At the age of 22, Eddie went on a trip around the world. It was a college graduation present from our Uncle Jerry. The ticket was: London – Cairo – Singapore – Melbourne – Tahiti – LA, with 7,000 dollars for expenses and side trips. Eddie expected to be gone for ten months.
Mother was unhinged with worry over Eddie’s epilepsy. “One beer,” she opined, “one joint, and – kablooey!” She cut out articles about American tourists taken hostage, highlighting victims with medical complaints in pink.
If Eddie tried to watch TV, she used the commercial breaks to scaremonger: the Zambian hospitals staffed by Nazis; how Ann’s son became a cabbage; Third World-dumped medicines that caused “instant” cancer.
At the climax, Eddie would storm out, raving:
“Stick me in an incubator! Someday, I might get sick!”
1 Eddie called collect from London every night to tell Mom she smothered him.
1.1 Three postcards arrived the following week:
1.2 Dear Mom,
Got here without dying. This is just to let you know I decided to use my middle name from now on cause I suddenly realized, Eddie = Oedipus, which just freaks me out. Like, I can’t believe I was so lucky to get away, now I see what’s really happening. Anyway, this is the last time I’m writing, so if you want to think I’m dead, it’s not my problem. – JACK
1.3 Chrysa,
Here in London which SUCKS. They all look like fucking walruses, I totally get that Beatles song. So I’ve got this Finnish chick now, Martina, she’s like seventeen. She’s like, she left her hometown because “the people were not sincere,” so basically dumb chick. But that’s why I’m not writing after this cause I can only write when I’m lonely, sorry. Tell Mom I’m trying to be cool but I can’t deal with her right now. – JACK
1.4 Chrysa,
Getting the fuck out of Europe to Africa, I can’t take it here. It’s like everything’s neutered with so-called “civilization.” Like Martina ran off with some other Finnish asshole named Casper (honest to shit real name) cause he sleeps with both men and women because he’s comfortable with his masculinity or some shit, which I don’t have to leave California to hear this shit. Like friendly ghost jokes or what. So I’ll write from Egypt if I don’t suddenly have a fit and die. – JACK
1.5 That was the last we heard.