Death in Adolescence

A sudden dip prevailed as the wind led the disc to a five foot descent. This change of flight forced the heavy sprint to become one of full extension. The Frisbee still remained twenty feet away. The arm pumps could not extend any further. Accompanied with breaths becoming sporadically heavier, Thomas Adams was now running as fast as he could. Uncertainty had begun to set in. Failure was not an option. He could not let the Frisbee hit the ground. A momentous leap seemed to be all that would make or break his chances with the one that he coveted yet never spoke to.

Expertise had been acquired through many nights of tossing the biz on the campus of Springfield College. Outside of the dorms Tom’s time was spent with his particular group of roommates and friends, otherwise known as Jerrytown. This group, which congregated on the green in front of Tom’s dorm, consisted mostly of hippies, with some coordinated mystics and jocks mixed in. They played entirely on campus with the exception of Forest Park. Jerrytown, the intramural ultimate Frisbee championship team, first formed sophomore year. Years of practice consequently led Tom to believe he would somehow reach Fitzy’s long throw in the beginning of their final fall semester.

The common man would have given up thirty feet prior.  Long strides had gotten him this far. Now there was no time for another step. His right arm straightened and stretched out an extra foot the moment his horizontal body paralleled the ground. A perfect line formed all the way from his erect middle finger down to his pointed toes- an arrow at full torque.

The lone focal spectator would watch the near impossible feat vividly. With the meeting point approaching, she raptly fixated on the point of improbability.

Hips make first contact, directly followed by elbow and knees.

Whitney stood over. “Wow!” she said.

The disc was now one foot off the ground, held upright in the perpendicular right arm of Thomas Adams.

It was achieved- success!

 The Frisbee was prevented from a landing upon the pristine college grass.

“What a catch!” Whitney, the short-haired, skinny, highlighted blonde said. The attractive twenty-year-old towered over Tom’s backside- with hands on her hips. His over sized cargo shorts had slipped down his thighs. Red and blue checkered boxers were in Whitney Stanton’s sight.

Tom, at once, turned over onto his rear still holding the Frisbee and sat up. The grass stains became evident on slender knees and cargoes that pointed toward the sky. No words accompanied the first glance at Whitney, just a wide smile.

“I didn’t think I was going to reach that one,” Tom finally spit out.

“Yeah Tommy!” Fitzy’s words were muffled from afar. Christopher Fitzgerald was the only member of Jerrytown present in front of the townhouses throwing the biz with Tom. Naturally for the two, they were throwing the biz in front of the Townhouses on this Tuesday afternoon. Fitzy was one-half of Tom’s two roommates, Mike Williams was the other. Mike though was back in Town House Three researching who supplied Springfield College’s drinking water.

Fitz, by far, was one of the most vocal in Jerrytown. The large set young man, whose stretched fingers held the same width as the Frisbee, was by far the only conservative within the group. He had a “right-wing” opinion on every topic.

Christopher Fitzgerald was too a social butterfly, and Tom wasn’t.  The moment Fitz saw the girl Tom fancied he came up with the clever smokescreen in order to commence an advance.  Tom’s sprint had ulterior motives, rather than just catching a Frisbee.

An instant link ensued subsequent to the catch, but Tom still was a little embarrassed with his effort. And it was all because of Fitzy’s improvisation to send Tom on this impossible feat. Something Tom would never have thought of to simply create an interaction.

On the ground with Whitney looking down, Tom thought to himself, “Normal people don’t randomly dive at Frisbees on a Tuesday afternoon.”

This young man at first glimpse seemed like any other fit twenty-one year old college student- tight fade, Birkenstock clogs, cargo shorts, and a bulky hemp necklace that encircled the collar of a Bird jersey. A patchy brown scruff filled his cheeks and chin albeit was not foregoing a beard.

Deep down past the attractiveness, was a sad sad uncertain boy however. Wounds from year’s prior still were sore. Tom had not healed yet. He did not know the proper way to fix the damage his father had done. Oh how his environment had shaped him. Was the American dream still available for this young man?

Beyond the scars and pain, a superficial indescribable energy Thomas discharged, which Whitney noticed long before this diving catch during the beginning of their senior year. It was clear he was far different from the others.

Prior to the dive, Tom had never been in love. No commitments were ever made to another, never feeling an inkling of romantic chemistry. Experiences thus far in regards to love had been anything but the one emotion that can change the world. A muddled interpretation evolved on the matter of commitment and matrimony. Marriage for his parents was a clear indication of the society he had lived in. It had failed.

His parents divorced when he was eleven during extreme dysfunction. An event the senior had yet coped with or settled. Let alone parents separating, his father was the town drunk everyone knew of in Hartford, and Hartford is a very large city. His mother Wendy tried and tried and tried to salvage something out of nothing. The time came though when hope was gone.

Obviously, embarrassment, jealousy, and resentment could not be avoided during Tom’s youth.

Robert Adams, Tom’s father, died of alcoholism at the age of forty-one in November 1996. Robert’s death occurred Tom’s freshman year when was attending Bulkeley High School in Hartford, Connecticut.

It was very difficult for Wendy not to feel relief. By no means was her ex-husband a means for support- emotionally or financially. Wendy Adams’, on the contrary, supported Tom as a single-mother police officer.

Before his death, the living arrangements set up a very awkward scenario for Robert, Wendy, and Tom after the divorce in 1995, while the family lived in the south end of Hartford. Parents were no longer together, yet they still lived under the same roof. Robert would call the seasonally sweltering, or frigid, attic home.  

Robert lived a sad life. The only time he was seen out of the house during his final years was during his walks to find booze or get his minimal turkey dinner at the diner. That was the extent of his existence. Wendy worked the midnight shift, which allowed the strange living conditions to work. She simply avoided Robert by sleeping during the day. Her motivation rested on saving enough money to leave her ex-husband’s house and buy a house in a better school district for Tom.

