plastic lawn chairs
~2700 words // PG
original fic (1st draft)
Jimmy’s neighbors still didn’t move when the sprinklers turned on. He watched them through the thin slits in his blinds as they sat there in their lawn chairs, sipping something white and frozen from clear plastic cups. The staccato rhythm of the sprinklers remained constant even as it splashed against their thighs. It didn’t seem to bother them; this was routine, leaning into their sinking chairs and letting the wet grass blades cling to their calves.
Jimmy had been renting this house for six months - he could finally afford to live without roommates since he got promoted to head manager of the Bed, Bath & Beyond in the Lakeford Mall, a ten-minute drive from his new house. His day was filled with constant interaction with women - he’d be summoned on his walkie-talkie over to the linens section, or the kitchen section or wherever, for “customer assistance.” He would strut through the store in his black polo and shiny new nametag that read, in bold, manager. He’d approach the woman waiting in the aisle and ask, in his grandest and most-self important voice, “What seems to be the problem here?” And after giving out his card and taking them out to dinner, he could finally be one of those guys that could say, “let’s go back to my place.”
And in the mornings, he would insist on walking the women out to their cars, making a grand gesture of kissing them goodbye, and then glancing over at his neighbors on their lawn. He was always finding little reasons to go and spy on them, to figure them out. Taking a half-full bag of trash out to the curb, checking for the mail three times, washing his car.
“You’re completely obsessed with them,” is what all the women would say, when Jimmy mentioned his neighbors on dates.
“Not obsessed, just fascinated,” he replied. “You have to come back and see them.” It was always his line. And when the women peeked out from his front blinds and laughed at the middle-aged couple that spent more time on their lawn than inside their house, he’d come behind and slip his hands against the flat planes of her hipbones and brush his lips once, twice against her neck. And then he’d say something like, “they’re quite boring, actually. I find you much more interesting,” and she would turn around and lock her hands around his neck, and Jimmy would want to slip a thank you card in his neighbors’ mailbox.
-
“And they just got this dog, too,” Jimmy said, cutting his steak into little pieces. “It’s always yelping, this small white thing. They keep it out there with them now. He’s on a leash, but I never see them get up and walk him. He’s just a part of their entourage now.”
Angela, the recent college graduate that was furnishing her new apartment and needed Jimmy’s expert advice on curtain patterns, sat across from him and poked at her salad. “You seem to talk about them a lot,” she said.
He smiled through a mouthful of steak, chewing thoroughly. “Well, have you ever heard of anyone like that? You need to come see them for yourself. Even though it’s almost nine, I bet they’re still out there.”
“Really?” Angela asked. “Like, in the dark still just sitting there?”
“Yeah.” Which probably wasn’t true. They almost always went in just after sunset. “They put on music and stuff and drink cocktails and just look at their garden.”
“Are they like, weird to talk to?”
He knew he was reeling her in. “No, that’s the thing. They’ve never spoken to me. Never even a “welcome to the neighborhood” thing. It’s like they’re in their own little bubble, and nothing else exists.”
“We should go say hi to them.”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Jimmy said. He had no intention of talking to them; he had every intention of getting Angela to his place and then distracting her. He finished his steak while Angela took a few more bites of salad, and then he waved the waiter down for the check. He never wanted to move.
-
“You didn’t have to walk me all the way to the car,” Angela said as they shuffled down the driveway, the morning sun bleaching everything bright.
“I wanted to see you all the way out,” Jimmy said. As she unlocked her front door, Jimmy looked across his yard. The chairs were set up side by side, their backs to him. She was wearing a red hat today, big and round.
Jimmy leaned in the car window, perched on his elbows as she started the car. “You see them, huh?”
“How about instead of spying, you say hello?” He knew Angela had been disappointed the night before when they weren’t outside for her to talk to.
“This is more fun, though.”
She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “See you.”
Jimmy waved as she pulled out of the driveway, and he looked again to the right. He wondered what would happen if he were to walk over right now and introduce himself. Instead, he headed up his driveway and inside his house.
-
Jimmy was starting a pot of coffee when he heard the barking. He knew it was that little white dog and ignored it, filling the pot with tap water and getting out a filter and dumping a pile of coffee in. But the barking was persistent, like hiccups. He kept hoping it would stop, but every few seconds another shrill yelp pierced the air.
“Jesus,” he muttered, crossing into the living room while the coffee brewed. He peeled back the blinds and looked to the yard to the right.
