Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene. Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.
The Yarn of a Yarn
They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry.
Cindy stops walking and tightens her grasp. She looks at Brian, aiming her eyes at his neck. This is getting to be interesting, do I ask him what it reminds him of, or do I wait and see what’s next.
The old woman looks up, lowers her knitting needles and asks, “Is everything alright?”
“I don’t know, it just made me think of things … I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you stop your knitting.” Embarassed, Brian wipes his face with his sleeve.
“This for my great grandson. He’s coming in a month” the older woman says with pride.
“Is it OK, if we sit down and watch you knit? I won’t disrupt you or ask questions.”
“Sure, I’ll move over a little. C’mon, the weather is so nice to be outdoors today, isn’t it?”
Brian nods. “Yes, it is, we just need to get out and get some sun.”
The younger woman stays silent, observing, making sure she sits at the far-end.
Brian looks at the red yarn … yes, knit, purl, knit, purl, short-needle crossover… she’s knitting cable! I remember that! Jeez, 30 long years and I still remember those darn knitting stitches. Jane knitted well, those long, gentle, beautiful fingers. If she was still around she might be knitting for our grandchild now. Why, oh why, did she have to drive out to get more of that stupid red yarn that day? Why couldn’t she wait? Why did she have to die carrying my child? The tears well up again and the jaws quiver.
The old lady, without looking, knows he is staring at her fingers. Why? Do I remind him of his grandma? He looks normal, not from the asylum, I hope. Oh, c’mon Dorothy, don’t think the worst of everyone. Concentrate on counting your stitches or you’re gonna have a wrong twist, then what? Pull the row off and redo? And that woman, why’s she so quiet? Is she his wife? Girlfriend? Dorothy… knit, c’mon, knit, purl and mind your own business!
Cindy sits with eyes on Brian’s face, neck … ah yes, that palpitating blood vessel. Every time he thinks of Jane, that blood vessel quivers. The doctors should know about this. I’ll put it in his report. He’s just fascinated by her knitting fingers, and that red yarn… is it the red yarn or the knitting that triggered another Jane thought? Whatever, it has to be added to his record.
Twenty minutes of silence and slowly Brian stands up with Cindy’s hand still in his. “I want to thank you for your patience and allowing us to intrude.”
”Oh, that’s OK, I’m flattered that you would be so interested to watch an old woman knit, and I’ve almost reached the arm hole.” she says with a smile.
Brian and Cindy, still holding hands, head to the south exit of the park. They both know which direction to pace towards. Upon arriving at the building, both walk into Ward 24. Cindy presses the buzzer and shortly, an attendant appears. “So, you had a nice walk?”
“Yes, Brian saw this old lady knitting some red thing and decided he wants to cry over Jane again. I want you to put that on his record.”
“Will do.” The attendant smiles and nods
Brian stands up and gently hugs Cindy, “I’ll see you next week little sister, I promise.”
“If you bring Jane with you next week, I’ll kill her. You remember that!”
Brian nods and whispers, “ I won’t.”
With a heavy heart, he slowly walks out of the sanatorium. At the florist, he picks up a red rose and pays for it. As he drives off … he knows, Jane will love a red rose by her tombstone.