At the checkout she regretted not checking the fiber content at least. Silk blends didn’t come free.
The yarn store professional (sales person? yarn guru? knit-master?) stared at Heidi over her half glasses as she counted out her quarters. At least the silk blend would lighten the load of the sock she carried her change in.
She was good at knitting socks.
The saleslady (whose nametag said Purl) licked her lips. “Need a little extra to finish your project?”
“What?” Heidi jerked her head up. She had lost count on her quarters. She reached across the counter to start adding up the little piles of four again but the floppy sleeve of her peasant blouse spilled the stacks with a rattle.
Purl sighed. She looked at her watch. She rolled her eyes and looked to the heavens. “That’s a tiny little bit of yarn. Did you need it to finish something else up?”
Heidi dropped to her knees to gather her scattered money. “What? No, I just needed something for the Knit-in.”
“Well that little bit of yarn isn’t going to last you long. What are you going to do when it’s used up?”
Heidi poured her armload of quarters back on the counter and then spilled the rest of the sock onto it as well. “I’ll unravel it and start again.” She waved the empty-sock at Purl and ran out. With the quarters gone her lunch plans were busted, and she’d have to walk home, but the five mile hike up Soggy Hill suited her mood. If Wolfgang was in Germany and she was stuck here, what was the point of ever trying to be happy again?
Step 2
The real knitters had established huge territories for themselves. The most serious of the protestors had brought their recliners. All of them had rolling luggage as big as Heidi’s apartment filled with yarn.
Heidi squeezed between two larger groups, hoping that she’d be taken as a member of one or the other by any passers by. The group to her left sat in beach chairs with attached umbrellas and wore matching tie-dye t-shirts that said Knitting for Paradise.
The group to her left were younger. Most of them were nursing babies while they knit. One of them was nursing a preschooler while the preschooler played angry birds on an iPhone. They were protesting in their rocking chairs, though one of them was relaxing on the seat of a recumbent bike.
Heidi sat on the curb. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Don’t think of Wolfgang.
The protestors hunkered down around the little islands of green grass and trees in the parking lot in front of the Army Recruiting Office. Heidi hoped they’d get arrested for their efforts, but there was a rumor swirling that the event had the proper permits.
The preschooler in the mommy group detached from her mothers chest and ambled over to Heidi.
“Whatcher in for?” She lisped.
“Peace.” Heidi didn’t make eye contact.
“Where’s your mommy?” The milk-breathed one asked.
“She’s at home.” Heidi snuck a peek at the child. Her blonde baby curls had gone the way of the Do-Do and were replaced with a bird’s nest of tangles. Or, at least, Heidi thought the child must have once had curls.
The child gave Heidi a sad, sad look. “But what will you do when you get hungry?”
Heidi shrugged. She didn’t have an answer to that one. For the last ten years, when she was hungry, she made some kind of food. That was what independent adults did when they were hungry. But the last three days had been different. “I’ll make do.”
The child patted Heidi’s arm and found herself a seat on the curb. She pulled a fat pink crochet hook from the pocket of her overalls and started in on a ball of cherry red yarn.
Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Don’t think about being hungry.
Heidi liked the feel of the silk blend yarn, but her hands were starting to itch.
A woman in her mid fifties leaned out from under her umbrella, “That’s a real nice yarn you have there.” She held out a granola bar. “Need a snack?”
Heidi stared at the granola bar. She didn’t need a snack. She needed to reboot her whole life.
“Thanks.” She took the chocolate covered treat and stuck it in the sock that used to have a lot of quarters in it.
“I’m Phoenicia. Good to meet you” The granola bar lady waved her knitting in a friendly greeting.
“Heidi.” Heidi waved her thin strand of knitting in return.
“Making a belt?” Phoenicia snorted.
Heidi tucked her gray yarn under her legs. “No, just knitting. In solidarity.”
Phoenicia nodded in approval. “I’ve got a cooler, if you need something to drink, help yourself. Just finish that row first.” She snorted again. “If you drop a stitch you’ll lose a whole row!” She guffawed. Phoenicia was knitting an afghan that already covered her whole lap and puddled on the ground at her feet.
Heidi fingered her thin length of knitting. A belt. Perfect. If anyone else asked she’d say she was knitting a belt.
Step 3
The next anti-war activity was three weeks away. She’d signed up online to take part in it, but three weeks was a long time to wait. And from all of the online chatter she’d come across it was all above-board. Arrest was unlikely.
Heidi tore out all of her stitching and started again. The eye of the partridge, so good for keeping your sock heel strong, would make a much better belt. All of her papers were tucked safely in a locker in the gymnasium on her campus. If she could get arrested they’d have to deport her.
She longed for them to deport her.
Knit. Slip. Knit. Slip. Knit. Slip. A free trip back to Germany. That’s all she asked.
The door to the recruiting office swung open and two uniformed men came out. They frowned at the crowd gathered in the parking lot. They were both silver haired and handsome. If they had been boys, Heidi might have been able to get into the spirit of the event, but they had clearly lived through Desert Storm at least, and looked no worse for the wear. Jamie turned back to her yarn.