They weren’t out there. Jimmy left the window and opened his front door, sticking his head out. It was almost noon on a Sunday, the sun was high and the sprinklers were ch-ch-ching away, but they were no plastic chairs.
Then the little white dog was there on his lawn, sitting at the bottom of his steps and barking. He assumed it was the sprinklers that scared him out of the front yard and over to his own.
“Go on, go home,” Jimmy said, gesturing over to the right, trying to get the dog’s attention. The dog didn’t move, just sat there on its back legs and letting out a yelp every few seconds.
Jimmy took the Sunday paper from his doorstep and flung it across his yard. It reached the edge of the neighboring lawn, just outside the water’s spray. The dog chased after it, and as Jimmy was about to close the door it came back, the bulky bundle hanging out of its mouth, dropping it in the yard.
He was just going to ring their doorbell and walk away, he told himself. Let them come out and see the thing and that would be it. Jimmy walked down the front steps and crossed his yard, entering the neighboring lawn. The grass crunched as he walked, thick and green under his bare feet. He looked behind him to make sure the dog was following. Jimmy was careful to walk in between the sprinkler’s timed motions. Three rose bushes were blooming and full in front of their window. They were impossibly red and he had an urge to pick one, to bring it on a date, saying he picked it from his weird neighbors’ yard.
The sidewalk leading to the front door was lined with colorful flowers that he didn’t know all the names for. There was a fountain in the corner with one of those stone naked baby statues spitting out water. A sign, stuck into the grass right before their front porch, said, “Welcome to our home,” and underneath, “The Percivals. “
The dog was sitting in the driveway now, watching him. He had stopped barking. Jimmy pressed the doorbell and waited a moment, fleeting thrill of curiosity running through him. He almost wanted to stay, to see them face-to-face. He waited five seconds, turned on his heels, and the door opened.
“Hello?”
Jimmy turned back around. It was the woman, Mrs. Percival he assumed, standing in a bright yellow sundress with her yellow-blond hair in a high bun. She was too bright, too yellow, but she had a striking face, and he couldn’t look away.
“Hi,” Jimmy said, giving a small wave and immediately feeling uncomfortable. “Your um, your dog wandered over to my yard,” he said, thumbing behind him and checking to see that it was still in the driveway. “I don’t know if he was scared of the sprinklers, but I wanted to bring him back.”
“Oh no, Gypsy loves the sprinklers, don’t you baby?” She walked outside, past Jimmy, and scooped the small white dog into her arms. There was 'no thank you for bringing him back', or even a 'sorry he bothered you,' just Mrs. Percival walking past Jimmy and opening the front door with her free arm and saying, “You can come in if you like.”
She left the front door open wide but didn’t stop and wait for his reply. Jimmy stood still for a few long seconds, with his bare feet and his basketball shorts and faded tshirt. He peered into the open doorway, seeing a hallway lined with paintings and bookcases full of Precious Moments statues and porcelain horses and little tea sets. Jimmy took short steps towards the house, up to the porch, up to the door, and after only a moment’s hesitation, walked inside.
Her husband, Mr. Percival, was practicing ballroom steps in the middle of the living room. A classical song came out of a tiny cassette player on the table. He slowed his movements when Jimmy walked in but didn’t immediately stop. “Hello,” he said, his voice surprisingly smooth and baritone. “Honey?” he called out, looking to the left, towards the entrance to the kitchen.
“Did he come in?” she called back. She entered the room a moment later, Gypsy still in her arms. “Oh good,” she said, looking him up and down. “Stay for a drink?”
Jimmy remembered the coffee machine on next door. “I really should get back home,” he said.
“Oh please, one drink?”
He wanted to say, you assholes haven’t said hello once in six months, but instead said, “Okay, a drink sounds fine.”
“Wonderful.” She grinned, a mouth full of small teeth and large gums. She was much prettier with her mouth closed. “Darling, should we sit in the kitchen?” she asked her husband, who stopped dancing and turned off the tape player. Mrs. Percival turned and walked back through to the kitchen. Jimmy followed, Mr. Percival behind him.
Jimmy paced in the kitchen as Mrs. Percival mixed something fruity in the blender. He was glad for the noise. She took out three glasses decorated with sea turtles and poured the thick pink slush into each. “Daiquiris are perfect for a Sunday,” she said, handing one to him and her husband.
