It is probably inevitable that when two people are facing the same dragon, at least some of the sword swipes will nick each other. Especially if said dragon is clutching your child and you are trying like crazy not to hurt him. 

Benjamin is held captive by forces we do not understand. Not all the time. In fact, not much of the time if you lay it all out in a pie graph. Take yesterday, for example. He only had a few minutes of anger when he was trying to address an anniversary card to his sister. Mailmen are so particular, it seems, about having things just so. The rest of the day was quite pleasant. The night before was much more messy, with details I will spare you, in which three of us were in high alert and sweaty. But, if the clock does not deceive, it only lasted for thirty minutes. 

The clock.

That is the lair of our current dragon. When the digital numbers on the microwave creep toward 5:55, Benjamin comes unhinged. Not every time. But enough to raise our collective blood pressure. That seems to be the strategy of dragons. To stagger their attacks, keeping you on edge. Our tactic is to have his siblings call him. Those marvelous brothers and sisters who share our angst every day at 5:40- except for the ones on the west coast whose emotional alarms go off at 2:40. Distract him. Jolly him past the snarling beast with corny jokes. 

Sometimes it works just fine. 

But I was telling you about the collateral damage of two soldiers side by side. Not that the label soldier fits me in the least. But in the confusion of the fray lately I have been whacking at John. The one who is by my side. 

Last night I tried to make amends. I pulled up a chair while he was playing piano. I took the guitar out of her case and invited him to close the book of Beethoven and open ours. His smile was enormous. 

It was a small thing, to make music together. It is how we fell in love forty years ago. Yet it seemed to lull the dragon back to sleep.