Yes, the two tried their hardest to avoid each other, but Tom would not avoid the drunk. Daily visits upstairs would be made under the illusion that Tom wanted to listen to a rare record of his Dad’s massive collection. Being intoxicated, Robert didn’t mind the visit and actually the encounter was the lone enjoyment he held in his rotten state. His condition consistently declined, with his habit increasing each day. Robert was very fortunate that he was not homeless.

        Robert and Wendy inherited the two-family house from Robert’s father, Gus, when Tom was an infant in 1982. Gus Adams had previously bought the house in Hartford under the assumption that it would be a profitable investment, but renting it out and maintaining it had become too great a responsibility for the elder. Ever since Gus first bought the house, the first floor was rented out to an elderly woman, Miss Harriet Foley, who had lived on the first floor through the several changes in owners since 1970.

She was a retired school principal, single and never married. More or less, she lived the life of a nun. There were daily church visits. Through the years of his growth, Foley took a liking to Tom, always inviting him in the moment he walked up the front steps. She would always follow the greeting by reiterating the necessity to read. “Thomas,” the hunched back old lady would call him, “reading will open all your doors.”

The strong relationship between boy and Foley, ironically, first began as a result of Tom’s destruction. An eight year-olds apology due to cracking his downstairs neighbor’s window would be the first lengthy encounter the two would hold. Subsequently, Miss Foley’s first floor back window would be shattered ten more times through the years. Yes, friendship arose all because of a rubber baseball that was supposed to be rebounding against the wood siding.  Still, it was never a problem. She was only concerned that Thomas told her soon after the damage happened.

Ms. Foley was well aware there was a problem with Tom’s father ever since the family moved in. She had seen many addict parents come and go through the school system. The frail jaundice bald alcoholic was always loud and angry, but she didn’t pry. Nearly each time Tom was down by the circumstances of the times, he seemed to bump into Ms. Foley in front of the house. The elder would ask if he wanted to talk over some Oreo’s. Looking into her thick glasses, he would always respond in the same manner, “I don’t want to bother you. I’m just having a bad day.”

“I have some nice horticulture magazines to show you!” she would respond.

It worked every time. Tom would spend hours looking at magazines while dipping his cookies in milk on the first floor. Never a mention of his father though.

Robert was very sly in that he would visit Miss Foley’s door the first of every month in order to receive the rent money. During the marriage, he would leave two hundred in an envelope for Wendy, for utilities and living expenses, and then pocket the rest of the rent money. The remainder was then used for his booze until it ran dry by the end of the month. The cycle would again repeat.

He would never give his wife any additional money while the two were married. The moment Wendy told Robert she wanted a divorce, though, he came up with an agreement that would compensate her with some extra money and free housing, all the while lawyers remained out of it. Truly, Robert did not want to lose the home. Deep down Robert acknowledged that he could not maintain it without Wendy’s assistance.

Robert made it very clear during every nasty argument subsequent to the divorce that he was doing Wendy a favor by letting her board for free in “my house.” It was the most dysfunctional situation, but Tom’s mom Wendy, who hated the man, had nowhere else to go. Everything he promised when they were young never came true- aside from their beautiful boy.

Tom, naturally, adored his father for the longest time. As a child his father was superman- he could do no wrong. Through time, however, Tom would grow ashamed of what truly existed. The process of an ugly divorce behind closed doors was a clear indication of what truly existed. All of his classmates, who had living arrangements not nearly as strange as his, made Tom quite aware of his situation.

One day at the age of twelve, with innocence fading, Tom gained the courage to faintly call out his father. He sporadically wrote a bold note in capital letters. The powerful sign was pinned at eye level on the outside of his father’s attic door:

DAD, I WILL NOT TALK TO YOU IF YOUR DRUNK AGAIN TOMORROW,

FROM YOUR SON.

Tom could not withstand the arguments or shame any longer. Robert, nonetheless, had no ability to sense what was being placed on his door at eight in the evening while he lay incapacitated. As Tom pushed the thumbnail, undistinguishable Blues was blasting from behind the door. The twelve year old no longer could keep the anguish in and immediately broke down. All the pain and sadness came out. He couldn’t make it any further than the bottom steps of the stairwell leading out to the second floor. He sat and wept into his forearms for ten minutes while shrugging over his knees. He sat sobbing so loud neighbors could hear him, but in his home no one could hear, mom was sleeping, dad wasn’t conscious. This was the only time his father made him cry.

His father obviously read the note. It was removed the following day, but all to no avail. Yes, it made Robert sad, but his only solution for sorrow was booze.

Tom, consequently, no longer grieved at age twelve. He had given up on his father’s state improving.

        Nevertheless, life for Tom continued with dysfunction and worry everyday. More anxiety though was spent upon his mother’s profession rather than Robert’s condition. Wendy had sacrificed her safety for the public’s- all in order to give Tom a normal childhood. A female police officer working the midnight shift would draw fear in any offspring. Tom was no exception. He spent every evening creating negative scenarios while his mother was away at work-consistently staying awake until 3 in the morning.

She was stuck though. Robert did not fulfill his share of the marriage and put all the stress on a young mother, who was willing to work through any problem as long as Robert was sober. Still, while she lived rent free she saved and saved and saved. Yes, she could have rented, but she thought that as a waste of money. She wanted to be a homeowner. Deep down, also, she didn’t want Robert to be alone.

In Robert’s reality, through his charitable contribution of Ms. Foley’s rent check to his family, he thought of himself as a saint. With such varying opinions, the arguments were very potent during the early stages of the divorce, in which Robert made very clear he did not owe Wendy a dime for ‘the kid’. It was more than enough to give them a roof over their head for free.