Jimmy followed them to the table. A spiral notebook was spread open on the wooden surface. As he took a small sip, Jimmy read the first paragraph on the page: Venus is with you this month; stay alert. Someone will bring good luck into your life around the 27th. You will lose a friend but gain another. You will be successful in your love life if you trust your instincts.
“Did you write this?” Jimmy asked, looking to Mrs. Percival.
She looked down at the notebook. “Fourteen years at the Daily Sun and they still consider me a “freelance astrologist.” I think it’s because I will only work from home, but I can’t channel anything working in an office. I need to be with the sun and air and nature.”
“Do you…make these up?” he asked, unable to stop his curiosity.
“I base them on the movements of the planets and the sun and the stars,” she said. “They tell me what to write.”
Mr. Percival stayed quiet, sipping his pink drink and standing behind his wife. Mrs. Percival had a skinny blond strand of hair falling over her forehead and Jimmy wanted to brush it back.
“Let’s sit and drink, shall we?” She sat first at the table, closing the notebook and immediately sticking it underneath her arm. Jimmy wondered briefly if he had embarrassed her. The three of them were quiet for a while, sipping their frozen drinks, before Mr. Percival said, “I think we need something stronger.”
Jimmy watched as he rummaged through a bottom cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey that was still half-full. Jimmy hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet, but when Mr. Percival poured him a glass of whiskey over ice, he didn’t object.
It took them twenty minutes to finish the bottle. They kept drinking and drinking and Jimmy didn’t say anything except to comment on the quality of the whiskey and to say they had a lovely home. Mr. Percival nodded curtly and swirled the ice around in his glass.
Sip after sip and Jimmy thought, I’ll tell them I’ve been watching them. I’ll ask why they’ve never said hello. But he didn’t. Instead, he thought more about astrology and if the stars and planets and the moon could have predicted that he would be here, sitting at this table and drinking with his neighbors at noon on a Sunday.
You will return something that was lost, his horoscope would have started.
“I think I’ve had enough,” Jimmy managed to say as Mr. Percival topped off his glass with the last of the bottle. “I haven’t eaten anything today.”
“Oh, well we have muffins on the counter, help yourself.” Mrs. Percival gestured behind her, and almost stumbled backwards in her chair. She righted herself quickly, letting out a laugh that sounded rich and warm in the thick air of the kitchen. “I think I’m going to change out of this,” she said, smoothing her hands on her hips. Her notebook was now resting on her lap. Mrs. Percival stood from the table and moved quickly from the kitchen to the hallway where he assumed their bedroom was.
It was just Jimmy and Mr. Percival in the kitchen, so Jimmy stood and grabbed a muffin on the counter. They were bran so it was dry and heavy in his mouth, and he thought combining it with the whiskey might make him sick. He wandered around the kitchen as he chewed, taking in the black knife blades sticking out of a wooden block and the knitted oven mitts with dancing pigs on them.
When the sun is at its highest point in the sky, you will be stumbling drunk in your neighbors’ kitchen.
Jimmy ran his hand down the length of the counter as he walked, feeling like he was eight and touching everything in the store even though his mother would tell him not to. When he looked back at the table, Mr. Percival was sitting still, staring at him. Jimmy immediately looked away. He pretended to look interested in a rose-patterned porcelain cookie jar, running his fingers down the side of the container.
Mr. Percival stood from his chair. He walked past Jimmy and placed the three glasses in the sink, pouring the rest of Jimmy’s out first. He moved towards the front hallway and opened a door that Jimmy thought led to the garage.
Jimmy stood still in the kitchen, his fingers falling from the cookie jar. He should have been walking home, but instead he left the kitchen and wandered into the living room. He almost stepped on Gypsy, curled on the floor, sleeping. Gypsy let out a yelp when Jimmy’s foot hit him.
“Dear, are you out there?” Mrs. Percival’s voice called from the hallway.
Jimmy headed closer to the source of her voice. He wandered down the hallway, towards the cracked open door. “Would come in here, give me a hand with a zipper?”
Jimmy ran his hand over the wood grains in the door, feeling the grooves as he went. His head was swimming and he felt dizzy and all he wanted to do was lie down. Maybe he could lie down.
“Jimmy?”
He hadn’t remembered giving her his name. He opened the door anyway.
