I talked for a long time.
Damon did not interrupt once.
He sat eventually, not at his desk but in the chair across from where I had settled on the small couch against the wall, the one that had always been there for longer meetings when standing became impractical. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands loosely clasped, and his eyes on my face. He listened with complete, focused attention, which was one of the things I had always respected most about him and found most difficult about him in equal measure.
When Damon listened he heard everything. Not just the words. The spaces between them. The things the words were carrying.
I had known that going in and I told myself it would not change how I said any of it.
It changed how I said some of it.
I started at the festival. The i
