As I tried to pick the strands apart, Dirk would begin unbuttoning his shirt, but more often than not he'd grow impatient and lift it, half-buttoned, over his head. I'd get under the covers and wiggle out of my underwear. A shirtless Dirk would stand up, walk to the door, and turn off the lights. In the darkness I would hear him come back to bed and feel him pull at the covers. As my eyes adjusted to the street light that seeped under the drawn curtains I could make out the shape of his head, neck, and shoulders, and see that he was facing me. Listening to the shallow sounds that emanated from the speakers, moving in and out of earshot, I tensed for the moment when he would shift in the bed. That would be the signal.