The nursing moms hissed at the men.
The beach-chair knitters booed at them.
The preschooler looked at Heidi with a lifted eye brow. Heidi mouthed a “boo” and the preschooler nodded her approval.
“A bit out of your element, eh?” Phoenicia asked.
“A bit.” Heidi scrunched up her nose.
“You’re a good kid, coming out here all alone. Few introverts make that kind of sacrifice. BOO!” Phoenicia turned to the soldiers.
“Make blankies, not war!” the moms began to chant.
The toddler scooched back over to Heidi. She leaned in and whispered “I don’t like mommy’s scratchy blankies. Can I have your granola bar?” Her fat little fingers snuck into Heidi’s sock and pulled out the snack.
A rush of panic washed over Heidi. Would the mom get mad? She didn’t usually give snacks to strange kids. Would she get in trouble? Her heart raced. If it looked like she was trying to snatch a child she could get herself deported.
Or would she?
She looked over at the chanting moms. She might just get locked up forever if she kidnapped an activist’s kid. “Better not.” Heidi slipped the bar back out of the child’s hand.
The preschooler’s face crumpled in slow motion. First her brow wrinkling. Then her eyes disappearing into slits of anger. Then her mouth. First, a compressed line, lips white. Then a big black “O” of disappointment. A wail of anguish like a siren rose out of the tiny person.
The woman who had been nursing her flipped in her chair. Two women next to her pressed their hands on their chests. “Great,” one said to the other, “Now I’ll have a wet shirt all day.”
“What did the bad lady do to you?” The woman’s voice carried even over her child’s crying. She gave Heidi the evil eye.
“She took my sna-a-a-a-a-ack!”
The ruckus caught the eye of the taller of the silver haired soldiers. He narrowed his eyes at the women.
“Heidi?” Phoenicia said. “I would have given you another one.” Her voice was disappoi
nted.
“I just, I didn’t want to give her food. I’m a stranger.” Heidi held out her hands in confusion. Her yarn slipped off of the needle.
The mom wrapped the preschooler in her arms. She held her against her bosom and rocked her. “Now, now, Honeyblossom, mummy has more snacks for you.” She whipped up her shirt and pressed the child to her chest.
The preschooler looked over her mother’s shoulder for just a second and gave Heidi the evil eye—her face a perfect match to her mother’s.
The soldier turned red. He spoke in a low tone to the man he was standing with, very few of his face muscles moving.
Heidi rolled her yarn back up.
“That was a no-win situation, Heidi.” Phoenicia said. “What would that woman have done if you HAD given her kid food?” She shook her head, then shook out her blanket, a vibrant rainbow of yarn daisies.
Heidi wrapped yarn around her needle again. Just make a belt and hope to get arrested. That’s what you are here for.
Step 4
The men stood at the door like sentinels. No knitter dared approach them.
A row of aqua blue plastic temporary toilets were lined up somewhere behind Heidi. After two bottles of Phoenicia’s water, she really needed one.
The Army Recruiting Office was in a little, mostly empty strip mall. The office would have a bathroom, unless holding it in was an important skill for soldiers that they wanted to teach early. And two doors down, the only other occupied space in the mall might have one as well. Did she try and storm the recruiting office or make her way to the Urgent Shred Center?
If she went to the Urgent Shred Center she’d catch the eye of the soldiers, which might make her a candidate for arrest, should things get sticky.
If she stormed the Recruiting Office she’d could get arrested right away.
Heidi stood up. She stretched her cramped legs.
“If you’re going to the toilet, bring your knitting! This only counts if we all knit continuously.” Phoenicia called out.
Heidi picked up her needles. They had been considered a weapon when she had flown from Germany last summer.
Wolfgang.
Her heart sunk. He was her motivation and her driving force, but she couldn’t—absolutely couldn’t—let her think about him until she was on her way back.
But if they were a weapon on an airplane surely they’d be one at a protest.
She shook her feet a little before she stepped across the sidewalk to the two distinguished gentlemen in the doorway.
She licked her lips. She pulled up her knee socks up. She wrapped her yarn around her hands and looked at her feet.
“Yes?” The taller gray haired man had a young face and gentle eyes.
Heidi cleared her throat. “May I use your rest room?” She chewed on her bottom lip. She had hoped to demand the bathroom with a strong voice instead of petition for it with a quaver.
The kind-eye soldier held the door open. “Of course.”
The other soldier frowned.
She passed through to the recruiting office. She went straight to the bathroom. Her knees shook. Her whole body shook.
She stood at the door for several minutes before she went back out. The man with the kind eyes didn’t seem at all like he was going to arrest her.
When she summoned up enough courage to leave the bathroom, he was sitting in a waiting chair. He smiled at her. “I hear a little accent…can I guess where you are from?”
Heidi nodded.
“Stuttgart?”
Heidi smiled. “Yes. How did you guess it in one try?”
“I’ve spent some time in Germany.”
“You’re a very lucky man.” Heidi held her knitting limply at her side.
“I went with the Army, of course.”
“Of course. We German girls love the US Army men.” She looked at her fingernails. She had always loved them, anyway.
