"No," I said. "There's a difference between co-dependence and symbiosm."

Charlie -- Chuck, in yellow plaid and a cowboy hat for Halloween, had set up all his plastic figures for a truly epic battle, frontier soldiers in Gumby green and Indians in red.

"There is not," she protested. "How can you be in love with someone else if you can't love yourself?"

"GROOSH! GROOSH!" Charlie flicked over the front wave of Indians. "Take that, Injuns!"

"Hey! We do not use that word in this house. 'Indians' or 'Native Americans' only," I scolded him. "And I'm not saying I don't love myself. I'm just saying I wouldn't be happy alone."

"Why not? Why do you need this relationship to make you happy?"

"Are you telling me that if I were to just pack up and leave tonight, throw all my suitcases in the Volvo and just...drive off, you'd be all right?"

"It would hurt at first, but I'd move on."

"I...I can't fucking believe you."

"Shhh. Watch what you say in front of him."

"GROOSH! GROOSH!" Another wave down, but this time, a cowboy landed in the open face of Charlie's jelly sandwich. "Moooooom!"

"Ughhh, go wash it off in the sink."

Charlie padded off into the kitchen, sockless feet slapping against the linoleum. The pipes creaked through our low-rent duplex and tapwater splashed against dishes in the sink.

Quieter: "I cannot fucking believe you. You'd be all right with me...with me just leaving?"

"I wouldn't be all right with it, but I wouldn't be broken up forever. I don't depend on you for my happiness."

"I don't depend on you for my happiness either, but all of this -- the duplex, Charlie, his stupid cowboy costume and these fucking figurines -- is an investment in the future. The future means more to me than the present or the past, and I can't imagine you just being all right with me abandoning our future together."

The garbage disposal clunked into gear, and our parental instincts superceded the argument.

"Charlie!" I shouted, my own sockless feet slapping in his trail with Susan close behind me. My worst fear, seeing Charlie standing up on his stool in front of the sink, blood soaking through the denim of his coveralls, his precious beautiful blood wet and wasted on the floor, was sated: garbage disposal chunking along, he stood there mesmerized.

When I flicked the switch and the gears grinded to a halt, with Susan standing behind me, we watched as Charlie removed the fragments of the figure, this dismembered cowboy with his gun hand still extended at the elbow, and stared at the pieces cupped in his tiny hand.

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