Chapter 04
Forgiveness
Bud woke up not to an alarm, but to a notification from his phone. He reached for it and held the phone above his head. The bright light strained his eyes, but the message read, “Heard what happened last night. It’s on the news. I’m sure you must be feeling down right now, take as much time as you need to recuperate.” It was from his boss.
The phone slipped out of his hand onto his face. But he did not react. He laid in silence marinating in his own anxiety. His depression nap made him wake surprisingly refreshed, but that didn’t change the fact that he killed a kid. The smell of bacon reached his nostrils, and his stomach rumbled in response. He didn’t have dinner last night and now he was paying for it.
Bud pulled himself out of the comfort of his bed and slipped on a white t-shirt and some sport shorts he had lying around on the floor. It smelled clean enough. The occasional grease stains meant they were only to be worn in his own apartment. Bud cobbled over to his bedroom door and opened it. He peered into the kitchen to see the arm of somebody cooking. It was his daughter, humming a tune no doubt from her favorite show. After a brief trip to the bathroom to pee and only pee (he had no motivation to brush his teeth right now), he shuffled into the kitchen.
“May?” Bud questioned.
“Hi Dad,” May replied. “You hungry? I’m making breakfast.”
Bud’s stomach rumbled. “Yes.” His face scrunched a bit, “Shouldn’t you be in class today?”
“I don’t have class today. College, remember?”
“Right.” Bud nodded, and walked over to the table and sat down. The light was shining through the blinds and onto the table, but it wasn’t bright, it was gloomy. It was heavily overcast today, as it was most days during Florida’s rainy season. May came over with some plates and dishware to set the table. She then brought the pan over and slipped the over-medium eggs onto their designated eating receptacles.
“I went ahead and cooked all of the bacon for you.” May unwrapped some bacon from the heat enclosing aluminum foil and placed it on his plate. The toast popped out of the toaster and she added it. The pho-butter made partially from olive oil was available at the center of the table with a knife laying atop, along with the salt and pepper in their glass shakers.
Bud reached for the knife and spread some butter on his toast. He sprinkled the salt and pepper on his eggs and then handed the shakers to his daughter. She did the same, but added ketchup too. Bud didn’t understand why she did this, but he got used to it with all of the time he spent with her.
The meal was quiet for the most part besides some small talk. “How are your classes going?”, “Make any new friends?” These were the typical questions a parent would ask their child. Bud was no exception. The standard “Fine” and “Nope” responses were relayed back to him.
Although some would find it rude, May decided to browse the internet on her phone. She needed an escape from the awkwardness. Flicking through various forum posts with her thumb on a website called Threaditt, she poked around on a community centered around Kalos University. It wasn’t super large, but it had some active members. Right on the front page she was met with the incident from last night. A threaddit user was there and posted about it before any news stations could release information. There were a couple pictures attached, one was of her boyfriend Rob, another was of her father underneath the shock blanket, then the truck, and finally, a zoomed in, partially blurry photo of Samuel’s mangled body.
May vomited in her mouth and swallowed it, immediately drinking her glass of water.
“You okay?” Bud asked.
“Yeah… just fine.” She responded, thinking, “Flair your posts not safe for work people! Learn proper threaddiquette, Jesus!”
Bud finished his meal, his belly was no longer rumbling. His hunger: satiated. His feelings: dulled.
May really didn’t want to broach the subject, but she recalled how distraught her father felt from last night. “Hey Dad,” she barked.
“Huh?” Bud responded.
“How are you feeling about last night?”
Bud seemed dejected and detached, he looked toward the gloomy light irradiating from the window. “I’d rather not talk about it right now.”
“Listen, if you are still feeling bad about it… why not go apologize to Sam’s parents?”
Bud placed his head on the table and sighed, “Do you think any parent will forgive the killer of their child? I’m not sure I would.”
May frowned, but she knew Sam’s parents. Her, Rob, and Sam have hung out there a couple of times. “I’ve met them, Dad, they are nice people. I’m sure they will forgive you. But like I told you last night, you are not a killer. It was an accident. Bad luck.”
“Bad luck. Ironic.” Bud thought about it for a moment. Despite his feelings of wanting to close off himself toward the rest of the world, May was right. Apologizing was the right thing to do.
“You’re right. I should,” He replied. “But it’s too soon right now. They need time to mourn.”
“You should rest too,” May added.
“Do you know where they live?” Bud asked.
“Somewhere in the western part of town. Don’t know exactly, my boyfriend would know.”
“His friend?”
“Yeah.”
“I-I should-”
“You should probably apologize to him too,” May affirmed Bud’s thoughts.
#
May knocked on the apartment door. Her father was right behind her awkwardly with his arms crossed. Shuffles were heard beyond the portal, walking right up to the entrance. No doubt an eye was currently straining against the peephole trying to surmise the visitors that approached.
“Who is it?” A male voice vibrated through the door.
“C’mon, dude, it’s me,” May responded.
