by Bradon Nave
Her comment captured his gaze, yet didn’t elicit an immediate response.
“Life is short, Bishop. Each breath is a blessing, each day is a miracle, and each minute we forget that is a potential missed opportunity to really live. Pride can be such a barrier.”
“What the hell, Mom? Whose side are you on?”
“Precious boy. I will always be on your side. And I will always defend you from anything out to hurt you. That may not include silly girls with poor decision making skills. I think you are doing a fine job keeping them at bay.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Mom. I don’t know how to forgive someone for something like that. I know how I feel about her, and I know how bad this sucks right now, but I think this is more than just an issue of pride. I trusted her with all I had and I would have put literally everything into it. I deserved more than that.”
“I agree, sweet boy. I wasn’t trying to upset you. Now, will you take that box from your father’s closet to the garage? I need to take it to the Goodwill this afternoon.”
“I see you’re moving on quite quickly.”
“Have you talked to your father, Bish?”
“Yeah…for a few minutes yesterday. He was pleasant. He cried, and that made me pretty happy.”
“He cried?”
“Yeah. He said he regretted how things happened.”
“I’m sure he does. I love you, Bish.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
Bishop kissed his mother’s cheek and watched her descend the staircase. With her gone, his attention rested once more on the memories hanging around him—smiling faces painted on a united family of four.
His gaze traced each photo. Each year, and its abundance of memories, was consolidated into an eight-by-ten or twelve-by-fourteen inch frame. He was soon inches from Nathan’s open door.
Rather than turn his head and avoid the sight entirely, Bishop rested his head on the doorframe and peered inside. Seeing Nathan’s unmade bed, knowing he was the last to climb from its white sheets, had Bishop swallowing hard. Nothing had been touched. It was as if Nathan had been home for the weekend, left for school just that morning, and his room was in typical college dude disarray.
The hamper was full; his pajamas were near the end of the bed, draping the oak bedframe.
Cautiously, he stepped into Nathan’s room—into his own past.
Nathan had an open-door policy, unless his door was closed. Bishop would often simply walk in, sit and vent. His brother would listen intently to Bishop’s problems, all benign in hindsight, and would then offer consultation.
Nathan’s room once housed a specific scent—it was nothing musky or foul. Rather; it was masculine and pine-like. That scent was gone. The room smelled like the hall.
Bishop felt uneasy as he looked toward the floor. Dust had accumulated heavily on Nathan’s keyboard and computer screen. There was a plate and fork in front of the computer from a brownie Nathan had consumed just days before the incident.
As memories flooded, so did Bishop’s eyes. He turned to exit as his gaze caught sight of a red notebook, half-tucked from near the end of the bed on the floor.
His initial instinct to walk past was overcome by the longing to connect—to feel closer to Nathan without feeling like a common trespasser. Without a second thought, he reached for the notebook and quickly made his way from the room.
Safely behind the closed door of his own room, he sat on his bed with the notebook in his hands. Knowing that the last hands to rest on the spiraled book were his brother’s made him feel something calming.
His hands trembled as he opened the cover. Small doodles and few phone numbers lined the first page—nothing worth more than a glance or two.
The second page had him swallowing hard, scratching his head nervously, and anxiously preparing to read what appeared to be a poem.
His eyes and fingertip traced the words, not ready to absorb them quite yet. He looked away repeatedly until finally he anchored his gaze to the title—Still Nathan.
Still Nathan
I’m still Nathan; I work hard to be,
Ambition and smiles when you look at me.
I’m still Nathan, at least for today.
Tomorrow may come and sweep me away.
I’m still Nathan—chasing my dreams.
Some dreams chase me back and unravel my seams.
I’m still Nathan, I can’t pretend.
I’m clueless and weak, lacking means to defend.
I’m still Nathan, don’t leave me behind.
Held captive and crumbling within my own mind.
I’m still Nathan. My smile is tired.
My dreams, my today, tomorrow…undesired.
I’m still Nathan. I love you no less.
I cannot continue…but only rest.
I’m still Nathan. Stay with me awhile.
Trade me your courage for a fading smile…
I was Nathan—remember my laughter.
Carry this smile with yours ever after.
I was Nathan…I’ll always be.
Remember that when you think of me.
I’m still Nathan.
