Cheap Trick will be translating this evening: I need you to need me. This is the dead end of all of my devotion. It’s not altruism, it’s not servitude, it’s an obsessive compulsive disorder dictating if I’m not the first one she calls, I am a ladybug’s high heel.

And when she calls, oh…I am the mortar between the bricks. I am the important intercessor. When it’s my turn to take the floor, I pass. I don’t forfeit myself. It’s catharsis without vulnerability. What of the demonic dobermans running around inside, baring their teeth, tearing into one another? If I keep them inside the Century Fence, they can’t do any damage to anyone but themselves.

Tonight, I open the gate, just slightly: “What do you want know?”

She slams it shut: “It’s all right. I know you’re private.”