The story of Three Irish Girls… a fairy tale. Chapter Four.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009 at 7:43PM Read the previous chapter here.
The girl excitedly began a scarf with her size seven needles and her spruce-colored wool. Was it blue? Was it green? It didn't matter -- she wanted to wear it around her neck.
She watched as her fingers slid past several inches of knitting, knitting that curled inward at the edges. Hrm, she thought to herself, I hope that will go away.
Little by little, both the scarf and her confidence grew.
One day she discovered she'd used almost all of her ball of yarn, and her scarf was only sixteen inches long. What should she do? And exactly why was her knitting curling inward so badly?
Lacking the means and the desire to go back to the yarn shop, the knitting was once again put aside, this time not to be touched again for years.
Though the girl didn't know it, tragedy loomed on the horizon.
As it is wont to do, time passed quickly. Years raced, and the girl's mother could hardly believe that a college student stood where the gangly girl once was. Goodbyes were said. Memories were packed. Apartments were located.
Late on a winter night, the ring of the telephone pierced the darkness. Her roommate wasn't home from her job yet, so the girl picked up the receiver sleepily. The voice on the other end brought news that made her eyes squeeze shut, struggling to retain the tears.
Both of her grandparents, dead in a car accident. Killed in an instant by a speeding teenager who sailed through a red light, joy riding with his friend. Witnessed by a cousin at a nearby gas station, who watched as her aunt and uncle's car was decimated, rendering the occupants unrecognizable to her.
After the shock came sadness. The sadness was magnified by the slap of reality that required the girl's family to go through every last one of her grandparents' personal belongings. Nearly fifty years of family memories had to be categorized: Keep? Toss? Sell? This was not how it was supposed to go. A man was not supposed to lose both parents at once.
"Is there anything special you want from Grandma and Grandpa's house?" the girl's father asked her.
She didn't hesitate before asking for the one thing she knew she wanted: her grandmother's knitting. Housed in a trunk at the foot of her bed, the girl went through the collection item by item.
Here were the metal needles in all shapes and sizes that clacked together at every family gathering. Here was the straw bag with fruit on it her grandmother kept next to the kitchen table with her project. Here was a pair of slippers, half completed. Here were bags of acrylic in every color, held double to make thick socks. Here was some unmarked blue wool. Here was some mauve mohair with a label written in French. Here it was, all of the smells, all of the sounds, all of her memories of her grandmother, now placed carefully in the back seat of her car.
The girl drove back to her apartment and put the collection in her tiny closet. It was too much to look at just then, the pain was too fresh. Someday, she thought. Someday.
Continue reading here.
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Reader Comments (5)
Oh, this chapter has brought tears to my eyes!
Oh, Sharon, I am so saddened to read this. I am sorry for your loss - but at the same time touched to read about your grandmother's knitting.
Oh, I just want to hug the then-Sharon.
I have a bit of my grandmother and aunt's needlecraft things. The aunt after whom I was named, Lorraine, was a needleworker. She died shortly before my parents married. My mother vowed to name her first child after her beloved only sister. I LOVE my name. Ends up, I take after her quite a lot, including how I do needlework.
Glad you were able to get those things. Great of your dad to think of that and let you take them.
This is gripping. Seriously!