Bishop stared at the lines, mouth agape and lip quivering. A dizzying nausea nearly overtook him—the feeling one may experience moments prior to passing out wasted on the floor. Room spinning—difficult to inhale entirely—diaphoretic and on the verge of purging…and then he was yelling with all he had left.
“Mom!” His voice cracked. “Mom!”
He heard her racing up the stairs within seconds but seconds were decades.
“Bishop! What…what is wrong?” She raced down the hall, she flung the bedroom door open—taken aback to find her son holding Nathan’s notebook. “Oh…oh, sweet boy, no.” She gently removed the notebook from Bishop’s hands and took his face in her cool palms. “Breathe, Son.”
“You…did you know about that?”
“Breathe, Bishop.”
“I can’t.”
“It’s just anxiety, sweet boy. Breathe.”
“Have you read that, Mom?”
Her eyes answered him as they glistened. She smiled and kissed his forehead. “I read it at least once a week. There are some beautiful words in there—”
“That’s not beautiful, Momma, that’s a fucking suicide note!” He stood from the bed. “How could I have missed that?” Pacing, he attempted to maintain his breath—his gaze tattooed on the floor, his hands behind his head. “I say…I tell people he was my best friend but how could I miss that? How? How did I miss that?”
“Bishop…you didn’t know.”
“Hell no, I didn’t know!” His pace quickened. “I just assumed there would be jerk-off material under his bed…not a book of suicidal poetry. And I just assumed that I’d be his best man, and he’d be mine. I assumed he was joking around when he called but he wasn’t, Mom! Well no more because you know what? Dad is right! If I would have just…If…if I could have just known. If I would have just…and now…”
“Bishop, sweet boy—”
“No! No more assuming. I failed him and now my head is just as screwed as his was. I lost my best friend, Mom! I lost him and he told me I was going to. I just ignored him. He prepackaged it into a pretty little paragraph, and I still missed all the signs.”
“Enough!” Her grip on his bicep was firm and affixing. “I will not allow anyone to disrespect you in my presence. That includes you. You couldn’t have known. This was not your fault and your father is a fool for ever allowing those words to leave his mouth.” She forcefully pulled him into her, embracing him. “Your mind is beautiful. You are beautiful. There has certainly been a hiccup but please do not allow a poem to derail you, Son. You have a plan…you have a goal here. Continue to heal and to grow into the awesome man you are becoming.”
“I miss him so much, Mom. I shouldn’t have read that.” His voice was high pitched—tears streaming as he pressed his cheek into his mother’s hair.
“I know
. As do I. You boys are my life. You are both so precious to me.”
“I love you so much, Mom. I can’t do any of this without you.”
She looked up to him, smiling sweetly. “Bish…you can do anything you want. The world is yours, Son. You cannot allow a decision your brother made to define your future. You know how much Nathan loved you. He would never hurt you. You didn’t know he was sick because he loved you, and he wanted it that way. This isn’t on you, baby boy.”
“Then why is my heart still breaking?”
“You have the biggest heart of any man I know, Bishop. Something that large will take time to mend. You’ll get there, sweet boy. We’ll get there.”
Bishop wiped his eyes once more. “Somedays I wonder what the hell I did to deserve half this shit dumped on me…but I honestly have no clue what I did to deserve such an awesome mother. You really are the best, Mom.”
“You are the best, Bishop. We…are the best.”
Chapter
Thirty-Four
“Oh my gosh…you look so grown up. You look like a man.” Alex stood as Tyson entered the apartment living room. Sporting black, pressed slacks and red polo shirt, Tyson smiled nervously—still holding his shoes.
“I am a man. You look really pretty too, Alex.”
She stood from the couch and made her way to him. “I know you’re a man. The best man I know. I just meant you’re growing up so fast…but it’s a good thing.”
“I’m so nervous, Alex. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous, like…ever.”
“Sit down with me, Ty. Let’s talk it through.”
The siblings sat on the couch as Tyson produced folded papers from his shirt pocket.
“I have all the points I really want to hit on, but I want this to come from the heart. It’s just…I’m afraid my nerves are gonna get the best of me and I’ll forget where I’m going with it.”
She took her brother’s clammy hand. “Tyson, this is your message…your story. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I promise you.”
