Thursday, November 13, 2014

Slip Stich


March 14, 2002

Slip stitch, knit one, yarn over, slip stitch, knit one, yarn over.

The creak of her rocker shifts in time with the clicking of her knitting needles. She stares out the window not seeing the frost climb up the panes of glass. She hums slightly barely audible over the crackling of the fire I set earlier this afternoon.

Her black hair whispers with flecks of grey, course wrinkles line her face.

 

August 3, 1946

He stepped up to the small café. Dressed in his worn leather jacket the click of his boots rapping against the cold pavement searing the flesh of my own feet. He has a thin stemmed rose in his left hand. His face solemn, his eyes intent, he sniffs slightly in the chill of the night but only because he is too prideful to show his unease. The faint scars along his neck remind us all of the past he leaves unspoken but is evidence enough for the man he once was.

She steps out, the air changes from a frozen pause to an arid current of electric tension. She hands him a teacup, he looks down fighting the urge to rip her from her place on the sidewalk into his arms and to calm her frazzled nerves.

Her eyes are hollow, her soul gone from this night.

 

April 7, 1951

The third column to the right on the back page of the Gazette:

Motorcycle crash on the bend of Porter’s Neck. Authorities announced male victim dead on impact, Investigators declare cyclist was speeding. No one else was hurt.

 

February 17, 1992

Patient’s replies with murmurs that do not seem to resemble yes or no. Refuses to make eye contact. Consistent rocking in her seat. She is calm. No progress.

Doctor: Hello Maybelle, how are you today?

*Doctor waits patiently, no recognition at her name or an attempt to answer

Doctor: Do you like your room here? I’ve heard Nurse Bennett likes to take you to the sunroom

*No answer

Doctor: Maybelle, What would you like to talk about today? Perhaps you could share with me where you got this teacup?

*Doctor reaches for teacup, Patient screams, grabs teacup and throws it against the wall shattering it.

 

March 20, 2002

As I was dusting the shelves today I found what looks like the handle of an old tea cup. I was going to throw it away but something stopped me. I went to Maybelle’s room to see if it meant anything to her. As I placed it in her palm and she slowly wrapped her tired fingers around it. She looked at me, her eyes searching mine for something I don’t know. She then shifted back to the window but she seemed different. Content maybe, relaxed under her knit shrug. I wish I knew what she was thinking.