The remnant
He was the apple of his mother’s eye, he thought, until an uncle was dispatched who had a reputation for straight talk. Patiently, over a lunch of boiled cod and potatoes, the uncle sorted out those things men must do from the ones they must steer clear of. The advice was friendly but firm and it seemed final.
The following morning, he woke early, packed his sketch books, tiptoed into his mother’s kitchen, and pulled out the wallet from her purse. It pained him to steal from her, but what other choices had she left him with?
He took the bus to Dunkirk and from there, the train to Paris and paid for a maid’s room on the top floor of a building on the Boulevard Saint Martin and bought a sewing machine and two rolls of mattress ticking from a Chinese man in Belleville.
He found work at a coffee shop and spent his nights sewing pants in his room. A small boutique agreed to take his creations, on consignment, but it was a start. On a whim, he purchased a roll of embroidered silk from which he spirited a batch of summer shirts that sold out in a week.
He rented a small studio in Rue Volta and hired a Vietnamese seamstress. A friend of a friend introduced him to a small band of bloggers with connections to a magazine. They wrote a couple of posts in exchange for suits. He developed a signature look that combined canvas work pants with oversized women’s blouses.
He called his mother every Sunday, but the conversations were short and mainly about her health. He repaid the money stolen from her and mailed to her a front row invitation to his first runway show.
She came, in her Sunday best and low-heel shoes, carrying the vinyl purse she’d purchased for the occasion. She clapped at the right time, posed at his side for a handful of pictures, cleaned his small apartment, and even cooked a full dinner for the friends he invited afterwards.
She left the following Sunday, wearing the extravagant silk scarf he had tied around her neck.
As soon as the train left the station, she removed the scarf and folded it neatly into the box she had insisted on keeping. She tucked the box at the bottom of her purse where it remained, cocooned and untouched, — the precious remnant of her love for him.
“The remnant” is the 9th story of Project 105 — illustrated flash fiction. All 105 hand-embroidered original illustrations of Project 105 are being gifted to individuals who express an interest in art and fiction. Preference is given to first time art owners and to those who might not otherwise have access to art, fiction or both. Each art recipient is also given a free original copy of the story. To learn more about Project 105 or to sign up and become eligible to receive a Project 105 illustration visit www.pmneist.com
