Thad

SHEDDED

Busted Boone pipes.

He leaves.

Kick him to death. He is unnamed.
He must be trusted. He must be wanted. He must be estranged.

God damn time. He should know. We should have a meeting. We need a new way to go.

Here to there should not be now and then. When should be now. Now should be always.

Hungry. Dragging, smeared, biological colors and textures.

Thad Thack struts into Dillard's wearing faded, ripped jeans, a leather studded vest, and dark sunglasses. He holds a medium Coke in a red cup with a lid and straw. He slides his sunglasses to the tip of his nose with one finger, takes a sip of Coke, and slyly peers over at the women's underwear section.

He hops on his hog and drives up the highway at sunset. He's got a girl on his brain. He swerves to try to squash a squirrel but misses. He drives by a large old tree and thinks of a picnic he had with his mother ten years ago, before she died, but he quickly stifles the memory by thinking of the drive-in diner where he wants to wolf a cheeseburger, french fries with ketchup, and a vanilla milkshake. Gangs of teens swarm on the diner to chill as night falls. Thad pops his collars and judges every one of them to be brainless and gutless. He is about to chuck his trash onto the ground and go, when he sees Stacy roll by, being driven home by her straight-laced father. Thad knows she will slip out on her bike to hit the town in less than an hour. He drops his garbage on the black asphalt and peels outta that business. The remains of the burger bleed ketchup, and a fourth of the milkshake dribbles into the cracks.

He tears down the road to the river, where the blackness envelopes lone travelers. He feels like sighing (he doesn't know why), but he burps sharply instead then thrusts wet air out of a nostril, pressing the other closed with a gloved knuckle. At the farthest picnic area by the river, there's a bonfire and twelve motorcycles scattered at the edge of the wide glow. Thad Thack nestles his ride at the end of the driveway, and as he is illuminated, he's met by whoops and shouts and slaps on the head, back, and shoulders. A reclined leather-clad young man with shaggy blonde hair throws him a six-pack of warm beer cans. Thad rips one and drops the rest. He pours the fizzing pale brew into his mouth, crunches the can in his hand, and throws it into the trees. He lays on the ground, puts his hands behind his head, and stares at the smoky stars.
He zones out and his eyes begin to water... He jumps up suddenly, raises his eyes and arms straight up, spreads his fingers to the limit, and yells something profane and thoughtless. Everyone is silent. The gathering fades. Thad drinks two more beers, and one is poured onto the hissing fire.

Thad catapults himself back into town. It's not late at all. At the park he idles and spies Betsy buying two ice cream cones. He follows her on foot, keeping far away. She gives a cone to Stacy, who is sitting by the pond and laughing with Derick. Thad hides behind a bush and peeps. Derick puts a hand on Stacy's lower back, and flames erupt in Thad's eyeballs. He breathes heavily, uncrouches, prepares to charge into unknown conflict, but before he moves off his spot, the world turns upside down, and he hurls his dinner onto the clean grass. The sound attracts everybody's attention. Chuckles fill the park. Thad lies fetally and sideways glimpses Derick take Stacy's hand and lead her away.

Thad rides to the bus station, skids to a stop, and drops his bike. He cranes his necks and scans the street as far as it goes both ways. He rests on the bench for a long time, his head in his hands, taunted by wordless thoughts and indecision. He sleeps on his back. Nothing happens. The blue yellow warm day wakes him. He gets up, cracks all his bones, and starts walking. The crotch of his jeans are damp, and there's dried vomit on his vest. He happens upon his mother's dusty graveyard. He stops and squints at graves behind a chain link fence. He wants another girl. He needs to eat.

Thad Thack steps into Grossman's Pharmacy and spends 2.50 on a chocolate bar and Pepto Bismol.
His feet ache. He wanders into the park, sits, and watches ducks. He never changes. He sighs forcefully and loudly. No one else is there. Sunlight beats on his flesh. He whips out his wallet on a chain. He counts his crisp ones. He has fourteen. He skips toward the highway tossing his bills like confetti. He has totally forgotten about his motorcycle. He bought it used a week ago with money he stole from his aunt two towns over. He sticks out his crooked thumb. Eighteen-wheelers fly by, almost blowing him over. The highway air is dry, his eyes even dryer. Thad Thack blacks out from dehydration. The few drivers who notice his body lying by the road just assume he's supposed to be there and think no more.

Back story:

Thad showed up unannounced at his aunt's house. They had a good relationship, but she was worried that he and his dad had a bad fight. He hung around her for a couple of days and learned enough to withdraw two thousand dollars from her bank account. He had worked with a landscaping crew job to job and saved six hundred dollars cash. He didn't say anything to his father, didn't leave a note, just left on a bus. The nine years since his mother died, living with his father in a shack, going to a dumb school, and working to eat and party, had been long and full of spite, regret, grief, envy, delusion, and boredom.

Sounds sad, don"t it? He breaks it all. He breaks himself. He becomes a piece of the rubble of the landscape of his society. That's how we do. It could be better.