Love Creeps by Amanda Filipacchi Read Free Book Online Page B

all.”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWait, let me get this straight,” Alan said, smiling. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t think we’re equal in the realm of desirability? Are you trying to imply that you’re … um … superior to me, in some way?” Alan stared at Roland’s locket, feeling sorry for whatever family member or sweetheart was in there. He pitied that relative for being associated with such a pompous ass.
    Roland saw him look at his locket, guessed his thoughts precisely, and rolled his eyes. In his locket was not a family member or sweetheart, but cyanide, for the purpose of self-deliverance if the need ever arose. Wearing a cyanide-filled locket was a tradition in his family. The item had been passed down four generations. When Roland had turned fourteen, his father had taken him on a walk, “man to man.” ( “D’homme à homme,” is what he actually said, since they were French.)
    â€œI want to give you this,” his father had said, pulling out of his pocket a chain from which swung a locket just like the one hanging around his own neck, the inside of which had always remained a mystery to Roland and his sister.
    The young Roland took the locket.
    â€œC’est du cyanure,” his father said. (“It’s cyanide.”)
    Roland’s innocent eyes opened wide. “To kill someone?”
    â€œNo!” the father said, shocked that his son’s mind would jump to such vile conclusions. “To kill yourself.”
    Roland winced and looked up at his father to make sure he wasn’t joking. “But I don’t want to kill myself.”
    â€œOne day you might.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œSometimes in life, it happens,” his father said, in his usual impatient tone that meant, “You are a moron, my son.”
    Roland tried not to cry, but couldn’t hold back the tears. He threw the locket on the ground and kicked dirt over it.
    His father hurriedly picked it up and wiped off the dust. “Non mais, ça va pas la tête?” (“Are you crazy?”)
    Roland’s cheeks were like peaches in the rain.
    â€œWhy can’t you ever act like a man?” his father said, pacing around him. “It’s an honor, that I’m giving you this. I’m not giving one to your sister. Doesn’t that make you happy?”
    â€œThat’s because you don’t want her to die!”
    His father grabbed his arm and shook him. “I don’t want you to die. Unless you want to.”
    Roland still pouted.
    They resumed walking, and his father began a speech, which Roland never forgot. His father said, “Life is a prison. Most of the time, it’s a nice prison, and you want to be in it, but the prison is even nicer if the door is unlocked. Knowing that the door can be stepped through at any time makes your time in prison more relaxed, that’s all. By giving you this locket, I am telling you, ‘You are old enough, my son, to decide if you ever want to walk through that door.’ I’m giving you freedom. Having quick and easy access to death makes us more elevated, more evolved than other men. Less like women. We’re carrying around a bit of perspective at all times.”
    The young Roland reluctantly began wearing the locket. He would practice finding the idea of spontaneous self-destruction attractive.
    After a few months, he always wore it and enjoyed what it meant, and now, as a grown man, he couldn’t imagine what it must be like, psychologically, for the rest of the population, who didn’t have this quick and easy access to death. Of course, they had certain means at their disposal—jumping out a window or hurling themselves in front of a subway train, for example—but those methods were inefficient and melodramatic.
    â€œWell,” Alan repeated, “are you trying to imply that you’re superior to me in some