  Comforter to his chin, he was drifting within seconds.

  ***

  “Bish…sweet boy. Are you ill?” His mother’s soft words gently eased him from slumber.

  “Mom?” Perhaps earlier he wanted to be left alone, but seeing her face sent Bishop setting up in bed and reaching for her. “I love you, Mom. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His mother welcomed his hug.

  “You’re okay. We’re okay. We had a late night last night.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was doing so good—”

  “You still are, sweet boy. Not today. No tears and despair today. Today is a new day and I want to enjoy it with you. Please, get dressed so we can grab a bite to eat.”

  “You’re not disappointed in me?”

  The soft palm of her open hand rested aside his face—cool and soothing as a childhood lullaby. “Never.”

  Dressed and somewhat energized, Bishop exited the house with his mother and a shy smile. The previous evening’s poor decisions lingered slightly but for the most part his mood was improving.

  “What sounds good, Bish?”

  “Food. Lots of food.”

  “Would you like to grab takeout and go to the park.”

  “Sounds great.”

  At the park, Bishop and his mother enjoyed Italian food and calm weather. The table they sat at was more than likely older than Bishop and was shaded by large trees. The park was off the west side of the lake Bishop often ran at.

  A mild breeze circulated the air and carried with it countless conversations and other noises.

  His mouth full of food, Bishop looked to his vibrating phone—Jenna.

  “Hello.”

  “What the hell, Bishop…you just bailed and then you don’t reply. I didn’t know what to think.”

  “Sorry…I told your friend I was leaving.”

  “Did you take a cab?”

  “Nah…my mom picked me up.”

  “Oh. I kinda thought we were going back to my place.”

  “My bad.”

  “Um…okay. Well, it was good seeing you. Take care.”

  “You too, Jenna.”

  Setting his phone aside, Bishop looked to his mother. “Thank you, Mom. I really am sorry. Thank you for coming and getting me.”

  “Bishop, you needn’t thank me for doing my job. You’re my son…I’d do anything for you.”

  “I know, Mom. But it isn’t your job to sort out my issues.”

  “Perhaps not, sweet boy, but it is my job to remain supportive while you sort them out.”

  “Well…looks like you’re going to be remaining supportive for a while.” Bishop’s grin opened for another bite.

  “When you smile…your beautiful smile…I see the light in you. I know it’s in you.”

  As he chewed his food, he eyed his mother carefully. “Yeah, well, I think my light is almost gone.”

  Her soft chuckle was coupled with a grin. “Sweet boy…even the most gorgeous day is most beautiful when its light is almost gone.”

  “Whatever that means.”

  “Be patient, Bishop. Minds heal in mysterious ways. If we go through life discrediting hard work and perseverance each time we slip, we’ll slide away from any measurable amount of success. The idea is to take whatever we can from it and use it. I’m not asking you for perfection or even an apology…I’m asking you to use it. And…I don’t care if you’re twenty-three or fifty-four, as long as I’m capable of driving I’ll always be more than happy to rescue you from promiscuous Jezebels and sleazy club scenes at one in the mo
rning.”

  Shaking his head while chuckling, Bishop reached for his mother’s hand. “I love you, Mom.”

  “And I love you, Bish.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  With the primary concerns of her life being addressed, Alex found her curiosity lingering particularly around one handsome face. She couldn’t pull herself from her recliner or Bishop’s social media. Nearly forty-five minutes had been devoted to looking through his pictures and attempting to stitch together some form of personality—some sort of life. His smile and life’s ambitions were all documented rather well up until the time of his brother’s death. After Nathan’s suicide, social media interaction appeared sporadic and random in content. No more smiles—no ambitions to document. She found her curiosity not only captured, but possibly held hostage.

  His post, the one stating it may be too much or too big, had been deleted. The deletion only confirmed her suspicion—the post had a sinister undertone.

  A deeper investigation revealed the Holloway residential address, and even the history of Bishop’s parent’s medical practice in the states.

  Nearly half a pot of coffee down on a Sunday morning, Alex suddenly set her cup aside. There was no harm in simply driving by the Holloway home—just to check it out. Tyson was somewhere with Becca, so the morning was hers to do with what she pleased.

  The excitement mounting in her chest was equally matched with a sense of guilt for even considering the option. A creep…a lurking menace, would be titles she’d tag someone considering the very same idea she was pondering.

  Regardless, she was out of her recliner and her sweatpants, looking presentable and walking to her vehicle.

  Seventeen minutes later the streets were wider in the residential neighborhood. The homes were colonial looking—mostly two stories with large front doors and extravagant décor—all clad with green ivy.

  The vehicles in the driveways were those of the well-to-do. She felt entirely out of place to say the least…and then she was there.

  The house was much larger in life than online. Stoic and possibly too perfect, the manicured residence looked as though the gardener or grounds keeper never slept.