This morning, Anya and I watched the Arcade Fire’s performance on Saturday Night Live. As always, we danced around the room, and I dipped her and twirled her to the music, much to her delight. Everything was going well until the end of “Intervention,” when Win smashed his accoustic guitar. This sudden act of violence sent Anya into a fit. She buried her face in my chest and wailed miserably.

I tried to dance with her during the second song, but she produced no smiles or giggles. She watched the screen with seriousness, convinced that something bad would soon follow.