The next song was slow, and the trumpet was more important than the piano. I closed my eyes. The trumpet purred and hummed, and sometimes it sang so sweetly it could have been a lullaby. I leaned my head back against the wall behind my chair. I wondered if Irma Lee knew how to do the Charleston. I didn't know anything about dancing. But if I tried it, I knew she wouldn't laugh at me. I'd be her friend, just like I promised I would. I'd be her friend even if I had to climb down the walls of the asylum to go to see her.
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