Quinn sprawled languorously in the new grass, as she was prone to do. There was no arguing that she was a languorous sprawler. She then rolled onto her back to expose her face and chest to the vernal sun; feeling its early May warmth. Even through her coat; the ridiculous white fuzzy coat with the brown and black patches which everyone jokingly asked if she got at Goodwill. So many people thought they were clever. And so many people were wrong.

Growing tired of the sprawl and its languor, Quinn got up and settled into a chair instead. It was her favorite chair – acquired at a garage sale down the street. It was wide and inviting and met the tenets of the Goldilocks principle – just the right amount of hard and soft. As she nestled further into the cushion, she caught wind of her neighbors on the other side of the fence conversing. They were discussing the merits of Budweiser beer, above-ground pools, and yacht rock. Suffice it to say, they were not clever. Bored with their utter lack of imagination, Quinn tuned them out, stretched, and yawned. She noted a few small gauzy clouds dotting the otherwise clear sky and it stirred something in her. Something primitive and animalistic. Meanwhile, a cardinal and a blue jay politely took turns at the feeder in her backyard. This was just suspicious. Maybe even a little chilling. It was a rarity to witness two showy birds acting with such eerie politeness. But she shook it off.

Jason had filled the feeder with his own proprietary blend of seeds and thistles before he left for work that morning. Also before he kissed Quinn on the top of her head and told her he loved her. She loved him too. She’d show him later in her own ‘special’ way. (Nudge, nudge.) Ah, Jason. When she thought of him, a warmth encircled her heart as though it were wrapped in a cozy scarf. Yes, people talked about how Quinn and Jason were meant to be together. Inseparable. And they were. Well, except for the 40+ hours when Jason was at work each week. Which Quinn found acceptable because it allowed her time to be with herself and explore her rich inner tapestry (a term she’d recently acquired from one of Jason’s more clever friends). It also gave her a chance to spend time at the conservatory. 

No, Quinn was not studying to become a classical musician or artist. Though she was not opposed to the idea – had circumstances been different. This conservatory, however, was of the “room with a glass roof and walls” variety. It was attached to a house where a little girl lived with her father. Quinn didn’t know what had happened to the mother. Maybe she split. (Her own mother had split – though this was NOT something she was compelled to discuss. Because, like, it happened and now it’s over and she has Jason.) 

Anyhow, shortly after Quinn moved in with Jason the previous autumn, she’d been wandering the neighborhood while Jason was at work. It was then she happened upon the conservatory. She’d stopped and stared at it for a while when a little girl and her presumable father approached her. “Hi there!” said the little girl. “What’s your name?”

Quinn had ruffled for only a moment. Given her troubling past and history of abandonment and betrayal, she’d had to master the art of parsing the attitudes and motives of others early on if she was to survive. In other words, she had street smarts. And she knew almost immediately and in no uncertain terms that the little girl and her presumable father were no threat.

“Do you want to come into our glass house?” asked the little girl of Quinn.  “Come on!” she beckoned. Quinn looked at the man and he smiled and nodded, tousling the little girl’s hair. 

So Quinn followed them into the glass house conservatory. It was magical, this glass house. And not the kind of magic resulting from sleight of hand or other acts of deception. It was pure beauty. The floor was carpeted with an array of soft mossy ground cover and ferns that whispered luxuriously under her feet. A few small tropical trees stood lush against the backdrop of the brighter yet barer autumnal trees on the other side of the windows. Perhaps most impressively, when Quinn looked up, she noticed the conservatory was beclouded with dozens of hothouse orchids. It was a sight to behold. So she positioned herself in a sunny spot and became still. The little girl stood off to the side with her ankles crossed, arms akimbo, and her head drooping to her chest as though observing something there. That’s when Quinn saw the butterfly flitting on the girl’s belly. The perfect butterfly. And as much as she wanted to possess it, nothing in her went toward it. She was content to sit still in the sun and absorb the good juju of the space.

She’d spent the rest of the morning that day with the little girl and her father until the little girl became sleepy and crawled into her father’s lap. He began to tell her a story about bears or monkeys or some such creature and when he was finished, he began to hum a tune. The little girl’s arms loosened as she fell off to sleep in her father’s arms and Quinn quietly snuck out of the conservatory. 

She’d returned to the glass house a few times since that first time, though she usually snuck in. Trespassing was another skill she had acquired in her youth and she was quite accomplished at it. Plus, she didn’t want to bother the little girl and her father with her languorous sprawling. It wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. 

Quinn had dozed off in the garage sale chair and was stirred awake by the sound of Jason’s car pulling into the driveway. She jumped out of the chair and quickly pounced through the cat door to get into house. The ‘special’ demonstration of her love for Jason was sprawled out on the kitchen counter – its tiny rodent teeth in a perfect line; its glassed-over eyes like little black beads, its inconsiderable neck snapped. It was the feline version of magic and she couldn’t wait to see Jason’s joy at receiving such a clever gift.