Knitting.
A short story about hate and hobbies.
“Be bold; there are no terrible consequences in knitting.” Stephanie Pearl-McPhee
“I think I’ve got the hang of it,” Roland was saying to his wife, holding the knitting needles like chopsticks. He kept clicking them together until Missy realized she’d dropped two stitches.
“Now I have to start this row over,” she said. “If you don’t want to knit, babe, just say so. Nobody’s twisting your arm.”
They’d taken up knitting the previous winter, something Missy liked, but Roland didn’t. She was making him a cardigan, he was making her a diaper. Missy had already knitted sweaters for the two Chinese kids next door. Roland didn’t like them. Ever since they started leaving their bikes in their shared entrance way, he taken to hating them, in fact.
Missy had a thing about angels. She’d bought a book called The Angels in All of Us.
“They aren’t doing you any harm,” Missy kept telling him. “They got angels, too.” Missy had a thing about angels. She’d bought a book called The Angels in All of Us. According to the author — a real knucklehead, as far as Roland was concerned — each person’s angel suffered everything they did. Roland figured his angel needed ear plugs for all the noise going on next door.
“At least you admit there are angels,” she said.
Roland went to the kitchen for orange juice. He’d been doing that since he stopped drinking. They both had when they retired. That’s how the whole knitting thing started. Their sponsor said a mutual hobby would help them adjust. Missy thought knitting might be fun. Roland said he’d give it a try.
“You didn’t count your stiches here, babe,” Missy said when he came back from the kitchen. She was checking his rows, pushing her fingers through the holes. He grabbed his knitting.
“You do yours and I’ll do mine,” he said.
“It doesn’t even look like a diaper.”
“It will when I’m finished.”
Missy put down her knitting. Coronation Street was coming on in five minutes. Missy figured she should use the washroom before it started. While she was gone, Roland wrapped her yarn around the coffee table and tied a big knot.
When she came back, she didn’t say anything. She simply untied the yarn, carded it, and put it back in her bag. “You’re hurting my angel, babe,” she said.
“You don’t have an angel, Missy,” Roland replied. “Nobody does. We’re flesh and bone. When that’s gone, we’re gone. Angels are nothing but phosphorous. It happens with degeneration. Look it up.”
“You and your science.”
“It’s tangible, Missy. Tangible, understand?”
She leaned over and pulled down her lower eyelid.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” he asked.
“For now,” she said.
She took out a tissue from her sleeve and wiped his forehead. Beads of sweat were rolling down.
She held up the cardigan that was just about finished. “Try it on, babe,” she said, putting it over Roland’s pyjama top. She did up the buttons. “Ain’t that nice? Go look in the mirror.” She took out a tissue from her sleeve and wiped his forehead. “You hot or something, hon? You look like your angel just had a steam.”
“Gimme that,” Roland said, grabbing the tissue out of her hand. He went to the kitchen and threw it in the garbage can. As he dropped the can lid, he suddenly felt dizzy. He tried taking off the cardigan but he couldn’t get the buttons undone. He pulled and pulled until one popped off. It rolled under the fridge.
“Missy,” he called out. “I popped one of your buttons.”
She came in the kitchen and looked at the cardigan.
“You’ve stretched it all out of shape,” she said.
“Get it off me,” he said. “I’m sweating like crazy.”
“Okay, relax. Where’s the button?”
“Under the fridge.”
Next door, the Chinese kids were playing on the balcony. They kept screaming and laughing. Roland went and slammed the window shut. Then he came back in the room, grabbing his knitting needles and yarn. “I should call the cops on them,” he said. “And please stop calling me babe.”
“They’re just children, Roland. Huan said they’re doing well in school. It’s not like they’re delinquents.”
“Is Huan the husband or the wife?”
“The wife, for heaven’s sake.”
“What’s his name, then?”
“Charlie.”
“Well, those kids need discipline.”
“You and your discipline. What are we watching tonight?”
“The same as we always watch.”
“You don’t have to snap at me.”
When they went upstairs, Missy said, “What’s wrong, babe? Your angel got heartburn?”
He turned on the television. They watched their shows until eleven o’clock. When they went upstairs, Missy said, “What’s wrong, babe? Your angel got heartburn?”
“I don’t feel great.”
Roland went in his bedroom. On the other side of the wall, one of the kids next door was crying. Probably wet his bed again. Missy heard that one of them had a problem. Funny how they never made commercials about incontinent kids, Roland thought. Incontinent seniors had it all. Pills, panties, leak guard.
He got undressed, got into bed, started reading. Then he remembered he hadn’t brushed his teeth. He got up and felt that dizziness again. Out in the hall, he saw Missy sitting up on her bed in her pink housecoat, legs crossed, knitting away.
“Can’t sleep?” she asked.
“I forgot to brush my teeth.”
“I told Huan you’d help her kids with their science project.”
“Why me?”
“You’re the only science teacher I know, babe.”
“I wish you’d stop volunteering me for stuff.”
“Just make their volcano explode.”
Roland brushed his teeth, flossed, looked at his face in the mirror. He noticed his eyes were hooded. Didn’t Aristotle Onassis have to hold his eyes open with surgical tape? And why did Missy have to volunteer him all the time? Especially to those kids next door. Wasn’t their father an engineer or something?
I pissed in my sock drawer a few times. Missy probably did, too. They loved our stories at AA.
He tossed the floss in the garbage and went to his room. The kid on the other side of the wall was crying again. It happens, Roland muttered to himself. I pissed in my sock drawer a few times. Missy probably did, too. They loved our stories at AA.
