Hey! It looks like you're new here. You might want to check out the introduction.
Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Needling
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
I watch as my grandmother rocks back and forth in her chair, her hands clasped over a pair of long, metal needles. Her fingers slip over the yarn and along the needles and, almost magically, another loop was created. Then, it did it again, and again, until an entire line of the curves rests over the metal stick.
“Grandma? What are you making?”
My grandmother looks up from her work and smiles in that secret way she has, where her face seems to crinkle up in amusement. “What do you think it is?”
I scoot over and looked down at it, lifting some of the already finished material. “Is it… a scarf?”
“Yes, it is. It helps keep my mind off things, you know?” She appears slightly wistful, her eyes gazing off into the distance. She looks back down at me. “Would you like to learn how?”
I nod rapidly. “Yes, please!”
She smiles again and moves her knitting over a little. “Come on up here, then.”
I do, climbing up and sitting on her lap. Her clothes smell slightly of that perfume she likes to use, and is all the more strong as I settle on the patterned material and her chair rocks forwards slightly. I look down at the silver needles she has in her hands, and look back up at her face.
She begins to speak. “Do you see where my hands are?”
I nod, looking back at the yarn covered metal. The blue and yellow colors seem to glisten in the light.
“Place your hands like mine. I’ll help you, okay?”
My hands wrap around the cool metal and warm yarn, the long strand to the ball being tucked back behind my pinkie. My index finger pins the wool in place as I tension the string to keep the piece from falling apart.
I can feel her nod in approval. “Now, just take it, and guide it through the loop.”
I nod, and carefully guide my first stitch into the curve. Her hands, layered on top of mine, show my hands just where to go.
Click.
Then, I pull back up, wrap it around the trailing string, and pull back down.
Clack.
I can almost feel her smile. “Very good! See if you can do it again, okay?”
Click.
Clack.
Click. Clack.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Her hands drift from mine.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Click. Clack.
Click.
Clack.
My hands, tired, fall down against my lap. The wooden struts of my chair dig into my back as I slump, letting them take my weight. The room is dark, and wind whistles into the cracks in one of the walls. I lean back and look down at the yarn, its blue and yellow coloration bright against the dark backdrop.
The ball is gone, a large path of scarf instead trailing down from my needles. The end of the once long trailing yarn is held in my grip. I pull up one final stitch…
Click.
...and reach the end of the line.
“Grandma… you said it helped you keep your mind off things.”
A tear drips down my face.
“Why won’t it help me get my mind off of you?”
The needles drop from my hands.
I weep.
I watch as my grandmother rocks back and forth in her chair, her hands clasped over a pair of long, metal needles. Her fingers slip over the yarn and along the needles and, almost magically, another loop was created. Then, it did it again, and again, until an entire line of the curves rests over the metal stick.
“Grandma? What are you making?”
My grandmother looks up from her work and smiles in that secret way she has, where her face seems to crinkle up in amusement. “What do you think it is?”
I scoot over and looked down at it, lifting some of the already finished material. “Is it… a scarf?”
“Yes, it is. It helps keep my mind off things, you know?” She appears slightly wistful, her eyes gazing off into the distance. She looks back down at me. “Would you like to learn how?”
I nod rapidly. “Yes, please!”
She smiles again and moves her knitting over a little. “Come on up here, then.”
I do, climbing up and sitting on her lap. Her clothes smell slightly of that perfume she likes to use, and is all the more strong as I settle on the patterned material and her chair rocks forwards slightly. I look down at the silver needles she has in her hands, and look back up at her face.
She begins to speak. “Do you see where my hands are?”
I nod, looking back at the yarn covered metal. The blue and yellow colors seem to glisten in the light.
“Place your hands like mine. I’ll help you, okay?”
My hands wrap around the cool metal and warm yarn, the long strand to the ball being tucked back behind my pinkie. My index finger pins the wool in place as I tension the string to keep the piece from falling apart.
I can feel her nod in approval. “Now, just take it, and guide it through the loop.”
I nod, and carefully guide my first stitch into the curve. Her hands, layered on top of mine, show my hands just where to go.
Click.
Then, I pull back up, wrap it around the trailing string, and pull back down.
Clack.
I can almost feel her smile. “Very good! See if you can do it again, okay?”
Click.
Clack.
Click. Clack.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Her hands drift from mine.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Click. Clack.
Click.
Clack.
My hands, tired, fall down against my lap. The wooden struts of my chair dig into my back as I slump, letting them take my weight. The room is dark, and wind whistles into the cracks in one of the walls. I lean back and look down at the yarn, its blue and yellow coloration bright against the dark backdrop.
The ball is gone, a large path of scarf instead trailing down from my needles. The end of the once long trailing yarn is held in my grip. I pull up one final stitch…
Click.
...and reach the end of the line.
“Grandma… you said it helped you keep your mind off things.”
A tear drips down my face.
“Why won’t it help me get my mind off of you?”
The needles drop from my hands.
I weep.