The sliding lock was disengaged and the door opened inward. On the other side was Rob, May’s boyfriend, and the other student present at the incident. His short brown hair was pulled upward, almost into a forward leaning mountain. He was in some lounge-wear, bright red sport shorts and a black t-shirt with some unknown logo on it. His blue socks only matched each other and not the rest of his outfit.
“Hey May,” Rob leaned in for a quick hug and a kiss for his girlfriend.
“C’mon you’re embarrassing me.” May blushed as Bud looked kinda pissed off from beyond the doorway.
“Hm?” Rob was confused. Bud took this as his que to walk in.
“Er, hello.” Bud waved.
Rob’s face dropped into an emotion practically saying, “Why is this GUY here?” Clearly Bud was not welcome here.
“May, why is he here? You know what he did to Sam.” With each emphasization Bud felt the guilt strangle him.
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“I told you my father was coming. Did you read my texts?” May frowned.
“Only the important parts,” Rob said as he turned around and went into the kitchen.
“Oh my god, is he getting a knife?” This was the first thought that popped into Bud’s mind. A few seconds later Rob popped out of the kitchen with some glasses of water, he placed them on a small square table with coasters by the window. He then took a seat.
“Sit.” Rob laid his hand out toward the seat opposite of him. Bud gulped but took his seat. May sat on a couch close by staring at them, anxious that she might have to stop her boyfriend from beating the ever living shit out of her father. “So, why are you here then?”
“I wanted to apologize for what happened to Samuel.” Bud tried his best to look Rob in the eye.
“Hmph.” Rob took a swig of the water and placed it on the table. “Did you know who he was?”
“Other than you and May’s friend, no.” Bud shook his head.
“He was caring, a bit awkward and shy around new people, but outgoing when his tastes lined up. His favorite color was purple. He liked anime, video games, was usually chronically online when not studying, and wasn’t afraid to go on huge tangents about some obscure lore with other people. He had sound advice to give despite his horrible luck in romance, was dependable, and always kept his word. Amongst all, he noticed when some things were wrong and he was there for us when we needed him. In other words, he was a great friend.” Rob leaned in. “So, I ask you, how do I know you mean it?”
“Rob,” May started to speak.
“Shut,” Rob closed his open hand toward May, “Let him speak.”
Bud gulped. “It’s on my mind twenty-four seven, the fact that I killed him. I can’t stop thinking about his body. Oooh, the body.” Bud shivered as the disfigured corpse flashed into his head, “What his parents must feel, what you must feel I can’t even compare it to my own suffering. If May died I no doubt would’ve ended it all shortly after. From what you and her have said, he sounded like an amazing person.” Bud started to tear up and his voice cracked, “I know I can’t take back what I did, but I at least want to make the grieving process as painless as possible. Never in my life has there been an event as hideous and surprising as this one, and for that, I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?”
Rob took another sip of the water and slammed it onto the table, smiling. “On one condition,” he got up from his seat. “You let me punch you in the gut. I never got to get a good punch on that other fucker, but I guess you’ll have to do for now.” Rob had a look of determination on his face as he briefly stared out the window. Bud took note of this.
May stood up and shouted, “Rob! You can’t ask him to let you do that!”
Bud got up from his chair hand outstretched toward her. “N-no May, it’s quite alright.” He turned to Rob and nodded. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.”
Rob cracked his knuckles, “Shirt off then.”
Bud complied, showcasing his trucker’s gut that he steadily expanded over the course of his job. It jiggled a bit with no more slack from the shirt. Bud spread his arms out to give Rob a clear shot of his belly. “I’m ready.” He stretched his neck up and away from the splash zone and closed his eyes.
Rob walked up to Bud’s face and stood there. Bud opened his eyes before being met with tears formed in his assailant’s. A sudden uppercut to the gut made Bud collapse onto the floor, one hand outstretched to keep his balance, and his throat uttered a deep painful groan that could challenge even the greatest Mongolian throat singers.
Bud managed to speak the word, “bucket” to May. Her eyes widened and she grabbed the nearby trash can from under the sink. Bud threw up the morning’s contents into it. He looked up to Rob, who still was standing there. His face was pointed away from his girlfriend’s, in an effort to hide the tears.
“Apology accepted, Mr. Bringer. Apology accepted.” He smiled.
#
Bud, May, and Rob all sat down around Rob’s table with a plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of them.
“Had I known you were bringing your dad I would’ve prepared a better meal.” Rob gave out a short laugh while biting into a fork funnel of pasta coated with a meat sauce.
“Reading comprehension was never your strong suit,” uttered May.
“Thank you regardless, for the meal Robert.” Bud said.
“Call me Rob.” He responded.
“Okay, thank you, Rob.”
“No problem. Eat up. I’m sure you are hungry after puking up your guts. Can’t hurt to add a little more acid to your meal.”
“Rob!” May smacked him on his back jokingly, causing him to abruptly swallow the Italian silly string down his throat in a globular cluster. One of Rob’s eyes widened, nearly seeing death take him.
May swirled up the spaghetti around her fork and took a bite.