The next morning, Roland woke up with a headache. When he tried getting up, the pain was even worse.
He called down to Missy.
“What is it?” she said from the landing.
“My head’s killing me.”
“Take an aspirin.”
“Missy, I can barely get out of bed. My sheets are soaked.”
She came up and found him slumped over.
“You really are in bad shape,” she said, getting a damp washcloth to put on his forehead. “Wanna hit the Emergency?”
“No, I don’t want to hit the Emergency, Missy. Just get me the aspirin. It’s probably one of those twenty-four hour deals.”
Missy found the aspirin, then brought up some orange juice and toast. He couldn’t eat the toast. His throat was too dry and sore. Both eyes felt like they were burning in their sockets.
When he woke up again, Missy and Huan from next door were standing at the end of the bed.
He drifted off, waking up in the afternoon, hearing Missy talking to someone downstairs. When he woke up again, Missy and Huan from next door were standing at the end of the bed.
“Hello, Roland,” Huan said. She was still wearing her coat. A big red silk scarf was wrapped around her neck.
Missy was holding a fresh pillow.
“Sit up, babe,” she said, “Huan needs to check you out.”
“Check what out?”
“She’s a doctor. Now lift your pajama top.”
“I didn’t know you were a doctor, Huan,” he said.
“Holistic,” she said. “I’m taking a sabbatical.”
Missy was already pulling his pajama top over his head. When it was off, Huan looked in his eyes, tapped his chest, then looked at his tongue. She was particularly interested in his tongue and around his neck. She kept feeling for something.
“I’m going to make you a soup,” she said. “It’s like a natural codeine. It’ll help you sleep.”
“Then what?” Roland asked.
“I don’t know,” Roland said to her. “Holistic?”
Huan shrugged.
“Your body fights off the illness.”
After Huan left, Missy fluffed up the pillows.
“I don’t know,” Roland said to her. “Holistic?”
“Huan’s very smart,” she said.
He coughed and felt something come up in his throat. Then he realized he hadn’t gone to the washroom in over three hours. Missy started changing the sheets. When he came back, he slid under them, still feeling a heaviness in his head.
The doorbell rang. Missy went downstairs. Roland could hear Huan talking and Missy thanking her. When Missy came upstairs, she had a tray with a bowl of soup. There were bits of green onion, little shrunken peppers and wontons. It smelt spicy. Roland tried a little bit. It was delicious.
“This is amazing,” he said.
“Let’s hope it knocks you out,” Missy said. “I need to put my feet up.” She took the tray and went downstairs.
Roland slept right through until eight the next morning. Opening his eyes, he saw Missy standing there with a glass of orange juice. He sat up. His head wasn’t splitting anymore. He had to use the washroom. He felt weak but better.
“Huan’s coming over as soon as she drops off the kids,” Missy said. She started changing the pillowcases again.
“I think I’m okay now,” he said.
“She’ll tell us if you’re okay.”
“When’s the kid’s science project due?”
“Come and gone, babe.”
“Shit.”
“Huan said Charlie’s finishing his shift. He’s going to take a look at you before he grabs some sleep.”
“Christ, I’m not that sick.”
“I thought he was an engineer?”
“He’s a doctor, babe. You need to keep up.”
“Holistic?”
“Infectious disease.”
“Christ, I’m not that sick.”
Missy made him some breakfast. He was getting his appetite back. He finished the toast and the boiled egg, then lay there with his closed his eyes. He drifted off, waking to voices in the hall. His door opened. Huan, Charlie and Missy walked in. Charlie was still wearing his sunglasses. He took them off.
“How are we doing?” Charlie asked.
“Better than yesterday,” Roland said.
Charlie took a stethoscope out of his jacket pocket. He got Roland to lean forward, then raised the back of his pajama top. He moved the stethoscope around, then rolled it up, putting it back in his pocket again. “Lungs seem clear,” he said.
“I think Huan’s soup really helped,” Roland said.
“You probably have this flu going around,” Charlie said. “People leave it too long. Next thing they’re in the hospital talking to me.”
“I didn’t know you two were doctors,” Roland said.
“I didn’t know you were a science teacher.”
“I really wanted to help your kids with the their project.”
“The judging’s today.”
“Wish we could be there.”
“Let us know if you start feeling worse again. Sometimes there’s a lull. Pathogens are sneaky.”
“Me, too,” Charlie smiled. “I have to be back at the hospital in four hours. Huan will be there. Let us know if you start feeling worse again. Sometimes there’s a lull. Pathogens are sneaky.”
“We’ll keep you posted,” Missy said.
Huan and Charlie said their goodbyes. Missy followed them to the front door. When she came back up again, she had Roland’s knitting needles and yarn. She put them on the bed.
“Nice folks, those two,” Roland said.
“Starting to believe in angels, babe?”
“Maybe I should knit them something.”
“Anything but diapers.”
“Their youngest is still wetting the bed,” Roland said. “I heard him crying through the wall last night. I had a student like that in my class once. Left a puddle under his desk.”
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything. His parents took him out of class.”
“Kids grow out it, babe.”
“I hope that’s the case here.”
“Aren’t we the Good Samaritan all of a sudden.”
“Is there any more soup?”
“Huan brought a whole pot.”
She went to the kitchen, made the soup, then brought it up. Roland was starting to knit a row. She went and got her own knitting while he was eating. She came back and sat next to him. They knitted the rest of the morning. They were still at it when Coronation Street started. They didn’t even notice the time. They turned on the lights when it got dark. They closed the curtains, made coffee. Then they were knitting again.
