Friday, September 17, 2004

Oedipus Complex

I
Mommy and Daddy were at it. In each other. Giving in. Getting the emotions out. Feeling burning passion. Doing a catharsis. Having it. Twisting and writhing and touching and feeling each other.

Then Mommy felt it.

Then Daddy felt it.

She outpoured the immense feeling racking her whole body in an articulation of pleasure.

His face tightened and strangled.

These two are just machines. That’s all.

Machines built by other machines to make more machines so those other machines can make more machines.

The things with tails are in there. It’s a fight for survival. They’re trying to make it to the ovum. Trying to make a zygote. Trying to fulfill their purpose.

One makes it. That’s me.

II
She pushes and pushes. Pain racking her body. Her part is showing. My head is coming out of it. It’s something much bigger coming out of something much smaller. She pushes and pushes. The doctor tells her to push harder.

I’m out of Mommy. Full of blood. With that umbilical cord. The cord which was my life support all the time. Which let me grow.

They clip off the cord. I’m wailing in Mommy’s arms. What a puny excuse. I don’t know what’s in it for me, don’t even have the clue. I’m crying now, but over nothing.

They circumcise my penis. My sole meaning of living. It wasn’t then, and won’t be for a long while. But it will soon enough. Give it sixteen years. Maybe a little more. Then it will.

I’m a fat baby, like them all. Puny, helpless, weak, and stupid. I’m in my Mommy’s arms. The first few minutes of being alive. The first few seconds of the hell, as we know it.

There isn’t anything more you could ask for.

But maybe there is.

They name me Eddie. My middle name’s Rent. Last name’s Benshaw.

Eddie Rent Benshaw. A terrible name for a terrible man. Not then, but soon enough. Give it a few years. Give that little twerp, that little useless excuse for a life, give him a bit. You’ll see. Wait, and you shall see.

III
Eddie is fifteen. Eddie doesn’t remember being a baby. All he knows about it is what he’s seen from the projector movies his parents made.

Eddie watches these videos each day, paying especial attention to his Mommy.

In the video with his Mommy giving birth to Eddie, Eddie notices what a nice thing she has. He wonders at its beautiful shape, its perfection, how the hairs are coarse and oh-so-nice. Eddie notices those nice legs, too. He thinks what those legs are like wrapped around you. They must feel sleek and oh-so-right, Eddie thinks.

Eddie watches the video with The Dog, Danfer. Danfer’s a terrier. In the video, baby Eddie goo-goo-gah-gahs with a small ball in his hand, and tries to throw it. Little baby Eddie is a puny excuse for a baby, and doesn’t throw it too far. It lands a few nanoinches away from his weak hand. What a loser.

The Dog is a good sport, so he goes after the ball. His tongue pants out of his mouth as he pounces on the ball. In a blur of speed, it’s in Danfer’s mouth.

Mommy can be seen a ways away, walking back on the sidewalk with the mail in hand. Eddie likes her hair. It’s nice and long, blowing a little in the weak wind.

She gets closer and closer. Puny little Eddie starts crying, since he’s all in a fit because the dog took the ball from him.

Mommy picks up little baby Eddie. Eddie notices her breasts jiggle as she does it. He likes the fluidity of the movement.

“Poor Ed-Ed, don’t cry, honey,” Mommy says, kisses crying little baby Eddie. Not on the lips, but on the cheek.

The reel ends. It’s over.

Eddie wonders what it’d be like to be kissed on the lips by her. She has full rosy-red lips. Kissable lips.

It would be nice.

Eddie puts in another reel. This one’s their vacation to Disney Land.

Eddie’s hand escapes into the great beyond of his pants as he stares at Mommy’s fine ass as she walks. It’s so fine. He’d like to have it.

It starts to move up and down in there, to and fro.

Eddie knows he can’t always have what he wants.

But someday.

IV

Mommy told me about it. About when I was three or two. She can’t remember the age for sure.

She took me to a psychologist. He looked like you’d think a psychologist would look.

Big white beard, big round glasses. Gray-white hair. Wearing a nice white suit. White and pure as a ghost. His name was Dr. Jons.

Mommy said this psychologist told I her I was developing the Oedipus Complex.

That’s when you decide you want to marry your Mommy and kill your Daddy.

When the psychologist looked at me through those eyeglasses, with those beady eyes, Mommy said he asked me, “Do you want to marry your Mommy?”

“Wes,” I said. “Ihw’ve aways wantted two.” Mommy said she had a laugh about that one. She couldn’t believe what an Angel I was. She was always calling me her Angel back then, she said. Angel Ed-Ed. I was her kingdom come. All she could’ve asked for.

Then he asked me, “Do you want to kill your Daddy, Eddie?” Those accusing eyes. Those beady eyes. They were on me, Mommy said. She felt my tension.

“Kwill?” is what I said. I didn’t even know what it really meant. I said, “I dwon’t no wat dat mweans.”

“It’s when your Daddy is never your Daddy again,” he said. He said, “It’s when you never see your Daddy again.”

I said, “Ih dwon’t wike my dwaddy.” I said, “I dwon’t noe doh. Iht’ed bwe nice witout hwim.”

The White Psychologist said, “That’s all, Eddie. You’ve been a good boy. You can go. Your Mommy will be there in a moment.”

I left, and from then on I was diagnosed with the Oedipus Complex.

Had it ever since.
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