Like Ashes We Scatter

by Bradon Nave

  “Tyson, I didn’t mean that. I just meant that there’s no way back for Bishop and me. He’ll never get past what I did and I have to respect that. I honestly don’t know if I could forgive if the situation was turned.”

  “I forgave you. You’re forgetting there are more people to this little tale than just you and Bishop. I looked like a fool, but I still love you. And Mrs. Holloway…Constance, forgives you.”

  “It’s different, Tyson. I built an entire relationship off of mistrust. I can’t expect a man to be okay with that.”

  “I don’t get it. But it’s not me so I’ll just shut up.”

  “I didn’t ask you to shut up, Tyson. I just…I just wish you would see where I’m coming from. Yes, I’m miserable, but it’s finally tolerable. I messed up and I have to accept the consequences for my actions. Not everyone is as forgiving and loving as you.”

  “You want some fries?”

  “What? No. I’m good.”

  “Cool, so pull your panties out and let’s go check up on Bailor.”

  “You’re such a brat.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-One

  The commotion from the lower level woke Bishop. The arguments weren’t foreign to him, but this was something different; this was something deeper with a definitive tone. His mother sounded as though she was crying, and his father’s voice continued to escalate.

  Bishop flung his bedding to the floor and flew from his room in his pajamas. He raced down the stairs to the kitchen.

  Regardless the debate, there was no reason for his father to speak to his mother this way. Bishop was enraged.

  As he reached the kitchen doorway, he didn’t pause in the entry; he bolted through, catching his parent’s attention. “Who the fuck do you think you are talking to her like that?”

  “Bishop!” Constance attempted to interject but Bishop was now only a foot from his stunned father.

  “Leave, Mom. Father and I need to talk.” Bishop’s tone was low, his fists balled and his gaze piercing as he stared his father down.

  “Sweet boy…I don’t…I don’t think that is a good idea.”

  “Please, Momma.”

  Constance inhaled deeply and exited the backdoor.

  “I don’t know why you’re here…your life isn’t here anymore—”

  “Silence, you ungrateful mosquito. You would dare speak to me this way in my own house?”

  His father was dressed in a suit, as if he were seconds away from a board meeting rather than drinking coffee and arguing in his own kitchen.

  “I’ll move. I’ll move out—”

  “With what? Please enlighten me, Son.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re here. You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to be a part of this anymore—”

  “And you would know exactly what it is I want? Such a bold and defiant rebel I’ve raised.”

  Bishop stepped back. “Your life isn’t here, Dad. You know that. You just show up, make a mess of things and leave.”

  “I’m to blame? Me? Explain.”

  “I know you’re off sneaking behind Mom’s back. I know—”

  “Shut your mouth. I would remind you that you stand in my kitchen, eating my food under my roof and wiping your ass with my bath tissue. You are nothing without the provisions I’ve provided.”

  “I’m here with my family! With my mother! You are the one who left, not me.”

  “What is your point, Bishop?”

  “You don’t want to be a part of this anymore, Dad. Just admit that—”

  “I have.” He smirked and pointed toward printed documents on the countertop.

  Bishop glanced the stack over—divorce papers. Seeing the word divorce watered his eyes instantly. “Well…okay then.”

  “I’ll be gone in a few days’ time. You’ll be free to suckle the teat indefinitely.”

  “I’m going to go to medical school! I’m going to be a physician too!”

  His father laughed. “Please, Son, let us not create fictitious and ludicrous scenarios simply to make us feel some small sense of accomplishment. At best you will be a thirty-year-old recovering alcoholic with a mediocre income living in a tarnished apartment complex.”

  “What? No! I’m going to be a doctor! I’m going to help people—”

  “You couldn’t even help him!” His father’s blurted statement came with bulging, ferocious eyes. His words hurt; they tore through Bishop like hot iron.

  “Him? Nate?” Bishop stepped backward, his fists relaxing as he looked toward the floor. “You blame me for Nathan’s death…you really do hate me.”

  “Bishop…I’m sorry.”

  “He was always your favorite, and you blame me because I couldn’t stop him.” As if he’d been kicked in the core, Bishop found it difficult to inhale. Tears tore down his cheeks.

