“He grabbed a directory and rifled through the pages, searching for the M's. Why was it when you were in a hurry you couldn't find the listing you needed? P...J...N.”

“Father, I am an alien.”

“Thick and soft, it was just as she'd imagined it.”

“And so many things get lost. Not just a set of keys or a photograph of your father with his first truck, but the door those keys once opened, the childhood house you long ago walked into, the father who used to carry you on his shoulders high above the crowds at the summer fair, his body now ashes and shards of bone. You hold these things in place on a page, you walk through that door, touch his face and smell the cigarette smoke on his breath and in his shirt, you make things breathe again in words. You feel the lightness of a ghostly touch across your skin. In that small house on the corner, the porch light suddenly comes on.”

“Why are you going to choose failure when success is an option?”

“Are you in the middle of something important, or can I grab you for a few minutes.’…..’Mr. Drake, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Most certainly not. Why face this with honesty and directness? It is so much more fun to dance around the truth, dodge the reality of the situation, which is that you are in love with this man, you share some kind of unhappy past with him...and that he has feelings for you, as well. Why would you ever wish to deal with that head on?”