“I know. I’m just afraid I’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be right there. If you freeze, focus on me, breathe and refocus.”
“Will do, sisterroo. Bailor and his mom will be there. I want to appear confident and concise, ya know?”
“I understand. Just keep in mind, you’re telling a very private and intimate story. They’re not expecting a groundbreaking motivational speech from the CEO of some company. They’re expecting to hear how your life was saved.”
Her words had him nodding his head in agreement. “You’re right.”
“You hungry? We have enough time to—”
“Oh, hell no. There is no way I could eat right now.”
“What? Boy, you must be nervous. Listen, Ty. You got this. You’re gonna slay this, I promise.”
A happy Brutis came around the corner, wagging his tail as he approached. Quick to Tyson’s feet, the dog appeared disappointed to find Tyson’s toes covered by black socks.
“Sorry, buddy. No toes today.”
“So gross, Ty.”
“Don’t judge.”
***
The room’s size immediately put Tyson’s nerves at ease. It was only large enough to house a couple dozen people, and only so many chairs had been sat out. The wall behind the podium he was to speak from boasted a banner in favor of organ donation. Each table was adorned with bracelets, pencils and bookmarks from, Gifting Life and Days.
Tyson continuously chewed his bottom lip as he looked about the room; Becca was waiting there for him when they arrived—as was Pam.
There was still an hour left before the speech, enough time to finish setting up and await the arrival of guests.
“I can’t tell you how much this means to me, Pam. Thank you so much for being here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for this world or the next, Mr. Ayers. You are so incredibly handsome, young man.”
“Yes ma’am, he is.” Becca tickled Tyson’s belly from the side and kissed his blushing cheek.
Alex watched from a distance. As thankful as she was to witness her brother leading a ‘normal’ life, it was something awkward to think of him in an adult relationship. Becca whispered something in his ear that had his eyes and grin widening.
Alex turned to the punch table to fetch something to drink. Although she’d confidently proclaimed she had faith her brother would do a fine job at delivering his message, Alex shared some of Tyson’s concerns regarding ‘freezing’ and his nerves ‘getting the best’ of him. Her primary concern was that the day would not rob her brother of any pride…he’d worked too hard to preserve what pride he did have.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
“Mom, are you just about ready?”
Bishop looked to his watch from the kitchen, contemplating another cup of coffee.
“Yes dear. I’m ready now.” His mother appeared in the doorway wearing a simple yet elegant blue skirt and top.
“Mom…you keep getting younger. I swear this divorce has taken years off of you.”
“You’re so silly. Would you mind pouring me a cup of coffee too, Bish?”
“Not at all.”
“Bishop…I was wondering if it was okay with you, would you mind if I extended a supper invitation to Tyson? We wouldn’t have to dine here. We could go to a diner of his choosing.”
“I don’t know, Mom. Where Tyson goes…trouble is sure to follow. I’m sure he has a history with substance abuse and God only knows what else.”
His mother stared in disbelief.
“I’m kidding, Mom. Of course you can ask the kid to go eat with us. If you want you can take him without me. Maybe get to know him one-on-one.”
“You’re something else today, Bishop. I would actually appreciate it if you were there as well, Bish. He seems to have bonded with you and I think it would serve him well to have a source of familiarity.”
“Cool with me.”
***
Walking into the classroom, Bishop and Constance found the majority of the chairs were taken. Four were left open in the second row. Bishop didn’t initially scan the crowd for familiar faces; he only tugged his mother’s hand in the direction of the seats.
Tyson stood next to a pepper-haired man and Pam. He appeared flushed and nervous—his lips blanched as he occasionally peered out over the small crowed.
As Bishop and his mother took their seats, Bishop’s gaze rested on the back of Alex’s head in the front row. He’d imagined she’d be present but visualizing her sent his pulse galloping.
A few seconds later, the eclectic group was listening to the pepper-haired man shushing them and asking them for their complete attention as a wide-eyed Tyson stood by his side.
Pam, smiling with her hand on Tyson’s shoulder, cleared her throat and addressed the room.
“Hello…hello everyone. My name is Pam. I’m so happy you all could join me and my young friend today. If everyone would just take…just take a seat.”