  “I love both of you boys, Bishop. But there isn’t a day…or even a second that goes by that I don’t wonder what the outcome would have been had he not called me that night. Why didn’t my boy call me?”

  Bishop’s knees trembled, his words escaped him. He leaned over the granite countertop and cried—silent tears. His father’s words were acidic and cruel, they were debilitating.

  “Bishop…Son—”

  “What is going on here?” Bishop heard his mother charging through the back door. “You sonofabitch! Why is he crying? What have you done to him?”

  “Constance, things were said…Bishop, I’m—”

  The sound of physical altercation had Bishop looking up. His mother’s open hand met his father’s face with a tremendous force.

  “Fok jou!” Constance continued her wrath as Bishop watched his father attempt to shield himself. The enraged woman reached for a pan near the sink and struck her husband on the head with it. A sickening ‘thud’ resounded as Bishop grabbed his belligerent mother.

  “Leave here! Leave here now!” She kicked at him from Bishop’s embrace.

  “Constance! You’re insane! Have you gone mad?”

  “I tolerated your lies and your whore, but not this! You will not hurt my sweet boy! Leave now or I will end you, bastard. I will kill you.”

  Bishop walked his mother backwards as his stunned father collected himself, prodding his head with his fingers.

  “This is how we end, Constance? We end like ruffians, like mortal enemies that have not spent our adult lives beside one another.”

  “We ended long ago, you know this. You wet my boy’s eyes and I’ll break your bones. Leave…now.”

  Shaking his head, he turned from his infuriated wife and distraught son and left the kitchen.

  Few words were said between mother and son, and finally Bishop’s father reappeared, toting a suitcase. “I’ll send for the remainder of my belongings. Bishop…I love you, Son. I mean that.”

  Bishop looked to his father through blurred vision. “Love you too, Dad. Now please…just go.”

  Chapter

  Thirty-Two

  Within a few seconds of opening his eyes, Tyson was scrambling backward, kicking his covers away in a frightened manner. With his back to the wall, a bewildered Tyson blinked several times while looking at the small dog Alex had placed on his bed.

  “Surprise! Meet Brutis.”

  His nostrils flared, his lips frowned and he developed an intense look of disgust. “What is it, Alex?”

  “Ha…he’s a dog, silly. We have officially adopted him from the shelter.”

  Brutis submissively presented his bald, spotted belly for petting. Tyson remained fixed to the wall behind him.

  “What the fuck is wrong with it?”

  “Oh my god, you’re so mean. That’s just the kind of dog he is. He can’t grow hair. I thought because of that, he’d be a good fit.”

  Tyson’s expression didn’t budge, his gaze glued to the trembling dog. “It’s seriously so ugly. I’ve never seen something that ugly before. It looks like one of those gremlin things on that movie you used to watch when we were little.”


  “Tyson…he can hear you.”

  Tyson cautiously pulled his comforter higher to his chest, adding additional barrier between him and Brutis.

  “He won’t bite you, Tyson.”

  “I don’t even want it to touch me, Alex. I don’t even want it on my bed. It’s hideous.”

  If not for Tyson’s physical display of disdain for the dog, Alex would have believed his overreaction to Brutis was a joke. His cruel reception had Alex silently reaching for Brutis and exiting the room, wondering if bringing the small animal home was a mistake.

  A few minutes later Tyson cautiously exited his room and crept to the kitchen. As little Brutis ran to greet him, Tyson jumped into one of the dining room chairs. “Alex!”

  “What the…Tyson, he’s not mean.”

  “Take it away!”

  Alex picked up Brutis and cautiously approached her brother, who was standing in the chair.

  “Ty…just pet him, he’s not mean—”

  “I don’t like it, Alex. I don’t know why you brought it here.”

  She turned from Tyson and placed Brutis in his pet-carrier. “I thought you would like him. He’s a nice dog and you’ve never had a dog…” She then realized her brother had never really been around dogs. Their mother had hard-wired it into their brains from the time they were little that dogs equal hospital visits.