Bud put down his fork. “Rob, I also wanted to apologize to Sam’s parents. Do you happen to know their address?”
“Hang on a sec.” Rob pulled out his phone from his right pocket and went into his contacts. He searched for “Sam Draga” and his contact card popped up, with Sam’s face mounted above his name. Rob’s mind briefly flashed a memory of the two of them finally beating Servant Knight Gaol in Shattered Souls 3 co-op. Sam’s sweaty face had the happiest look after they clapped and yelled their lungs out in celebration. Rob smiled. He then copied the address listed and sent it to his girlfriend.
“I sent it to May, so she can send it to you. I’ll let them know you plan on coming.”
“Thank you.”
Sam nodded and picked up another fork full of pasta. Bud did the same.
#
It was now Friday. Bud had heard from May that Samuel’s funeral would occur tomorrow. He drove his dinked up car to the Draga’s residence. Rob had notified them of his arrival like he said he would earlier in the week. Bud parked his car in front of the house. It was a one story house, painted white, with red roofing tiles. A small patio enclosed the front entrance, inside of it were various lawn ornaments depicting frogs in various positions. One of them said, “An old toad lives here.”
The sun was really beating down today, and Bud, already somewhat sweaty from the walk up the driveway, opened the patio screen door. He passed by a small bench, and opened another door, this time it was glass. Behind it was the real front door, a solid white wooden thing.
Knock, knock, knock.
The anxiety was starting to form a lump in Bud’s throat. “How will they react?”, “Are they going to kill me?” These were just some of the questions forming in his head.
The door opened to an older man, perhaps in his mid to late fifties, bald on top but with a thick strip of hair surrounding his head. Somehow his hair was still a hazelnut brown, and he had a groomed mustache, which reminded him of the Scamopoly man’s. He was wearing belted beige pants and a light green collared shirt.
“Mr. Draga?” Bud asked.
“Yes?” Mr. Draga replied.
Bud held out his hand in a greeting, “Bud Bringer. Uh, Robert said he told you I was coming.”
A small frown appeared on Mr. Draga’s face as a result of being reminded of his son’s death. But it went back up to a smile as he said, “Ah. Yes, yes. Please come in.” He stepped to the side to wave Bud in.
Bud gave a quick smile and a nod, and walked through the doorway. Inside was quaint. The kitchen was to the right, a bathroom and guest room to the left, and a small hallway opened up to an open floor plan. The left was a living room with a couple of couches to rest on, and the right was the dining room with a long rectangular table. Behind the dining room was a sliding glass door with a larger backyard patio. Further to the right of the dining room was a split decision. On the right was a laundry room which fed into a garage, on the left was a very short private hallway which opened into the master bedroom with two walk-in closets and a decent tiled bathroom. Of course Bud wouldn’t know this, but the Draga’s certainly did.
“Come let’s sit at the dining room table. Would you like anything to drink, a coffee?” Mr. Draga pointed to the table and went into the kitchen from behind a granite countertop with a couple of stools.
“A coffee would be nice, thanks.” Bud replied.
“Of course.” Mr. Draga loaded the coffee dripper with fresh grounds and slotted the glass carafe underneath. Bud walked to the dining room table and noticed that someone was already sitting there. It had to be Mrs. Bringer. She looked depressed, but looked up to notice him.
“You must be Mr. Bringer.” She held out her hand. Bud shook it.
“Yes, I am. Mrs. Draga, I assume?”
“Mhm.” She nodded before sipping her own coffee out of a red glazed mug.
“Here you go Mr. Bringer.” A red glazed mug was placed in front of Bud.
“Thank you.” Bud accepted it.
“Milk, half in half, or sugar?” Mr. Draga pointed to the additives at the center of the table.
“Just half in half, thanks.” Bud responded. Mr. Draga slid the thin carton over to him. Bud reached for it, unscrewed the top, and poured in a little bit. He closed it, then took one of the spoons at the center and mixed it. Bud then took a sip, his slurps echoing off the mug and into the depths of the grievings’ ears.
The room fell silent in the brief moments after.
The tension rose, almost as if there was an orchestra playing up a scale in a dissonant fashion. He felt an imaginary camera zoom in on his neck, capturing his Adam's apple swallowing. The itchy sweat built up under his armpits and leaked into his shirt. Bud noticed that Mr. Draga had sat next to Mrs. Draga, they were both staring at him expectantly but also somewhat in fear. They were even holding hands, comforting each other. Mrs. Draga was shaking slightly too.
Bud closed his eyes and breathed out to calm down. His voice, too, was shaky. “I came here to offer my deepest condolences for your son, Samuel.” Bud folded his hands together to steady himself, but the emotions and guilt welled up through his eyes anyway. He tried his hardest to look Sam's parents in the eye. “I-I am also pro-profoundly s-sorry for hitting him with my t-truck.” Bud lost contact and looked down. His tears fell onto the table silently, and even into his coffee blessing it with a hint of sodium. Stifled breathing was layered between release after release.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Bringer started to tear up too, got up, and hugged him.