"I've been in love with you baby, since before you learned to call my name, If you don't love me baby, it's go'n drive me insane." She sang with perfect pitch.. in rhythm and tune with the instrumental breakof the twelve bar blues blaring from my radio. I froze in place, my fingersuspended in mid-air above the keys of my typewriter. She can sing..not just sing.. but sing sing.. Billie-Ella-Diane Reeves kind of sing. It surprisedthe hell out of me because.. well, I don't know why, but it just did. "I've been in love with you baby, since before you learned to call my name, If you don't love me daddy, it's go'n drive me-ee-ee insane." She sang again with all the agility and timing of a horn player, like Milesor Trane. She had been talking to me the entire night.. well, not to me, butaround me.. unraveling her story layer by layer. Was this part of it? Is that what had happened to her? Had she loved and lost?..I was beginning to piece together a very loose and out of sequence narrativeof what had brought her to her present condition. I could ask her, but whyrisk ruining the fragile magical musical peace we had silently brokered? Wordsand questions are over-rated in the action-oriented world of living. Why talk,when you can feel? Why cry when you can listen to the blues and smile knowingthat someone understands what you're going through..The song was over now, and she had retreated to the lighter-than-usualdark recesses of her madness.. her usual angry rambling replaced with abenevolent gentle reflective breeze of girlish giggles and smiles.And to think: All I had to do, was play the blues. the end.