Garret’s fingers were long, slender, and almost girlish. Jimmy’s were also long, but they were thicker, and while they were strong, they were nowhere near nimble. In high school, one of Garret’s girlfriends had gotten him into folding tiny paper stars. He made them while Jimmy did homework and put them in a small jar. He didn’t care much for the random patterns of color the stars made in the jar, but it was something to do, and when the jar was full, he could always give it to his girlfriend. As it turned out, he broke up with that particular girlfriend before the jar was full, and ended up giving it to another girl he was interested in.
Once while Garret was in the process of filling the jar, he forgot it at Jimmy’s house. Jimmy had picked up a strip of folding paper, also forgotten, and had tried to make a star. He knew how to make them. He had watched Garret make them for hours. But he couldn’t seem to make one of his own. The folding was too precise, too intricate, for Jimmy’s clumsy fingers. Jimmy looked at his finished product, a mess of pale orange paper, and sighed. It was just one more thing that Garret was better at.
Jimmy put his star in the jar and looked at it. It stood out, like a kindergartener’s finger painting at the Louvre. If Garret saw it, which he undoubtedly would, he would wonder how he had missed that, pick it out, and throw it away. Jimmy picked up the jar and gave it a good shake, burying his star among Garret’s better pieces. As always, Jimmy’s work was hidden by Garret’s, and maybe, like in this case, it was better that way.