You will learn to just let go. Do not worry, Venus and the stars and the moon and the bright, yellow sun are with you.
original fic (1st draft)
Jimmy’s neighbors still didn’t move when the sprinklers turned on. He watched them through the thin slits in his blinds as they sat there in their lawn chairs, sipping something white and frozen from clear plastic cups. The staccato rhythm of the sprinklers remained constant even as it splashed against their thighs. It didn’t seem to bother them; this was routine, leaning into their sinking chairs and letting the wet grass blades cling to their calves.
Jimmy had been renting this house for six months - he could finally afford to live without roommates since he got promoted to head manager of the Bed, Bath & Beyond in the Lakeford Mall, a ten-minute drive from his new house. His day was filled with constant interaction with women - he’d be summoned on his walkie-talkie over to the linens section, or the kitchen section or wherever, for “customer assistance.” He would strut through the store in his black polo and shiny new nametag that read, in bold, manager. He’d approach the woman waiting in the aisle and ask, in his grandest and most-self important voice, “What seems to be the problem here?” And after giving out his card and taking them out to dinner, he could finally be one of those guys that could say, “let’s go back to my place.”
And in the mornings, he would insist on walking the women out to their cars, making a grand gesture of kissing them goodbye, and then glancing over at his neighbors on their lawn. He was always finding little reasons to go and spy on them, to figure them out. Taking a half-full bag of trash out to the curb, checking for the mail three times, washing his car.
“You’re completely obsessed with them,” is what all the women would say, when Jimmy mentioned his neighbors on dates.
“Not obsessed, just fascinated,” he replied. “You have to come back and see them.” It was always his line. And when the women peeked out from his front blinds and laughed at the middle-aged couple that spent more time on their lawn than inside their house, he’d come behind and slip his hands against the flat planes of her hipbones and brush his lips once, twice against her neck. And then he’d say something like, “they’re quite boring, actually. I find you much more interesting,” and she would turn around and lock her hands around his neck, and Jimmy would want to slip a thank you card in his neighbors’ mailbox.
-
“And they just got this dog, too,” Jimmy said, cutting his steak into little pieces. “It’s always yelping, this small white thing. They keep it out there with them now. He’s on a leash, but I never see them get up and walk him. He’s just a part of their entourage now.”
Angela, the recent college graduate that was furnishing her new apartment and needed Jimmy’s expert advice on curtain patterns, sat across from him and poked at her salad. “You seem to talk about them a lot,” she said.
He smiled through a mouthful of steak, chewing thoroughly. “Well, have you ever heard of anyone like that? You need to come see them for yourself. Even though it’s almost nine, I bet they’re still out there.”
“Really?” Angela asked. “Like, in the dark still just sitting there?”
“Yeah.” Which probably wasn’t true. They almost always went in just after sunset. “They put on music and stuff and drink cocktails and just look at their garden.”
“Are they like, weird to talk to?”
He knew he was reeling her in. “No, that’s the thing. They’ve never spoken to me. Never even a “welcome to the neighborhood” thing. It’s like they’re in their own little bubble, and nothing else exists.”
“We should go say hi to them.”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Jimmy said. He had no intention of talking to them; he had every intention of getting Angela to his place and then distracting her. He finished his steak while Angela took a few more bites of salad, and then he waved the waiter down for the check. He never wanted to move.
-
“You didn’t have to walk me all the way to the car,” Angela said as they shuffled down the driveway, the morning sun bleaching everything bright.
“I wanted to see you all the way out,” Jimmy said. As she unlocked her front door, Jimmy looked across his yard. The chairs were set up side by side, their backs to him. She was wearing a red hat today, big and round.
Jimmy leaned in the car window, perched on his elbows as she started the car. “You see them, huh?”
“How about instead of spying, you say hello?” He knew Angela had been disappointed the night before when they weren’t outside for her to talk to.
“This is more fun, though.”
She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “See you.”
Jimmy waved as she pulled out of the driveway, and he looked again to the right. He wondered what would happen if he were to walk over right now and introduce himself. Instead, he headed up his driveway and inside his house.
-
Jimmy was starting a pot of coffee when he heard the barking. He knew it was that little white dog and ignored it, filling the pot with tap water and getting out a filter and dumping a pile of coffee in. But the barking was persistent, like hiccups. He kept hoping it would stop, but every few seconds another shrill yelp pierced the air.
“Jesus,” he muttered, crossing into the living room while the coffee brewed. He peeled back the blinds and looked to the yard to the right.