“Then why protest? If you have fond feelings for my brother soldiers, why protest war?”
Heidi looked to the heavens. Why indeed? “It’s complicated.”
“Go ahead.” He inclined his head towards the crowd outside his building. “We’ve got time.”
Step 5
Heidi sat in the chair opposite the soldier and crossed her legs. American skirts seemed so short on her long, German body, and she was very aware that it crept up even higher whenever she sat.
“I’m in America working on my PhD in the Economic History of British Columbia.”
A look of confusion crossed the soldier’s face, but he nodded.
“There is no such program of study in Germany.”
“Sure.” He nodded again.
“And I am homesick.” She let her needles drop.
Wolfgang.
It was more than homesickness. It was heartbreak and ennui.
“Stuttgart is a beautiful city.”
Heidi rocked her head back and forth. “I suppose so.”
“You’re missing someone back home?”
Heidi nodded. “Yah. I am.”
“Tell me about him.” A very brief look of disappointment crossed the soldier’s face.
“He’s three years old.”
The soldier sat up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“Pureblood.”
Confusion crossed his face this time.
“A huge, hairy furball, but I love him so much. I thought I could leave him with my sister while I studied, but I can’t take it much longer. I really can’t.”
“A dog?”
“Yes. Wolfgang. My St. Bernard. I raised him from a pup.” She dabbed at the tears forming in her eyes, glad that she hadn’t worn gloves after all. Rubber gloves were cold comfort to a broken heart.
The officer leaned forward. “But what does that have to do with the protest?”
Heidi leaned forward and lowered her voice. “War is an economic necessity. Of course it is, but if I protest the war, someday I will be arrested and then they will deport me. I can go home.”
The soldier laughed, his hearty tones rocked Heidi back in her chair. “Why not just fly home for a visit?”
Heidi held out her empty money-sock. “The program I study with has been cut by the government. No more funding. I’m out of money and stuck here. My visa is good for two more years. I’m legal, but broke.”
The officer held out his hand. “Hello Legal but Broke, I’m Captain John Banks. After this little shin-dig can I take you out to dinner?”
Heidi looked down then up then down again. Then up. Her face was thirty degrees hotter than it had been two seconds ago.
“”I’m Heidi.” She shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you Heidi. How about dinner?”
Heidi fanned herself with her knitting needles to cool down. “That sounds very nice, thank you.”
Captain Banks pulled a little table between them. “In the meantime, I think we’ll be here a while. Do you play cards?” He opened a deck of cards and shuffled.
Heidi dropped her needles. She’d get back to Germany and Wolfgang somehow. All of a sudden she had no doubts about it at all.
* * *
Traci Tyne Hilton is the author of The Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery Series, The Plain Jane Mystery Series, and one of the authors in The Tangle Saga series of science fiction novellas. She was the Mystery/Suspense Category winner for the 2012 Christian Writers of the West Phoenix Rattler Contest, a finalist for Speculative Fiction in the same contest, and has a Drammy from the Portland Civic Theatre Guild. Traci serves as the Vice President of the Portland chapter of the American Christian Fiction Writers Association.
Traci earned a degree in History from Portland State University and still lives in the rainiest part of the Pacific Northwest with her husband the mandolin playing funeral director, their two daughters, and their dog, Dr. Watson.
http://tracihilton.com/
*
Mom’s Kiss
Jacques Antoine
“Eww, ew, ew, Mom,” Nero squealed. “That
’s gross.”
Maia stood up from the stream where she’d been trying to catch one of those fish with the pink gills and a yellow tail. A glance up at her little brother clued her in right away.
“The little weasel,” she thought. “Spying again.” Of course, she envied his climbing ability. He scrambled up and down the lower branches as though he were running along the ground. Creeping silently through the foliage was nothing to him… and he couldn’t be more than five or six years old, all pink and fleshy, barely any hair on him. Maia could climb too, but in her case it involved using hands and feet to wrestle herself up the trunk and through the branches.
She turned to see what he found so disgusting. Her mom had her face pressed up against the hairy face of the guy they’d met the day before yesterday, her hands pressed his cheek and the back of his head. His hands held her waist and pulled her hips into his. She pushed him gently away, whispered something in his ear, and watched as he wandered off into the woods.
“Come down here, young man.”
Nero scampered along the branch until he could hop to a large frond hanging below and slide down into his mother’s arms.
“Now what have I told you about spying?”
Nero’s face turned a brighter pink than normal, and he buried his head into the hair on his mother’s neck.
“He’s right, Mom. That was gross.”
“Oh, Maia, there’s nothing wrong with showing affection.”
“That guy was so hairy and ugly. How could you let him touch you? And his face…”
“He’s not ugly, sweetheart.”
“And how did you know he wouldn’t hurt you? Is that what Dad was like?”
Maggie rubbed her son’s head, gave him a squeeze, and set him down on his feet. He scampered back into the tree.
“I’m not sure there’s anyone left like your father… well, except maybe your brother. And he was hairy, too.” Maggie reached out for her daughter’s hand, and pulled her close. “Do you really not remember him?” she asked, with an arm draped over Maia’s shoulder.
The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters Page 9
