Waking in this squalid place and not knowing if the woman was still alive, and if he was still alive. Or if both of them were dead already.

You are forgiven for the harm you have done yourself. But for the harm you have done the others, you will never be forgiven. Know that, forever, you are of the damned.

In the words of Christ this was explained to him. Bloodied face and body of Christ and eyes resembling his own.

In Hell they are together. Grinding against each other’s bodies once so beautiful and now no longer but in their memories, in Hell their beautiful, smooth young bodies are restored to them. As in a dream in which the most intense yearning is suffused with cold, sick horror they are tearing at each other with their teeth, their bodies writhe together like the bodies of coiled snakes. Never will they come to the end of their desire for each other, never will they be freed of each other.

In this, there is a feeling beyond happiness. In this, there is the flagellant’s penance.

By now the flagellant has whipped his back raw. He is panting, exhausted.

Bliss of Holy Saturday. And the promise to him, it will never not be Holy Saturday.

VAPING: A USER’S MANUAL

Six-forty a.m., first vape of the day.

Jesus!—your heart just skids.

S-L-O-W helping your mom down the brick steps.

Hate the way her fingers clutch—Don’t let me go, Jacey …

Vaping makes it okay. Brain rush!

It’s okay, Mom. I’ve got you.

Weird how it’s still dark. Six fifty-five a.m. Like, you’d been awake all night. Mom in her room and you in yours. Eyeballs like sea anemones floating in the dark.

Mom coughing, choking, gasping for air, could hear through the walls.

Four a.m., brought her the asthma inhaler. Got her sitting up, pillows behind her back so she could sleep/try to sleep that way.

Attacks are getting worse. Since last April.

In the morning, helping Mom put on clothes. Stumbling one slender leg into the black suede trousers, then the other leg, Mom teetering, panicked, grabbing your arm. (Jesus!)

Even going to the Oncology Center your mother has got to look good. Has got to try. Closetful of clothes, some of them never worn, expensive. Also, high-heeled shoes.

But not today. Flat-heeled shoes today.

Next, the (hateful) walker. Foot of the stairs. Have to position it for Mom, she’s scared as hell trying to use it. Hey look, Mom, you can’t hang on to me. We’re both gonna fall.

Doesn’t trust the fucking walker since the time she fell. Fell hard. Looked away from her for one minute out in the driveway, fuck she fell.

Okay, Mom, it’s steady.

Okay, Mom, you can let go of me.

Wouldn’t know that Mom used to be a beautiful woman. Just a few years ago.