They weren’t out there. Jimmy left the window and opened his front door, sticking his head out. It was almost noon on a Sunday, the sun was high and the sprinklers were ch-ch-ching away, but they were no plastic chairs.
Then the little white dog was there on his lawn, sitting at the bottom of his steps and barking. He assumed it was the sprinklers that scared him out of the front yard and over to his own.
“Go on, go home,” Jimmy said, gesturing over to the right, trying to get the dog’s attention. The dog didn’t move, just sat there on its back legs and letting out a yelp every few seconds.
Jimmy took the Sunday paper from his doorstep and flung it across his yard. It reached the edge of the neighboring lawn, just outside the water’s spray. The dog chased after it, and as Jimmy was about to close the door it came back, the bulky bundle hanging out of its mouth, dropping it in the yard.
He was just going to ring their doorbell and walk away, he told himself. Let them come out and see the thing and that would be it. Jimmy walked down the front steps and crossed his yard, entering the neighboring lawn. The grass crunched as he walked, thick and green under his bare feet. He looked behind him to make sure the dog was following. Jimmy was careful to walk in between the sprinkler’s timed motions. Three rose bushes were blooming and full in front of their window. They were impossibly red and he had an urge to pick one, to bring it on a date, saying he picked it from his weird neighbors’ yard.
The sidewalk leading to the front door was lined with colorful flowers that he didn’t know all the names for. There was a fountain in the corner with one of those stone naked baby statues spitting out water. A sign, stuck into the grass right before their front porch, said, “Welcome to our home,” and underneath, “The Percivals. “
The dog was sitting in the driveway now, watching him. He had stopped barking. Jimmy pressed the doorbell and waited a moment, fleeting thrill of curiosity running through him. He almost wanted to stay, to see them face-to-face. He waited five seconds, turned on his heels, and the door opened.
“Hello?”
Jimmy turned back around. It was the woman, Mrs. Percival he assumed, standing in a bright yellow sundress with her yellow-blond hair in a high bun. She was too bright, too yellow, but she had a striking face, and he couldn’t look away.
“Hi,” Jimmy said, giving a small wave and immediately feeling uncomfortable. “Your um, your dog wandered over to my yard,” he said, thumbing behind him and checking to see that it was still in the driveway. “I don’t know if he was scared of the sprinklers, but I wanted to bring him back.”
“Oh no, Gypsy loves the sprinklers, don’t you baby?” She walked outside, past Jimmy, and scooped the small white dog into her arms. There was 'no thank you for bringing him back', or even a 'sorry he bothered you,' just Mrs. Percival walking past Jimmy and opening the front door with her free arm and saying, “You can come in if you like.”
She left the front door open wide but didn’t stop and wait for his reply. Jimmy stood still for a few long seconds, with his bare feet and his basketball shorts and faded tshirt. He peered into the open doorway, seeing a hallway lined with paintings and bookcases full of Precious Moments statues and porcelain horses and little tea sets. Jimmy took short steps towards the house, up to the porch, up to the door, and after only a moment’s hesitation, walked inside.
Her husband, Mr. Percival, was practicing ballroom steps in the middle of the living room. A classical song came out of a tiny cassette player on the table. He slowed his movements when Jimmy walked in but didn’t immediately stop. “Hello,” he said, his voice surprisingly smooth and baritone. “Honey?” he called out, looking to the left, towards the entrance to the kitchen.
“Did he come in?” she called back. She entered the room a moment later, Gypsy still in her arms. “Oh good,” she said, looking him up and down. “Stay for a drink?”
Jimmy remembered the coffee machine on next door. “I really should get back home,” he said.
“Oh please, one drink?”
He wanted to say, you assholes haven’t said hello once in six months, but instead said, “Okay, a drink sounds fine.”
“Wonderful.” She grinned, a mouth full of small teeth and large gums. She was much prettier with her mouth closed. “Darling, should we sit in the kitchen?” she asked her husband, who stopped dancing and turned off the tape player. Mrs. Percival turned and walked back through to the kitchen. Jimmy followed, Mr. Percival behind him.
Jimmy paced in the kitchen as Mrs. Percival mixed something fruity in the blender. He was glad for the noise. She took out three glasses decorated with sea turtles and poured the thick pink slush into each. “Daiquiris are perfect for a Sunday,” she said, handing one to him and her husband.
