BASED ON A TRUE STORY:
In 1989, Tommy Clifford passed away at the age of 20, and his former co-worker, Rick Ciccone, believed it was a suicide. Two years earlier, Tommy, a summer hire at a land surveying company, experienced the tragic death of his...
Twenty-year-old Tommy Clifford was typing away on his Apple II E computer. The computer was new to Tommy and he loved it. Saving his classwork to a floppy disc was a great way to stay organized. He was an energetic kid, known to get by with very little sleep, which is why he was up at such a God awful time of day. The Economics Major was two months into his junior year at Rutgers University. He had a paper due on Monday and wanted to get it done ASAP.
Once he was finished, he was headed home with his friend, Mike. Tommy had a dentist appointment. After that, he had a few lawns to cut for customers in the landscaping business he started that summer. Mike had personal business to tend to, and was bumming a ride off Tommy. They wanted to get an early start on the one hour drive down the New Jersey Turnpike to avoid the rush hour traffic. They were expecting to walk through the Clifford's front door in Mt. Laurel, N.J. no later than 6 AM.
Tommy was listening to The Disc Man that was on his desk — Billy Idol's cover of the Tommy James & The Shondells hit, "Mony Mony". He thought Idol's sneer was, as the kid's would say back then, "bitchin'". His roommate slept nearby. He didn't want to disturb him. He sat back in his chair and reviewed what was on the screen. He stretched and ran his hands through his curly brown hair. He was so wrapped up in his work that he didn't hear the gentle rapping on the door, but he heard the second, louder knock. Tommy yanked the headphones off his ears. They dropped to his neck. He turned off his Walkman.
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Tommy studying.
"Tommy," a voiced whispered from the other side of the door.
"When did you get in?" Tommy asked Mike in a hushed voice. He held the door open for Mike, who came into the room.
"Ten minutes ago." Mike responded with a whisper. "Grabbed a quick shower. Had to get the cigarette smoke off me." Mike took a quick sniff. There was a stench in the room. It was Tommy. "You could use a shower, too. You smell like a chef salad."
Tommy tugged the collar of his t-shirt and took a whiff. "Yes, mommy," He smirked. "By the way, my mom is gonna have her peanut butter, chocolate chip waffles waiting for us."
"Bitchin'. I can eat."
Tommy's roommate stirred. "Can you two discuss the menu somewhere else?"
Tommy tossed the Walkman on his nightstand next to the photo of him and his girlfriend from the Senior Prom. He plopped down on his bed and collected dirty clothes from his hamper and stuffed them into a trash bag. The photo of his girlfriend wasn't the only photo on his nightstand. In the opposing frame was Tommy and some of his buddies, standing on someone's front lawn, dressed in tuxedo's for prom night. His area of the dorm was decorated with posters on the wall — Randall Cunningham, Mike Schmidt, Vanna White (whom he named as his goal in life for his senior yearbook autobiography) and a cover photo from The Wrestler Magazine — a young, well built grappler holding a championship belt, RICKY RAGE.
