A Stitch in Time-Oct ’21 Flash Lit #3

Ginny was laughing her butt off. 

I grabbed my tattered blanket even closer to me and scowled at her. “Shut up. I’m not hurting you. Neither is this blanket, so…” A louder howl. 

It was useless to talk to her when she got so happily derisive. At times like this I felt I’d made a big mistake moving in with my older sister in her new apartment. Hell, I wish I had enough money to get my own place, but I don’t. Neither does she, really. So here we are. 

“Oh, c’mon Ali, you’re 22 fucking years old and you still have a ‘blankie’??? Does Joey know you cuddle with a ratty piece of cloth when you’re not cuddling with him?” Ginny walked into the kitchen, shaking her head and still chuckling. I, like the mature adult I am, stuck my tongue out at the back of her head. 

My fingers were troubling the corner of the flannel square, a habit I’d had since it WAS appropriate to carry around something that makes you feel safe, secure, and loved. I still remember the trauma of separation when I finally left the bubble of all those good feelings with my Grammy at home and started going to school. Grammy promised me she’d take care of it until I came home, and she never broke promises.

I went into my room, curled up against the pillows, and held the blanket close while my fingers rubbed the satiny edging that Grammy had made for me. Mom told me I’d been a fussy baby and toddler, and after many failed attempts to calm me, Grammy had cut up a blanket from my crib into squares that would be easy to carry with me everywhere. But the plain pieces didn’t do the trick. Grammy got the idea to add the soft borders, and as soon as I touched them, my fingers began their busy work and I became peaceful.

Over the years I’d worn three of the squares to threads and holes. Childhood, puberty, adolescence, my parents’ divorce—all the things that had ended my world at the time—had started my fingers working again until this poor remnant was all I had left to deal with Joey’s words, “I don’t love you anymore.” 

My tears fell onto the beloved blanket, and my fingers started to tingle from constant stroking on the satin. I rewound my relationship with Joey, trying to figure out just when things had broken. It was a useless exercise, I knew; there was no other woman to point to, no wrong move from Joey to blame. It was the worst kind of reason—he just stopped loving me. 

Settling down into bed, I cried my heart out into the pitiful cloth. I knew I’d get over Joey, just as I knew I’d survive when the blanket finally wore out. For now though I could still feel the love that Grammy had stitched into this lifeline, and once again let it calm me.