Sometimes a phone call from you is like a warm visit, during which we easily drift from, "How was your day?" and "What happened at work?" Into a kind of free-association. Discussing the sound of sirens going past, somehow brings us to the lyrics of old love songs. Are there really men from Mars? How do we know that gargoyles do not come out of the sea at night to tip-toe through our sleeping backyards? You mention judgments for harboring an unlicensed animal, and I speak of dogs who barked in silent films. It all flows with such ease. There is a comfort that comes from knowing each other a long time. One of us is harmony, the other melody. But sometimes...just sometimes, a careless word opens up an old wound, a casual reference sparks resentment, and suddenly free-association ends; music stops playing and venom comes flooding through the phone. Barbara Gregory (Pearlman) |