LUDIC LOG

The old man is giving me a good talking to. He's being careful not to hard-sell the speech or anything, because he knows he's #1 on my list, and he's got to make it out like he's doing me a favor. It's the day before my eighteenth birthday, and he doesn't need to be a mind-reader to know that he's at the top of my First-Kill list.

I have to admit, he's been pretty clever up until now. First-Kill is one of the biggest of our cultural traditions, and you're supposed to get this speech when your time comes. Because, you know, a lot of kids totally waste theirs. It's the only free kill you get in your life, and so many people just piss it down the drain. Girls tend to blow it on some other girl they've been bitching at. I dunno, hormones or something. My sister Caryn blew hers on some chick who was going out with a boy she liked. Three weeks later Caryn didn't even like the guy anymore. Fuck, she could have at least saved it for him. And, of course, guys tend to go for their fathers. The inheritance, of course. Benny Seavers says there's some kind of Oedipal thing to it too, but I don't bother with that bullshit.

That's why I sort of respect the old man. I had three older brothers growing up and he dodged a bullet with all of them. The oldest, Kendall he convinced by telling him it wouldn't be worth it because one of the younger three would just come after him for their First-Kill; the next in line, Jason, he talked into offing Todd, the third-oldest. But with me he's got a tough job. I'm the youngest, and with mom already dead and Kendall taken out as his girlfriend's First-Kill, I stand to inherit everything. I really have nothing to lose by letting the old man go.

Which isn't to say that he's not trying. He tried the bluff (hinting that he's got some more cash squirrelled away somewhere that he'll let me have if I don't waste him with my First-Kill); he tried the appeal to my aesthetic sensibilities (talking about how trite it is for a guy to throw it away on his father); he tried the family-tradition angle (his dad lived to a ripe old age, as did my great-grandfather, and, supposedly, his father before him); he reminded me of my other opportunities (I'm the second-string quarterback on the football team, and my girlfriend Lynette's old man is even richer than mine, and she blew her First-Kill on her bitchy little sister); he even tried to to appeal to my curiosity (Mom died when I was really young, so none of us ever found out how Dad used his First-Kill; he hinted that he'd tell me the secret if I made "the right choice"). All very well and good, but none of it outweighs how much I'd have to gain if I took him out.

Now, he's really reaching. He's talking about how you don't have to use your First-Kill right away, or at all, really. Like I didn't know that. Like everyone doesn't know that. The old man always thinks he's smarter than anybody else. He's saying how there's no reason you can't save it up; how I'm going to discover later in life plenty of situations where a murder with impunity would really come in handy, and when those situations arise I'm going to be sorry I wasted it on him, just for the sake of some money I'm going to get eventually anyway. And I'm thinking, you know, it's a pretty convincing argument, even though I'd never admit that to him. But using your First-Kill, it's like losing your virginity. Everybody wants to do it just as soon as they get the chance. Maybe it would be better to wait; maybe it wouldn't hurt to save it for a special occasion. But who the hell wants to find that out, especially when all your friends have already done it? All the people I know who never used their First-Kill are these pathetic losers, guys who are just such pussies that they never took advantage of their opportunities. They've never used them, and they never will, because they're soft. Why else would you wait?

He's almost done talking now. I can always tell when he's at the big moment when he's winding up one of his speeches, because he gets all patronizing and gives you that manly pat on the thigh, like he wants to be your buddy or your coach or something. I give him a real shit-eating smile and tell him that I appreciate him talking this over with me, and that I'll take what he said under considerations. Oh, yeah, old man, I'll really fuckin' think it over. Face it: he's done for as of 8:32AM tomorrow morning. When he had me, he hit the end of the line. It was a good speech, but it's not gonna save him at this point. He's just jerkin' off by now.

We both get up and head down to the kitchen for lunch; he tells me he's gonna let me have my first beer. (Way ahead of you on that one, Dad.) Some friends of mine are picking me up for a pre-birthday party kind of thing tonight and he asks me when I'm gonna be home. Around midnight, I say; in plenty of time to waste your ass in the morning, I don't say. "Before midnight," he says. "I have something I'd like to give you before the special day." Probably a watch or a bracelet or something; that's what he gave my brothers before their birthdays. I tell him sure. He's got good taste in stuff like that; it'll be a nice going-away present before I give him his. Nice try, old man. It worked four times before; it won't work this time.

He likes my answer, I guess, because he gives me that same indulgent, cocky smile I remember seeing on his face the nigt before Jason's eighteenth birthday. He's smooth, I gotta give him that: he really thinks he's proved something to me. He really thinks he's changed my mind. I suppose it's kind of a drag that I'll never know how he spent his First-Kill. But if he thinks my curiosity about that is gonna save him, he's dead wrong. So long, Dad: see you at midnight.