With everyone settled, Pam continued. “Right now there are over one-hundred-twenty-thousand people on the transplant waiting list. Sadly, many of those people don’t receive the precious gift of life in time. Every day there are so many lives lost…people waiting on miracles. I’m so thankful that my friend, Tyson Ayers, is not one of those people. I’m so thankful that a selfless family and a selfless person made the decision to be an organ donor. That decision saved Tyson’s life. Today he’s here to talk to you a little bit about that. So, without further delay, here is a young man that I am honored to call my friend…Mr. Tyson Ayers.”
Tyson moved forward, clearly nervous, he smiled and seemed to focus on his sister. “Hello…hi everyone. Thank you for having me here today. Like Pam said, my name is Tyson.”
Tyson looked to the floor briefly before shoving his shaking hands in his pockets. “As a project for this class I decided to talk about…I just wanted to tell you all a little bit about my story.” He scanned the audience
. “I grew up in a small house. I had a lot of friends growing up. I loved baseball and cartoons and just hanging out with my buddies doing guy stuff. I…I remember the first time my physician told me I had a life expectancy. She told me I had a time limit. I didn’t really get that at first, but then I got worse. I got really bad, really fast. I have a condition called cystic fibrosis. It’s a horrible disease. It robbed me of so much…too much. And it left me knowing that I was going to die. I had this little time left on earth to wrap up what I needed to get done, to…to come to grips with what was happening to me, and to say my goodbyes. It’s the worst…the worst feeling to feel yourself dying.”
Tyson’s eyes glistened.
“It was like…no matter how hard I fought, my illness fought harder. There’s nothing more beautiful than waking up in the morning. But there were some nights I was so scared that wouldn’t wake up, so I just didn’t sleep. There were a few mornings I had to remind myself that it wasn’t just about the fight—and maybe I’d fought hard enough…letting go was okay. But then I felt like I was letting my support system down. They’d been so strong for me, but I was literally out of breath…I was done. I…I have the most beautiful, awesome and supportive sister a guy could ask for. When I say support system, I’m actually talking about Alex. If not for my sister—”
Tyson’s voice cracked as he pursed his lips. “If not for Alex I know I wouldn’t be here right now. Her daily sacrifices and motivation were literally all I was going on. She was all I had left…and then…and then my phone started ringing on a cold winter morning.” He wiped his eyes, smiling as he nodded. “To go from accepting it…to literally accepting it…to hearing there’s even a slight possibility that I might have more time…more life…there are no words to describe that.” Pausing, he smiled as a few tears escaped his eyes.
“You know…when someone gives you an expiration date you learn really fast that life isn’t about money and materialistic stuff. Life is about time with those that make you smile. I know every morning when I open my eyes that each breath I take is a gift…the most beautiful gift. I see the world through the eyes of a guy that had already said goodbye to it. I laugh louder, I forgive often, I dream big and I smile bigger. That’s how I know that, regardless if it’s five months, five years, or if I’m sixty-five-years old…I will be forever thankful for each and every breath I take. Some stranger…some family rescued me without even knowing my first name. Just as I had come to terms with my early demise, I was offered a second chance—a second chance that several of my friends didn’t receive. You know what? I was also offered a major realization…maybe this isn’t a fight at all. This is an effort, a group effort…a community effort and a human effort to find cures and effective treatments and end suffering. This is me, standing in front of my donor’s family…yes they are in the audience, and I am humbly saying thank you. Thank you for each and every breath I draw. Thank you for my life…I know the price tag is a lifetime of grieving your loved one. Please know I’ll live each moment to the fullest. For the rest of you…I ask you…I challenge you to help me spread the message. One of the few things of value my mother taught me was, you can’t take it with you when you go. How true is that? Be it a million bucks or your right kidney, you don’t need it once you’re no longer breathing. Why not check the box? Why not give that second chance to one of those thousands of people? Did you know that one organ donor can save up to eight lives? One tissue donor can help up to fifty people. Every ten minutes a new name is added to the organ waiting list, and every day an average of twenty-two people die while waiting on the list. Those people are men, women and children just like me…all waiting on the opportunity to apply to college, or see their granddaughter graduate college, or to simply get out of bed again and live. Those people are scared…scared and waiting. I understand this gift comes at a hefty cost, but it also comes with the opportunity to take one of those people off of that list…to take their fear away. I can’t…I can’t tell you what it’s like…I can’t put into words—”
