~01~

~1~
~20 Years Ago - 1979 - Age 17~
    "Thomas!" the brown-eyed dark-haired mother yelled, "Thomas! Your breakfast is ready!"

    Scraping the pans with her dull spatula, Michelle Anderson scooped the greasy bacon and sunny-side-up eggs from the pans, and tossed them onto the plastic lime-green plate. Flinging her towel onto the kitchen counter, she yelled even louder. "Thomas!"

    "I heard ya... I'm coming," the teenager groaned down the creaky stairs, dreading another day of books and boredom and bitches and bullies at Owen Patterson High. His long dark hair hanging over half his face, and his black Queen T-shirt hanging off his skinny frame, he still felt the throbbing ache in his gut where one of the fatter seniors hurled his fist before laughing at him and biking away.

    Why me?

    Thomas frisbeed his spiral notebooks onto the tan-and-cream tablecloth, slouched into his chair, and hissed, "And my name is Tommy."

    "Tommy?" his mom mocked, setting his plate before him. "As long as you live under this roof, I'm gonna call you whatever I want. You should be glad I don't use your full name! Do you want that?"

    "No," Tommy muttered under his breath. I think I'd prefer another hole in my head.

    "What did you say? Speak up, Thomas Alexander!"

    He cringed at his first and middle names. "I said, 'No.'"

    "That's right," his mom nodded wearily, "The world doesn't revolve around you, you know!"

    Tommy poked a metal fork into the pristine egg yolk, and witnessed the yellow fluid seep out of the punctured center. He murmured, "Thanks, Michelle."

    "Thomas Alexander Anderson! What did you say?"

    He grimaced in utter disgust. "I said, 'Thanks, Mom.' "

    Yeah, thanks for nothing.

    End of ~1~

~01~	~1~ ~20 Years Ago - 1979 - Age 17~ "Thomas!" the brown-eyed dark-haired mother yelled, "Thomas! Your breakfast is ready!" Scraping the pans with her dull spatula, Michelle Anderson scooped the greasy bacon and sunny-side-up eggs from the pans, and tossed them onto the plastic lime-green plate. Flinging her towel onto the kitchen counter, she yelled even louder. "Thomas!" "I heard ya... I'm coming," the teenager groaned down the creaky stairs, dreading another day of books and boredom and bitches and bullies at Owen Patterson High. His long dark hair hanging over half his face, and his black Queen T-shirt hanging off his skinny frame, he still felt the throbbing ache in his gut where one of the fatter seniors hurled his fist before laughing at him and biking away. Why me? Thomas frisbeed his spiral notebooks onto the tan-and-cream tablecloth, slouched into his chair, and hissed, "And my name is Tommy." "Tommy?" his mom mocked, setting his plate before him. "As long as you live under this roof, I'm gonna call you whatever I want. You should be glad I don't use your full name! Do you want that?" "No," Tommy muttered under his breath. I think I'd prefer another hole in my head. "What did you say? Speak up, Thomas Alexander!" He cringed at his first and middle names. "I said, 'No.'" "That's right," his mom nodded wearily, "The world doesn't revolve around you, you know!" Tommy poked a metal fork into the pristine egg yolk, and witnessed the yellow fluid seep out of the punctured center. He murmured, "Thanks, Michelle." "Thomas Alexander Anderson! What did you say?" He grimaced in utter disgust. "I said, 'Thanks, Mom.' " Yeah, thanks for nothing. End of ~1~