The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(27)
She put the green yarn down. Thoughts of Germany brought a pang like heartburn to her chest. She had left Wolfgang in Germany. She grabbed a skein of grey yarn. She didn’t care what the price was, or the fiber content. The puce-y nuclear vomit green was too cheerful. She was knitting for peace, not for the circus.
At the checkout she regretted not checking the fiber content at least. Silk blends didn’t come free.
The yarn store professional (sales person? yarn guru? knit-master?) stared at Heidi over her half glasses as she counted out her quarters. At least the silk blend would lighten the load of the sock she carried her change in.
She was good at knitting socks.
The saleslady (whose nametag said Purl) licked her lips. “Need a little extra to finish your project?”
“What?” Heidi jerked her head up. She had lost count on her quarters. She reached across the counter to start adding up the little piles of four again but the floppy sleeve of her peasant blouse spilled the stacks with a rattle.
Purl sighed. She looked at her watch. She rolled her eyes and looked to the heavens. “That’s a tiny little bit of yarn. Did you need it to finish something else up?”
Heidi dropped to her knees to gather her scattered money. “What? No, I just needed something for the Knit-in.”
“Well that little bit of yarn isn’t going to last you long. What are you going to do when it’s used up?”
Heidi poured her armload of quarters back on the counter and then spilled the rest of the sock onto it as well. “I’ll unravel it and start again.” She waved the empty-sock at Purl and ran out. With the quarters gone her lunch plans were busted, and she’d have to walk home, but the five mile hike up Soggy Hill suited her mood. If Wolfgang was in Germany and she was stuck here, what was the point of ever trying to be happy again?
Step 2
The real knitters had established huge territories for themselves. The most serious of the protestors had brought their recliners. All of them had rolling luggage as big as Heidi’s apartment filled with yarn.
Heidi squeezed between two larger groups, hoping that she’d be taken as a member of one or the other by any passers by. The group to her left sat in beach chairs with attached umbrellas and wore matching tie-dye t-shirts that said Knitting for Paradise.
The group to her left were younger. Most of them were nursing babies while they knit. One of them was nursing a preschooler while the preschooler played angry birds on an iPhone. They were protesting in their rocking chairs, though one of them was relaxing on the seat of a recumbent bike.
Heidi sat on the curb. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Don’t think of Wolfgang.
The protestors hunkered down around the little islands of green grass and trees in the parking lot in front of the Army Recruiting Office. Heidi hoped they’d get arrested for their efforts, but there was a rumor swirling that the event had the proper permits.
The preschooler in the mommy group detached from her mothers chest and ambled over to Heidi.
“Whatcher in for?” She lisped.
“Peace.” Heidi didn’t make eye contact.
“Where’s your mommy?” The milk-breathed one asked.
“She’s at home.” Heidi snuck a peek at the child. Her blonde baby curls had gone the way of the Do-Do and were replaced with a bird’s nest of tangles. Or, at least, Heidi thought the child must have once had curls.
The child gave Heidi a sad, sad look. “But what will you do when you get hungry?”
Heidi shrugged. She didn’t have an answer to that one. For the last ten years, when she was hungry, she made some kind of food. That was what independent adults did when they were hungry. But the last three days had been different. “I’ll make do.”
The child patted Heidi’s arm and found herself a seat on the curb. She pulled a fat pink crochet hook from the pocket of her overalls and started in on a ball of cherry red yarn.
Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Don’t think about being hungry.
Heidi liked the feel of the silk blend yarn, but her hands were starting to itch.
A woman in her mid fifties leaned out from under her umbrella, “That’s a real nice yarn you have there.” She held out a granola bar. “Need a snack?”
Heidi stared at the granola bar. She didn’t need a snack. She needed to reboot her whole life.
“Thanks.” She took the chocolate covered treat and stuck it in the sock that used to have a lot of quarters in it.
“I’m Phoenicia. Good to meet you” The granola bar lady waved her knitting in a friendly greeting.
“Heidi.” Heidi waved her thin strand of knitting in return.
“Making a belt?” Phoenicia snorted.
Heidi tucked her gray yarn under her legs. “No, just knitting. In solidarity.”
Phoenicia nodded in approval. “I’ve got a cooler, if you need something to drink, help yourself. Just finish that row first.” She snorted again. “If you drop a stitch you’ll lose a whole row!” She guffawed. Phoenicia was knitting an afghan that already covered her whole lap and puddled on the ground at her feet.
Heidi fingered her thin length of knitting. A belt. Perfect. If anyone else asked she’d say she was knitting a belt.
Step 3
The next anti-war activity was three weeks away. She’d signed up online to take part in it, but three weeks was a long time to wait. And from all of the online chatter she’d come across it was all above-board. Arrest was unlikely.