Call by Robert Beveridge It is sometimes an act of superhuman will to dial the seventh digit. To listen to the phone ring, anticipate a voice on the other end. In a roomful of strangers, anyone could be your perfect complement. How hard does that make it to walk in? The stomach turns in upon itself, the eyes water, mouth dry. It is all we can do to recognize the snap as ball nestles in socket. Ever human, our perverse first desire is to test its flex, work the raw joint. But it is true that only the best will feel oiled.