The Wheel

I am writing this down because I sand the edges off things later and I do not want this one sanded.

Here is what I have not said to anyone and will not. I run everything. It is my whole personality and most of my income. I walk into a room and I am managing it before I have my coat off. I did not know how heavy that was until he took it off me for one night.

He told me what to do. That is the confession. A man with a very low, very calm voice told me to stop, and to wait, and then told me exactly what he wanted, and I, who have not taken an instruction gracefully since I was about nine, did every single thing he said. I asked him for things out loud. I said please and meant it. I have run nine-figure projects and never once said please like that, like it was being drawn out of me.

I am not writing the rest down. Not because I am shy. Because it is the one hour of my adult life that lives in exactly two people, and I am not turning it into sentences I can reread on a bad day until they go smooth. He was gone before six. I would hand him the whole thing again tonight and not ask for the wheel back.