• • Although the most acute judges of the witches and even the witches themselves, were convinced of the guilt of witchery, the guilt nevertheless was non-existent. It is thus with all guilt.
    • As translated in The Portable Nietzsche 

Rena was driving me to see her mother. Rena was agitated.

“What’s wrong?,” I ventured. I was , as always, in her passenger seat. She was riding the stick shift with ferocity, and mumbling to herself. I hadn’t dare spoken in 30 minutes. I never talk when she is like this. I did once, and that was not a time I care to remember if I wish to remain unemasculated as  her faithful guy pal/loverboy. Which i do.

“You.You bug me. You and your weird family. I utterly cannot believe that an 85 year old demented man is my boss at the school. Or that his fucked up son is my lover. Or that I am bringing you to meet momma.  That is what is wrong.”

I remained silent for another 30 minutes. She was decked out in black skirt and blouse. Her legs were nude. I entertained myself looking at them as they shifted gears. I thought of grabbing her down there, where I knew no panties ever defiled her core. I'd done that many times as her passenger, and it had turned out well..but...this was not the time or the place for that. Or maybe it was. I will never know....

I decided to ignore her instead, except for those legs.

~

We pulled in to a swanky assisted care facility, Rena hyperventilating a bit, me utterly humble. She said, ‘’Well, here we are. God help us, James.” 

We exited the car and stretched. I was determined to remain silent until the time came to talk. It came, abruptly.

“Let’s go in the handicapped bathroom after we check in, and fuck, ok?”

“ok.”

~

We did it without removing her clothes, though I had to take my dress pants off. An inappropriate stain might be fatal, I reasoned.

She kept smashing her head in the mirror above the sink, upon which she was settled for the romp, and where I hesitantly looked in my own face and saw this new me Rena brought out in my eyes. My eyes were on fire. Hers were closed.

They opened just once. The look I saw was not easily interpreted, so I didn't. 

~

As I climaxed into her, I got a text from my mother.

“your fthr is missing. He took drg out for walk and didn’t dome bacf. I am worried. “

“Text her back, “ rena ordered. She was arched with her head on the mirror.

I did. “how long has he been missing?”

“&u houex.”

“what?”

“hours”

~

My dad has mild dementia, but never fails to take our old dog Joseph for a walk twice a day. He is gone for a half hour each time. This was most alarming, but I had a duty to Rena to meet her mother , so I could not rush home, as I wished to, to find my daddy and make sure he (and that damn old dog) was safe.

We walked plush corridors to room 405, where Rena knocked. “ Come in!”  a male voice boomed.

We entered and found a tiny woman, of indeterminate skin color but hard green eyes, nestled next to a rather dandy old gentleman who was patting her knee. “Ah, you must be the daughter!” he shouted. The old lady winced but kept her eyes pinned on me.

“I am. Hi. Rena.” Rena looked at her mother, who wouldn’t break her gaze on me. Luckily I had a crisis of my own, so I felt confident disconnecting form her eyes. The old boy jumped up and shook our hands, revealing his lifestory as a former Navy man who didn’t ever see combat, but lost his brother in the war, I forget which one, because Mom was frantically texting me in my pocket. I had silenced her so as not to ruin the occasion.

The old woman spoke. “Rena, your boy looks shell shocked. Is this his usual demeanour?”

Rena said, “One of them.”

The old gentleman said, “ I witnessed shell shock. In the boys who returned. I remember..” and he was off and running. Mrs. Oblong had no trouble talking over him, though.

Nor did he have any difficulty keeping up a monologue.

“Mr. Emmerling, I am pleased to meet you, “ she said . The last damn thing I expected.

“Why would that be,” I inquired.

“You seem to be half formed, but the half I see is alright. Acceptable. Why is your pocket jumping around like that?” she was perched languorously on the couch, rubbing the old man’s shoulder as he babbled about ‘the cost of war on the homefront’.

Rena sighed and retreated to a chair, where she began to itch herself. On her legs. And her shoulders. Mother eyed this, and waited for a reply.

“My mother is down there. Buzzing me. “

“Aha”

Rena snickered.

The old man ran out of gas and began slumping into Mrs. Oblong, as if her shoulder was a swell place to nap a bit.

“Do you want to respond? “she said.

“No. It is nothing important . My father is missing, “ I said with a smile.

“ah. Rena, your father isn’t missing anymore. That is why I needed to see you.”

“what?” she burbled , shaken to the core.

“You heard me. “

“When?”

“Last week . He knows where you live. Just a friendly warning.”

In the silence that followed, Mrs Oblong became smirky, locking eyes on her daughter. ‘’ Dear, you look flush.”

She snorted.

She elbowed the old man and said, “daddy, can you get me some ice cream?”

 How far I was then from all that resignationism!

• "Attempt at a Self-criticism", nietzsche