Learning to Fly

The sweet sounds of music wafted from Jonesy's room and per curiosity, for the first time in my life, I entered his room. The walls were of a velvet red fabric, awfully distasteful but not shabby, and the furniture of luxurious pine wood, stuffed cushions where-ever they could be. It smelt heavily of incense, even with the windows open to cool off the heat given by the small hearth in the corner. It honestly looked as if Jonesy had attempted to make a living room out of his bedroom. It was quite amazing, something I'd have never expected of the mute man.

Jimmy sat beside John on a red, plush Rococo chair, a celtic-designed guitar in his hands while John strummed a mandolin skillfully. Jimmy smiled up at me. They were playing the familiar tune of Hey Hey What Can I Do.

"Doom Doom do do do do do, 

er e er e er,

ee ee ee..."

I smiled and rested upon a perch of fine Moroccan (it soon became evident that John had combined several styles to create a Cedar feel) craftsmanship in interest, watching the two play heavenly. I relished in the warmth of the room, not only in temperature, but also in mood, as I listened acutely. They stopped with a final strum of the mandolin and Jonesy, who hadn't shown any knowledge of my presence, looked up at me with an approval-seeking grin. 

Jimmy reached for a rocks glass on a table between them and downed a swig of scotch so easily it could have been water. "What're you doing?" he asked casually.

I glanced at the falling snow out the window and thought of a better reason than I heard music. "When are you guys going on tour?"

"That shouldn't concern you," Jimmy replied softly, politely. "Really."

"I heard music," I sighed with slight frustration at my failure to think faster than I usually did. "That was really good by the way."

"The mandolin has been known to bring women to their knees," Jones stated matter-of-factly. "As do I."

I laughed, but Jones remained serious. I coughed to a stop and looked around the room. "I like it in here, it's cozy. Why haven't I ever been in here?"

"Because this isn't Jimmy's room," JPJ laughed, finally. "I think I have the nicest room of the entire second-floor. Robert's room is dysfunctionally cluttered with expensive Greek furniture and Bonzo's room is a pig sty. Quite literally, actually. Apart from it being a dreadful mess, he themed it Sheep Farmer from Brum. Rustic this, rustic that. Rubbish. This room, this room is like a Welsh cottage you never want to leave."

"I should theme my room," I suggested, newly inspired. "Something like American Indians or Laser Floyd. Maybe AC/DC-themed."

Jimmy cleared his throat and studied me with abused eyes, a knowing expression in them. "John and I were just talking. We thought it'd be nice if..."

"For Christ's sake, Jim," John snapped. "When we get our dates for the tour, you're invited to come with us."

"With you and Bianca?"

There was reluctance in John's reply. "You, Ricardo, Jimmy, me, Rob, Bon, and G, on tour. He has some surprise to tell us tomorrow, and we should get the dates very soon. You'd pack up and we'd go. Jim's leaving the house in Bianca's charge."

My heart skipped a beat and I became extremely lightheaded. "Come on tour with Led Zeppelin?" I breathed. "In America?"

Jimmy nodded, his expression masked. "If you don't mind groupies."

I nearly fell out of my chair in my blind excitement. "I don't mind anything!" I had lost all feeling in my arms and I could hardly speak. I knew I had some time to go before we left, but for the time being, I was floating.