Thud by Tim Haywood

Thud. Thud.Thudthudthud. 

"For God’s sake!" Al squeezed the volume button on the remote as loud as the TV would go. But it was still not enough. It wasn’t just the noise; Al could deal with that. It was more the vibration, the throbbing, random jolts to his chest—Thudthud.Thud. 

“Damn it!” Al sprung up in his recliner. He hurled the remote, his pupils blossoming when plastic and batteries smashed against the wall. His feet hit the cold hardwoods and shuffled to the window, snagging his ratty sock on a loose floor nail. He slid open the window a few inches and squinted toward the street. They were already at it, on a goddamn Saturday morning at that. Must be five or six of them. Al’s stomach burned at the sight. 

He didn’t like kids. Actually, that wasn’t true, Al didn’t not like them either; he just didn’t want to spend any time at all thinking about them. Zero. These kids, though, these brats—gave him no choice. Since that hoop had gone up, the little freaks had taken up residence in his head. 

It wasn’t even one of those rolling basketball stands, either. Al’s next-door neighbor Jake had actually dug a hole in his parking strip and cemented the damn post right into the ground. Since the hoop hung out over the street, that apparently had made the entire fucking block part of their basketball court. The insidious punks would take shots from across the street, which, more often than not, would slam into a parked car or bounce off the backboard and roll into Al’s front yard. 

Things would have felt a little different for Al if it were only Jake and his kids, but oh hell no, this had to be every goddamn kid in the neighborhood pulling up to this hoop on evenings and weekends. And at the middle of it all was Jake. Seriously, what grown man chooses to spend all his free time around prepubescent, under-bathed little fucksticks as they spit and yell and create random fucking havoc out in the middle of a residential street? Pedophiles and cult leaders, that’s who. 

Even so, being the reasonable human he was, Al had tried to talk to Jake about his perceived entitlement. The hoop had been up for at least six months and by then, Al’s exhaustion had turned to desperation. Both men had been in their backyards one Sunday afternoon, and with only a short chain-link fence between them,  Al jumped at the opportunity to speak with the adult in charge. He  made his best attempt to sound cheerful. “How’s it going, Jake?” 

“Going good, Al. How about you? The kids told me you were a little upset at them the other day.”

“Uh, yeah.” Al forced himself to look Jake in the eye. “Here’s the thing, Jake. I’m a quiet guy. I lead a quiet existence. But this hoop of yours does something to me that isn’t good. It’s like these random thuds and clanks throw my heart off-kilter or something. I don’t mind the kids playing outside, but that goddamn hoop is killing me. Help me out, Jake—I don’t ask for much.”

Jake coiled up a garden hose as he walked along the fence toward Al. “I appreciate you, man. I honestly do. Kids can be annoying as shit.” Jake gestured toward his house. “I can guarantee you that someone in that building behind me is being annoying as we speak. There’s three of them so the likelihood is very high.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” said Al, fake chuckling. He’d never been good at getting to the point, but his simmering anger sharpened his will. “How about if they can play basketball when I’m at work?”

Jake examined the hose and removed the nozzle. “When’s that, like nine to five, Monday through Friday?”

“Exactly,” said Al. “That’s forty hours a week to play and be loud.”

“You’re serious.”

“Of course, I’m serious. Look, Jake, maybe I’m not being clear here. That fucking basketball hoop tortures me.”

Jake dropped the hose and regarded Al with concerned eyes. “Dude, I understand your pain. I really do. But I don’t think I can go along with those hours. The kids will be in school for most of that time. And city noise ordinance allows this type of thing until 10 PM.”

“Come on, Jake—"

“Here’s the thing, Al.” Jake placed his hands on the fence and leaned toward Al. “This hoop is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. It’s a few kids shooting hoops and talking with my kids. It allows me an opportunity to listen to what’s going on. They’re at an age where they’re testing a lot of boundaries, and I’m just trying to help them be safe. You understand, right?”

“Well, I don’t have kids, so maybe I don’t.”

“How about this?” said Jake, “The hoop shuts down at dusk.”

“Yeah, great,” said Al. “It’s May. The days are getting longer and I have to pay the price for you to keep tabs on your kids. It’s bullshit, man.”

“Excuse me?” Jake’s hands rested on his hips.

“Whatever,” Al said. “Do what you’re going to do. I’ll do what I’m going to do.”

“The hell does that mean?” said Jake. “Are you threatening me, Al?”

“Not you personally, no.”

“Stop your bullshit, Al. What exactly are you going to do?” 

“I really don’t know at this point, Jake. Maybe I’ll start looking for a new place to live. Which would be unfortunate.”

“That seems a little extreme, don’t you think?” Jake stopped briefly before disappearing through his sliding glass door. “And don’t ever threaten me again.”

“Prick,” Al said as the door slid shut.

