storeeze

I don’t even think they know where they’re goin’.  What are they tryin’ to prove, anyway? —The Wild Ones (1953) You know how every neighborhood has an eccentric? When I slipped my Harley up Richie’s drive on a hot Saturday afternoon, he was sitting on his bed surrounded by clothes and boxes. I t was one of those wacky Saturdays where the sight of Richie sleeping in would cause his father Ollie to turn purple  and dump the contents of Richie’s bedroom into the drive.  “Goddammit Richard, you'll be out of my house by six o’clock tonight, I GAR-UN-TEE!” “Where’s Ollie?” I asked. Richie sighed, “They’re at the Hub.” We got it all back into his room—the heat didn’t help—and cracked open a couple of Ollie’s cold ones. We’d been in crises since Alan frosted us with the Angels: “I like his sister. ” “Yeah, fourteen. ” “What do you see in these Angels girls? They're still in high school. You ain't even finger-fucked 'em. ” Richie opened his little black book. “The prom queens...

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. “He’s such a bad influence.” I grunted into the phone. “What?” “Git your ass over here.” My mother stiffened and clasped her robe. “I guess it's pretty serious,” I said. “Shhhh. You're not leaving my house like that. I'll get a clean shirt.” I put on jeans and the shirt, and found my keys. “You have something on your face.” She moistened a finger with saliva and wiped my cheek. “That's better. Don’t forget to check in.” “Bye, mom.” “No kiss?”  I went out the back way and 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 behin...