They go at it wow at the smallest provocation, nutty as fuck. She emails him that they think maybe he should come down earlier on Saturday morning. He is annoyed, he doesn’t want to come down. He writes back that perhaps since her sister had Picks disease that her mind is compromised, and besides she’s not his real mother. Who does that? She’s appalled. Of course, God knows, they can be a couple of real assholes too. Now with no buffer, no other targets, now they go at each other directly. I stand there dumbstruck. I think, ya know, at any moment those shootings by very nice normal people of their entire family could occur here, except that of course it won’t. Which is even kinda spookier, like a dream that might become a nightmare but you wake up. Again and again. The nightmare haunting the dream.

Why I feel vaguely guilty, I dunno. Survivor guilt whatever(again)(something). I walk around the park with her, upbeat and managerial. This is the short-range, the longer range, the immediate future; just do what I want, all will be well. Yes, yes yes, whatever you say that sounds great, they all say. I’m dumbstruck a little again, but not as much as at the shooting. He comes down at this hour, they see the children on that day, no more need to talk to each other at all (great!, they all agree); they hate each other, it’s settled. And so we three wave goodbye at them three and fall in again together, boy smells and cake.

Somewhere in my bones-to-skin, I lean against a warm furry wall. I get handed a helmet. And then I thinkwhisper at K., Are you seeing this? It was true. They are nutty as fuck.

Welp, the weather was fabulous today.