In Which Jenny Says The Hell With Being Sensible

Jenny Cashwell was checking her email. She took a deep breath. And then another. "I'm going to deal with all this like a sensible person. . .Ow!" The ow bit was because she had melted/fallen bodily out of her chair crying, laughing, and just generally living.

She couldn't breathe. Shaking, she managed to get to her feet. She stared at the screen. It persisted in saying what it had said a minute ago. Jenny fell into her chair. She could hear her mother reading to her younger sister in the other room.

"Good night, moon, good night room, the mitten, the kitten. . ."

And then she couldn't hear it anymore. Memory on memory were echoing in her ears.

I'd say you came out right.

You don't owe me anything.

The thing about Jenny is that she's already sure what she's going to be. . .

Breathe. Breathe. She'd never had to make such an effort about it before. Not an easy time.

An emotional rollercoaster of a movie. . .a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. . .How would she review this, if it were a show?

The chair was clattering against the floor. Her whole body was shaking. She put her head in her hands and felt how cold they were.

His hands, when they'd touched just for that instant, had been warm and real and comforting.

Jenny clenched her teeth and smiled, cried, and then started to laugh, a warm, painful, unexpected, loud, laugh.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.