Jimmy followed them to the table. A spiral notebook was spread open on the wooden surface. As he took a small sip, Jimmy read the first paragraph on the page: Venus is with you this month; stay alert. Someone will bring good luck into your life around the 27th. You will lose a friend but gain another. You will be successful in your love life if you trust your instincts.
“Did you write this?” Jimmy asked, looking to Mrs. Percival.
She looked down at the notebook. “Fourteen years at the Daily Sun and they still consider me a “freelance astrologist.” I think it’s because I will only work from home, but I can’t channel anything working in an office. I need to be with the sun and air and nature.”
“Do you…make these up?” he asked, unable to stop his curiosity.
“I base them on the movements of the planets and the sun and the stars,” she said. “They tell me what to write.”
Mr. Percival stayed quiet, sipping his pink drink and standing behind his wife. Mrs. Percival had a skinny blond strand of hair falling over her forehead and Jimmy wanted to brush it back.
“Let’s sit and drink, shall we?” She sat first at the table, closing the notebook and immediately sticking it underneath her arm. Jimmy wondered briefly if he had embarrassed her. The three of them were quiet for a while, sipping their frozen drinks, before Mr. Percival said, “I think we need something stronger.”
Jimmy watched as he rummaged through a bottom cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whiskey that was still half-full. Jimmy hadn’t even eaten breakfast yet, but when Mr. Percival poured him a glass of whiskey over ice, he didn’t object.
It took them twenty minutes to finish the bottle. They kept drinking and drinking and Jimmy didn’t say anything except to comment on the quality of the whiskey and to say they had a lovely home. Mr. Percival nodded curtly and swirled the ice around in his glass.
Sip after sip and Jimmy thought, I’ll tell them I’ve been watching them. I’ll ask why they’ve never said hello. But he didn’t. Instead, he thought more about astrology and if the stars and planets and the moon could have predicted that he would be here, sitting at this table and drinking with his neighbors at noon on a Sunday.
You will return something that was lost, his horoscope would have started.
“I think I’ve had enough,” Jimmy managed to say as Mr. Percival topped off his glass with the last of the bottle. “I haven’t eaten anything today.”
“Oh, well we have muffins on the counter, help yourself.” Mrs. Percival gestured behind her, and almost stumbled backwards in her chair. She righted herself quickly, letting out a laugh that sounded rich and warm in the thick air of the kitchen. “I think I’m going to change out of this,” she said, smoothing her hands on her hips. Her notebook was now resting on her lap. Mrs. Percival stood from the table and moved quickly from the kitchen to the hallway where he assumed their bedroom was.
It was just Jimmy and Mr. Percival in the kitchen, so Jimmy stood and grabbed a muffin on the counter. They were bran so it was dry and heavy in his mouth, and he thought combining it with the whiskey might make him sick. He wandered around the kitchen as he chewed, taking in the black knife blades sticking out of a wooden block and the knitted oven mitts with dancing pigs on them.
When the sun is at its highest point in the sky, you will be stumbling drunk in your neighbors’ kitchen.
Jimmy ran his hand down the length of the counter as he walked, feeling like he was eight and touching everything in the store even though his mother would tell him not to. When he looked back at the table, Mr. Percival was sitting still, staring at him. Jimmy immediately looked away. He pretended to look interested in a rose-patterned porcelain cookie jar, running his fingers down the side of the container.
Mr. Percival stood from his chair. He walked past Jimmy and placed the three glasses in the sink, pouring the rest of Jimmy’s out first. He moved towards the front hallway and opened a door that Jimmy thought led to the garage.
Jimmy stood still in the kitchen, his fingers falling from the cookie jar. He should have been walking home, but instead he left the kitchen and wandered into the living room. He almost stepped on Gypsy, curled on the floor, sleeping. Gypsy let out a yelp when Jimmy’s foot hit him.
“Dear, are you out there?” Mrs. Percival’s voice called from the hallway.
Jimmy headed closer to the source of her voice. He wandered down the hallway, towards the cracked open door. “Would come in here, give me a hand with a zipper?”
Jimmy ran his hand over the wood grains in the door, feeling the grooves as he went. His head was swimming and he felt dizzy and all he wanted to do was lie down. Maybe he could lie down.
“Jimmy?”
He hadn’t remembered giving her his name. He opened the door anyway.
You will learn to just let go. Do not worry, Venus and the stars and the moon and the bright, yellow sun are with you.