I’m tired and I cant get out of bed. Im afraid. There is a man in my kitchen with my mother. I have a baton in the bed with me. Im holding it stiff armed, tight to my body. The baton has become a part of me. I am sweating. They are talking, saying things I never want to repeat. Im afraid I will see what his face looks like . I want him to stay a voice, I want his murmur to drift into the distance until it vibrates in a frequency that makes my baton rattle.