In Bloom

Chapter 1: Vance

The sun crept away as Vance Thomas paced home. Bittersweet October wind blew against the back of his hood as he gazed on. Pale green eyes darting through the space ahead. His mood towards this day seemed neutral. More neutral than he usually felt. It was almost to the point of disregard for everyone and everything that existed around him. His own little gray world became still and vast. Bleak thoughts seemed to take form next to him, matching his moderate stride. Maybe he had become numb without realizing. More than likely though , it was the Xanax he stole from his father's room. Vance was not a fiend. He did not even particularly like smoking pot. The whole reason for the robbery was somewhat of a last resort. A desperate coping mechanism he never knew existed. Only a month before, his mother had died in a car accident. The young marauder's gang of unruly friends began drifting shortly after. Worst of all though, was the extra grief added on by his father.

Gerald Thomas was not his son. He would almost prefer his days in Vietnam to relating with Vance. He did love him unconditionally as all fathers should. However, that did not mean he had to love who his child was. All those black clothes offended Gerald. Every screeching second of that horrible music drove the patriarch near insanity. "This is not how children should act." he constantly found himself thinking. "This is especially not how a young black man should act." he thought even more often. It was all too different. It was all too white. Gerald held a secret grudge towards the folks of opposite color. These feelings came from bitter child hood memories of merciless ghosts. The 6'4 behemoth of a man felt a nauseous anger when reminded of these times. To him though, he had done his best to set his son a straight path. Harsh and fair, just like his father before him. Vance did not pick up on it. He mistook concern for conformity. The sudden passing of Gloria Thomas only magnified such rebellious feelings inside him.

Those friends that were distant now, had never been before all of this. Sure, they could be a bunch of assholes, but he was often happily apart of that bunch. This was different. Everything playful about their orneriness had gone out the window. Sarcastic smiles had turned into soulless, black scowls. Hadn't it been partly his fault though? His overall attitude had changed almost over night. Vance no longer felt like vandalizing throughout the town with his pals. Watching Elliot Morris push the limits of his body for entertainment had become suddenly unimportant. He was even losing faith in his personal hobbies. That was something he and everyone else never expected. It's true depression can cause drastic behavior, but Vance Thomas avoiding what he loves? Even going as far as smashing his guitar on the somber fall sidewalk with an audience of neighbors. This felt impossible. Like some sort of terrible drone replaced him in the night. None of the others understood why he was so far away. They took it personal.

He had been returning from under the train tracks at Fulton Park when the pills kicked in. The place he associated with mostly good memories. It had now become the place where him and Elliot, a somewhat devilish young man, almost came to blows. Elliot was much stronger than Vance, and he knew it. Much stronger physically, but where Vance lacked actual muscle, he made up for it mentally. Compared to him, Elliot was miles behind in intelligence, and he knew it. The whole confrontation had been over a stupid joke made by Andrea Bancroft, Elliot's girlfriend. Something along the lines of "I guess he died in that accident too." . Her intention was not for this to be heard. It just came out louder than expected. This broke the intoxicating silence and sent a furious streak of black straight at her. Elliot stepped directly in the path of it, meeting Vance face to face. "You better watch who the fuck you're charging at." he said quietly. Vance only starred coldly into the black pits that hardly passed for eyes. Backing away slowly, he saw the others crowd behind Elliot. Taking it as a sign he was not wanted, he simply left without saying anything.

The clock was nearing 10 pm as Vance drudged up the driveway. The two story abode he called home had started to develop a slight decayed look. The vibrant yellow siding he remembered from adolescents had become a pale phantom shade. His father had not kept up with its appearance like he used to. This was far from his somewhat blank mind. Also absent from thought, was the curfew. He was not willfully concerned of the impending wrath awaiting inside. The pills took him out of reality. That was something Vance wasn't experienced with. He was almost always worried. Almost always over thinking everything. It felt wonderful to not think for once. His dark combats pressed a path through the spotty yard until he reached the front door. Stepping inside, he immediately locked eyes with his father. What he got was not an angry look, but a disappointed one. That was worse than the infamous Gerald Thomas rage. It was worse because this meant the feeling of resentment would last a few days. The usual anger only lasted a few hours. "Forget something?" Gerald said concerned. He stood up and walked closer to Vance. The boy said nothing. Now toe to toe, Gerald repeated himself more aggressively. "I guess so." Vance muttered while avoiding more eye contact. He placed his massive hands onto the denim shoulders of his son's jacket. "Vance, what did I say this morning?"Speaking directly into his face now. Vance repeated the agreed upon time still looking away. "Then why the hell are you just now stepping through the door?". He released the grip on the fabric and took a step back. Vance attempted to explain in a way that didn't expose him. The real reason for his tardiness was due to the stolen meds. He had just not been aware of his sluggish pace. "Damn it boy! Why you always gotta worry me?" His father barked. A half assed apology followed from dry lips to annoyed ears. "Sorry don't work no more, Son. You gotta actually change!" He said in a lighter tone. Vance suddenly heard himself respond without trying. "Then why don't you?" he responded sharply. Gerald was near shock after this. His son was not one to talk back. Rebellious, yes, but in his own quiet way. A sudden rush of anger hit the aging provider. He shoved the boy effortlessly. Vance flew back and felt his shoulder blades connect with the hard surface behind him. This cracked the heavily fogged glass of their front door. Without muttering a sound, like under the bridge, he departed. 

It's a wonder his father did not notice the spacey demeanor worn like a suit. Or maybe he did. Either way, that was fading now. Soon he would be back to his old, sad self. Venturing up the dim lit stairway, he tried to push these thoughts out. It was a successful attempt for a moment in time. The first step into his room caused undeniable sobriety. After all, this was the place where all of his darkest times resided. Like a collection of negativity lined the shelves. The absent space in the corner where his "axe" had been made him feel guilty. His bed was lonely rectangle where all of his sulking was done. The rest of the area was littered with everything you would expect a boy of barely 18 to have. He took off his jacket and added it to the endless piles, catching a glance of himself in the mirror as he did. A fairly fit young man with height inherited from his father. Dark brown skin as smooth as raven's claws. Hair in short, dully pointed dreadlocks adorned with blonde tips. A jaw as sharp as a razor lined his lower face. He met his own intense green eyes with a powerful discord. "Why me?" flashed through his head as it did so often. If it wasn't by his own conscious decision, he would consider it too often. Breaking the hard stare, he shuffled over to the window. Noticing a sort of hazy orange glow originating from far off. The aura seemed to float dreamily, almost ghost like, above the wooded confines at the end of town.