The Education of a Young Gentleman
CONTENT WARNING: BAD THINGS “And I eat men like air.” —from Plath, Sylvia. “Lady Lazarus.” 1962. In 1960 I was living at home with my parents. “Charles!” “Uh?” “Richie has a flat.” “Where is he?” “On the phone, honey.” I rolled out of bed and stumbled after her into the kitchen. She thrust the receiver into my hand and lit a Chesterfield. I grunted. “What's the matter?” “Git your ass over here.” My mother stiffened and clasped her chemise. “Shhhh. We'll wake up your father.” “Great. I’ll get yelled at.” “Let me fix something.” “I'm not hungry.” “Well, you're not leaving the house like that. I'll get a clean shirt.” I put on jeans and the shirt, and found my keys. “Bye, mom.” “No kiss?” she said, bending her cigarette out in the ashtray. I hopped into the '52 Pontiac—a hunk of junk that cracked up Ollie, Richie’s father. An anxious excitement propelled me through the ghostly streets; I slid in behind the dark shapes pa...