Going into the bathroom, I already hear the voices of the guys downstairs getting ready for the day. The Super Bowl is tomorrow and of course, the frat house plans on throwing a huge party. Another day I hate because years ago, the Super Bowl landed on January 25th, a day I’ll remember forever.
I throw my shirt on the counter and step out of my pajama pants. Turning on the shower, in order to give the warm water time to travel through the old pipes, I go to the sink and grab my toothbrush. I notice my changed self in the mirror. With all the working out at Barbells, I can tell my chest is swollen and bigger than before. I should thank Jessa for me getting in better shape.
The shower didn’t do anything to help shed my grim mood. There are two things I need to do today before I have to work the evening shift at Barbells, not to mention all the studying I have to complete before Monday. Although I am happy to have work and a heavy course load today, no amount of distractions will keep the memory very far from my mind.
I climb into the beat-up truck I bought my freshman year with money I received from my high school graduation. To say it was in bad shape would be a severe understatement, but I haven’t had to put a lot of money into the truck and it gets me from place to place. It’ll suffice until I start my career. The back tires slide to the right when I pull out onto the icy road, reminding me I need to buy a bag of kitty litter to throw in the truck bed in order to stop the hunk of junk from slipping all over the road.
The sign reads “Water Springs” in a nice, calming script on a cement block, centered in what I assume was a bed of flowers. But like everything else in January, there are only bare branches sticking out of large mounds of white ice. The long winding driveway leads me to a wide, one-story building with few cars in the parking lot. I walk in and give my name to the friendly, middle-aged lady behind the desk. This is my first time here so I have to show my ID. She looks at it and then back to me before instructing me to take a seat. The waiting room is small, with only a few grey fabric seats and a handful of magazines on a table. The pamphlets next to me are all directed toward the family members of addicts.
“Mr. Bishop?” a girl maybe a few years older than me calls out after opening the locked door.
I stand up to meet her and she smiles over at me. She’s definitely a girl who pique
Her long blonde hair is thrown up in a loose pony-tail that sways from side to side as she leads me into another room. “Please have a seat and he’ll be in shortly,” she instructs, and I notice her nametag reads “Tessa”. Well shit. With a name that automatically brings Jessa to mind, there goes any chance I might have had to be with this girl.
The room has two matching beige sofas across from one another with a large glass coffee table resting between them. A small fridge sits in the corner with a coffee pot on the table beside it. A note says to help yourself, so I grab a Styrofoam cup and pour myself a cup of coffee before sitting down on one of the couches.
I don’t have one sip down before he enters the room, looking so much better than the last time I saw him. His hair is washed and shorter, his face smooth and shaven. The corduroy pants and plaid button-down have been replaced by a pair of khakis and dark green sweater. He now resembles the man I knew six years ago, before his world got turned upside down because of my father.
“Grant, it’s so good to see you,” he welcomes me, holding his hand out.
“Mr. C, you look great.” I place my hand in his and he pulls me into a hug. “You’re an adult now, call me Vince. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“You know I won’t,” I tell him.
“How is everyone?” He changes the subject, knowing he will always be Mr. C to me.
“Good, I think. Classes started up this week,” I say, trying to make small talk.
“Don’t put pressure on yourself, Grant. You need to have fun too,” he says, starting his usual lecture with me. “Enjoy college, it’s not all about work and success.”
“I know, but it’s my last semester and I need to finish strong in order to get one of the jobs I want.” We both take our seats on opposite couches, facing one another.
“You need to find a happy medium between work and pleasure if you’re going to enjoy your life,” he advises.
“Pleasure can come after success.” I cock a smile to him, knowing that we’ll always disagree on this subject.
“Do you want to talk about today?” he asks, diverting the topic to the real reason I came here.
I shrug.
“There was nothing you could do, Grant. It was her time,” he tries to convince me, just like he does every year. But I know that if I would have been there, I could have done something.
“I know,” I respond, just like I always do, even though he has no idea that today isn’t only the day my mom died. Who would ever guess that two shitty things could happen to someone years apart on the exact same day? As much as Mr. C is a father figure to me, I would never share with him the shame I feel on this day every year.
“I wish I could be there with you today, but…” He puts his head down, ashamed.
“Don’t worry about it. I would rather have you here.” Mr. C has met me at my mother’s grave every year since her death. Even as often as he was drunk, he never showed up stumbling or swaying, and he always offered me advice to get me through the day. But I mean what I say; he needs to be in rehab. To get himself better and start living his life like the one he had before my dad destroyed it.
“I do need to be here. Brady and Sadie came to see me the other day,” he says and the smile on his face brightens the room.
“Were they able to keep their hands off each other during their brief visit?” I joke.
“Young love…it’s a breathtaking sight, Grant. You should give it a try.” He sits back and leans into the cushions.
“It’s overrated. I prefer older, more established love,” I contradict him and he frowns.
“You do understand that, regardless of age, love can either break your heart or cause you to soar to new heights. It’s a chance you take, no matter if you are a billionaire or if you are on welfare. Heartbreak isn’t prejudiced, Grant.” He leans forward and looks at me as though he just revealed a major secret.
“I have to imagine though that if you get your heart broken, it’s better if you have money to buy yourself some happiness again.” I’m not immune to the fact that I sound like an asshole, but I don’t want to set myself up for someone to leave me again.
“One day, son. One day, you’ll find love and it’ll knock you down hard. You won’t remember whatever it is you wanted before it came along.” He shakes his head, smirking at me.
“As long as I’m thirty-five, and I have three houses and at least a million dollars in the bank, I’ll welcome it,” I say with a laugh, attempting to bring amusement to this serious conversation. Mr. C’s expression tells me that he isn’t finding humor in my words.
“We’ll see. In the meantime, try to have some fun,” he says, starting to stand up. “Please give your mom my best.” He holds his arms out to give me a hug and I gratefully hug him back.
“I will. Keep getting better, Mr. C. I’ll be back next week,” I promise with one more pat on the back.
“Please do me a favor and stick my advice somewhere in the back of that stubborn head of yours,” he says, smacking the back of my head playfully.
“Will do. I’ll keep it way back there,” I laugh, sidestepping my way out of his second smack.
“And Grant,” he says and I turn around. “I love you.”