I wrote this little short story last year to send to a knitting magazine who always calls for articles and other texts at the same time as they call for patterns. they never picked it to be published, so I decided to share it with the world. it's just a lil fiction piece and I had lots of fun working on it (mostly in the parking lot at my workplace when I arrived too early and waited to get inside). hope you like it.
I hesitated as my fingers reached for the doorknob. I hadn't been in that room for months.
I took a deep breath and made contact with the cold brass. The door creaked as it opened.
This was my girlfriend's craft room. Everything in here was hers except for the vintage armchair with the velvet fabric. She loved to sit in that chair to knit when she spent the weekend at my place, so when we moved in together three years ago, I suggested we place it in her craft room.
I took a few steps inside. Dust was dancing in the sunlight that the big, south-east facing window was letting in. The natural light was the reason she had claimed this room as hers.
I sat in the velvet chair and took a moment to look around. The desk was messy, filled with craft supplies. On the wall, shelves were heavy with bins of various fabrics, ribbons and scraps of paper. She could never settle on one hobby.
To my right, at the feet of the armchair, was her knitting project basket. She called it Area 51, because it contained all her UFOs - Unfinished Objects. On the top of the pile, I could see my favorite pair of socks, the first one she made for me. She was going to mend them for the third time.
I reached into the basket, under my holey socks, for the project bags. There were two. I opened the smallest one to find a colorwork hat. A piece of paper was also in the bag - the chart she was following.
Judging from the highlighted rows, it looks like she was about halfway done. The yarn was a bit rough for my taste, but I know these more rustic yarns were her favorite. She didn't find them scratchy at all.
The contents of the second bag surprised me. I recognized this project, because I had started it.
Two years into our relationship, we visited Portugal and Spain. She was ecstatic when she found a little yarn shop in one of the cities we explored. I have to admit I was also impressed by the richness of the fibers and the colours they offered. Soft yarns, scratchy yarns, thin ones and big ones, in a multitude of shades. Her happiness, the stars in her eyes as she went from one shelf to the other, carrying multiple balls of fluff in her arms - I still carry this memory with me all these years later. I wanted to pay for her yarn, as a souvenir of our travels and an anniversary gift. She agreed on one condition: that I also chose a few skeins and let her teach me how to knit.
I picked a few balls of medium weight rustic yarn, because I liked the color. She had assured me I would get used to the texture and that once knit and washed, it would feel very soft. Back home, she taught me how to cast on stitches and how to make a knit stitch. With this new knowledge, I set out to knit a garter stitch scarf, a classic beginner project. Unfortunately, I lost interest pretty fast. I couldn't get used to the feeling of the rough yarn on the delicate skin of my hands. She wasn't mad. She said she was happy I tried and spent this time with her sharing one of her favorite pastimes.
This was the project I was looking at. The old garter stitch scarf I had started so long ago. There was a very noticeable difference in the stitches about five inches from the edge, where I had abandoned it and where she had picked up. Her work was even and tight, whereas mine was irregular and loose in some places. She has added ten inches or so.
I took a needle in each hand. Did I remember how to do this? I tried a first stitch. Then another. And soon I found myself completing a row. The yarn felt rough but I was too focused on the movements and the rhythm to bother.
I did not keep up with the craft back then, but I could listen to her talk about it for hours. One of my favorite topics was the vocabulary. She told me about the abbreviations that the knitting community uses, like FO, WIP, and one of my favorites: SABLE, which stands for Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy. The knitter's version of "biting off more than you can chew".
I looked up from my work in progress, towards the bookshelf. Of course, it did not house books, but instead an impressive number of skeins and balls of yarn, some new, some half used. Her own personal yarn store, carefully curated to fit her palette, with some odd balls in the mix because they were just "too fun to pass on".
How I missed her smile, her touch. The rough yarn I was holding suddenly felt very soft. I knit a few more rows, contemplating how in this very moment I was sitting in her chair, knitting with her needles, feeling so close to her.
I decided I would keep knitting, as I couldn't imagine parting with her precious yarn. Her stash acquisition beyond life expectancy.