  “Tyson, Brutis is actually really cool if you’d just give him a chance.”

  Tyson stepped down from the chair and made his way to the kitchen, fetching a box of Lucky Charms and the milk from the fridge.

  Breakfast prepared, he made his way to the living room and sat down on the couch.

  Alex peered into the carrier to see a heartbroken Brutis. The small dog appeared completely devastated, as if he was under the impression he was on his way back to the shelter.

  I have to make this work. “You wanna go for a walk, little guy?”

  Opening the carrier, Brutis wiggled around her and trotted straight to Tyson, as if he was dead set on securing his friendship.

  Alex watched her brother swallow hard, his eyes widen and turn to her from the T.V. screen. “Alex.” His words were forceful but low key. “It’s licking my toes. Holy shit…it’s licking my toes.”

  Tyson appeared petrified, holding his bowl and spoon and looking to Alex.

  “He likes you.”

  “Why’s it licking me?”

  The small dog was voraciously licking Tyson’s toes, between them, on top of them—both feet.

  “I don’t know; he doesn’t know how to shake hands.”

  “Please make it stop, Alex.” Tyson appeared almost frantic.

  “Just tell him no.”

  He looked down to Brutis. “No…NO!”

  Brutis stopped what he was doing and sat on his hind haunches, looking up to Tyson.

  Tyson slowly reached into his bowl and grabbed a small cereal piece. Gritting his teeth he cautiously presented it to Brutis. “Here I hate these—” He gasped as the dog licked the treat from between his thumb and index finger. Alex was pleased to see the interaction placing a smile on Tyson’s face.

  “See…he just wants to be friends.”

  “He just wants my breakfast.”

  “No…he was clearly trying to lick your toes before you offered the charms.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Ty, I was really hoping you would like him. He’s had a rough life—”

  “Rough like tough or rough like ruff?”

  “Rough like his last owner threw him out of a car window.”

  “While it was moving? What the hell?”

  “Yes, Ty, while it was moving. It broke several bones and he’s had to have several surgeries.”

  “Is that why it can’t grow hair?”

  “No, goof. That’s just the type of dog it is.”

  “Oh…well, I mean, it’s okay. I just have to get used to it. It’s really scary looking when it comes running at you…or when your dumbass sister throws it in bed with you at nine in the morning.”

  “It’s nearly eleven.”

  “Oh. Well it’s not the most pleasant sight to wake up to. He really is atrocious.”

  “Ty…do you want me to take him back?”

  Taking a bite of breakfast, Tyson just shook his head. “Nah, he’s cool. He can stay.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah really. I haven’t had a toe-job that good since, damn…I can’t recall.”

  “Oh my god you’re a mess.”

  “But he can’t sleep in bed with me and I’m not taking him out for walks and stuff. If people see him they’ll probably call me into some public health agency or some shit.”

  “Okay. Deal.”

  “I bet I can scare the shit out of Becca when she comes over.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’ll be more appalled by your greasy bed-head than this precious little guy. He’s not ugly; he’s just an acquired taste.”

  “An acquired taste? Alex, you could wrap that dude in bacon and throw him in a pit of coyotes and I bet my ass not a one of them would touch him. They’d all be too horrified and wondering what the hell he is.”

  “You’re awful. Poor Brutis. Listen, I have to run to the office. Do you want to go with me or stay here?”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Oh, about an hour and a half. I have to calibrate and do some tests.”

  “’K. This dude should be okay for that long I guess.” Tyson extended his hand cautiously, petting Brutis. “Gross. He feels like a giant nut sack.”

  “You’re too much, Ty. I’ll be back shortly.”

  ***

  Her work completed at the office, Alex made a slight detour on the drive home. Coffee seemed legitimate. It was nearly four in the afternoon when she finally pulled into the complex.

  Entering the apartment, Tyson was not initially seen. She checked the kitchen and the bathroom door was open. She slightly pried his door to find him and Brutis cuddled in bed, fast asleep. The dog’s leash was hanging from Tyson’s doorknob…he’d clearly taken Brutis for a walk.

  Chapter

  Thirty-Three

  “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.”