My friend Bob Nicksic calls. “Got an idea,” he says. “You'll love it. It's about a girl whose parents fight all the time. Whenever they do, she goes into this fantasy world and sings a little song.” Pause.
Right. Like I'm going to guess. “We will, we will rock you?” I offer.
“Was I close?”
“She sells seashells! Neat, huh?”
It was weird, not that that ever stops me. But she sells seashells?
“Hmm,” I say.
“No. Think about it. I've got some ideas for verses. Listen.”
I press record on my machine. Here's what he gives me:
Planted in the hallway Hands over her ears Shaken by the shouting Growing wise beyond her years
Daddy's voice is thunder Mommy's voice is rain She's too scared not to watch The hurricane