After calming down for a few minutes sitting in his backyard, Al concluded that appealing to the police or city would be a waste of time. Instead, he would weaponize the English language to its maximum effect against the little freaks. From that moment forward, anyone who made the mistake of bouncing a ball or shooting at the hoop was met with a string of insults previously unwitnessed in this middle-class West Seattle neighborhood. 

The first couple of times, the kids didn’t know how to react. They’d just stood there in puzzled silence as Al leaned out his window and called them out, one at a time. . “Hey, you in the Spiderman shirt. Yeah, you. Did you know Weight Watchers has a kids’ program? Might want to look into their quick start plan before you have to start wearing trash bags. Oh, and you over there in the Raiders hat. You realize that that thing doesn’t cover up your face, right? Acne like that calls for a ski mask.”Al spared no one, yet made sure never to use profanity, lest he be accused of public indecency or something like that. He’d managed to make a couple of them cry and leave, so his tactics were paying off, but not nearly enough.

That’s when the idea came to him. It was on a summer evening when all the neighborhood delinquents had again gathered out front, bouncing the ball, shooting and shouting with their predictable chaos. Just as Al slid open the window and cleared his throat in preparation for his first insult, noises erupted across the street in Jenny’s garage. He saw sparks flying and concluded that she must be using a power saw for something. Those types of sounds didn’t bother him at all: the wallop of a nail gun, the scream of a sharp blade through metal…

Al barked out a hoarse laugh, closed the window, and shut the blinds. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Insults just treated the symptoms like Band Aids. Now he had a permanent solution. He threw on some sweats and grabbed his keys. Even the gaggle of ball-playing kids he had to maneuver around while backing out of his driveway didn’t sour his mood. And there was Jake, in the middle of it all. Al smiled and waved as he accelerated away, destination Home Depot. Once he’d parked the Ranger and entered through the sliding doors, Al’s face hardened into an expression of focus and steeled resolve.

It didn’t take him long to find the saw and blade aisle.

“Anything I can help you with?” 

Al pried his eyes away from the impressive selection. Her name tag said Emma.

“I’m looking for a saw that can cut through metal pipe.”

“What kind of metal pipe?”

“I don’t know—a pipe big enough to hold a basketball hoop. One that’s planted in the ground.”

“Let’s see what we’ve got.” Emma unlocked the metal grate that enclosed the tools. “You’ll need a grinder and a metal cutting wheel. A pole that tall and heavy should be sawed off in foot-long pieces.”

“What happens if I just make one cut near the ground, like I’m chopping down a tree?”

“I mean, that’s up to you. It’ll put a big load on your saw. That’s a lot of weight and torque so you’ve got to be careful.”

“Gotcha,” said Al, his heart rate picking up a little. Emma locked the cabinet and escorted Al and his new tools to the checkout area. “Good luck—I guess,” she said, handing Al his purchases.

“Thanks.”

But this wasn’t about luckHe got in his truck and examined his new purchases. The grinder seemed pretty straightforward. Al set it on the passenger seat and opened the box for the cutting wheel, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. Al smiled at the thought of being a step closer to peace. Not wanting to slice up his upholstery, he set the blade on his dash, admiring it as he drove. He pulled onto Delridge Avenue, his only remaining task to figure out how soon he could cut the damn thing down.

The thudding was audible the second Al rounded the corner onto his street. Maybe he was imagining it, but probably not. Only a handful of kids plus Jake were out there, and now they were blocking his driveway. “I am so sick of their shit.” Al gritted his teeth. “Those little fuckers picked the wrong day.” He lurched the Ranger to a stop, its front end less than a foot from the biggest kid, and laid on the horn.

It didn’t have the effect he expected. One at a time, they began laughing, then yelling back at him. 

“Fuck you, old man!” Laughter.

“Want to play hoops with us, old dude? Oh, that’s right. You’re too soft and lazy. You’d probably have a heart attack and shit your pants.” More laughter.

“Is that the best you’ve got? Get a real horn, not one that sounds like a dog toy!” They were high fiving and fist bumping as they laughed and teased him. Each insult added yet another layer of rage, clouding Al’s senses. When he saw Jake standing at the back of the group with a smirk on his face, Al’s brain broke.  

“Fucking delinquents,” he mumbled, shifting the Ranger into reverse.  He backed up about 30 feet, aiming the Ranger’s front end directly at the embedded post. “Well, this just in: the fucking gym is closed.”

Switching on his high beams, Al stomped on the gas.. Jake and the kids scurried in all directions, making Al chuckle; that fat kid was faster than he’d thought. He barely noticed the saw blade knocking loosely between the dash and windshield as the Ranger vaulted the curb and slammed into the basketball standard. The post snapped at the point of impact, toppling it backwards like a broken sunflower. 

Everything was still for a few seconds. The quiet was a beautiful song in Al’s head. For God’s sake, how long had it been since the street was this peaceful? The blade in his throat made it impossible to breathe, yet he hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Al watched Jake’s horrified face through the blood-spattered driver’s window and smiled as the gurgling subsided.