Read Online The Key to Everything by Alex Kimmell - Free Book Online

with a few wisps of clouds gliding slowly across the upper atmosphere. The trees are mostly still, but it looks pretty cold outside. Making up your mind, you grab your long-sleeved Led Zeppelin sweatshirt and take a seat outside on the patio. 
    The last sip of your water is as cold as the first, and you circle your index finger absentmindedly at the ring of water forming around the bottom of the glass. Everything feels beautiful. The new place is coming together, and almost all of the boxes are unpacked or stacked in the garage. It’s not as cold as you thought, but the briskness of the air sends nice tingles up the hairs on your arms. Eyes closed, you breathe in deeply through your nose and exhale all the madness built up in your tense muscles. You blow out as far as you can, trying to empty every single last drop of air in your lungs. Feeling thinner now, there is a brief sharp pang just above your stomach, and you breathe back in the fresh air of the outside world.
    This is a good neighborhood. This is a good backyard. This is a good house. This is good.
    Everything is happening. You lean back in the wooden chair and interlock your fingers behind your head. At first you don’t notice the slow humming vibration on your leg. A small, contented smile pushes the dimples into your cheeks. Your right hand scratches at the back of your ear, maybe a fly or something. Your left leg feels like it’s been bouncing up and down for a long time now. It’s a small but rhythmic movement, like dancing. 
    You see an old black-and-white movie of teenagers swaying back and forth in two parallel lines. The one on the left is all girls in poodle skirts and ponytails. On the right are the boys dressed either in sharp, shiny, skinny-tied suits or in rolled-up jeans and leather jackets over white t-shirts with packs of cigarettes stuffed in their back pockets. Every couple of seconds, the boy and the girl at the far end of the line move to each other and dance toward you, facing each other and leaning to the left, then spinning around with their backs facing each other, snapping their fingers in unison. 
    “Open yourself for me and let’s play for a little while …” The music sounds warped. Like the record had been left melting in the interior of a hot car for hours before being placed back on the turntable. All the kids are mouthing the words and smiling. “Let’s play…” You sing aloud and feel your leg bounce along to the asymmetrical beat of the song. 
    The first couple has danced their way to the end of the line and taken their place next to the other kids. As they sway back into place, the next couple moves to the center and grooves back and forth on their way. The record skips and repeats. “Open yourself for me and let’s play for a little while …” Moving in slow motion, the couple in the center of the line turns back to back. All of the kids still in line stop dancing. The solo couple snaps their fingers, and both lines turn to look at you. You put your hand down to stop your leg from bouncing up and down. “Open yourself for me and let’s play for a little while …” No one is dancing anymore. None of their eyes are blinking. You feel your leg stop moving, but your hand is not resting on your pants. The screen blinks in your mind, and all of the dancer’s heads are now flipped to their sides at a stiff ninety-degree angle. Their mouths black holes at the bottom of their faces, filled with the static of bad antennae reception. You feel dry skin under your fingers. The dancers’ left arms slowly rise up and point toward you. “Open yourself for me and let’s play for a little while …” 
    You open your eyes. Sunspots flicker before them. Your leg isn’t bouncing anymore, but the muscles in your foot and calf feel stretched and pushed to their limit. Reaching for your water glass, you remember it is empty. Not quite ready to stand up yet, your mouth is dry. It feels like you slept for hours, yet the light