Once upon a time, there was a juggler, who happened to be a writer, a knitter, and a bunch of other things..... This is that juggler.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Knitpocolypse, Part 1

Day One, Evening

The fire crackled in the background, as the group sat around the large pit, talking and laughing and joking. Gavin smiled, and walked around the group, recording each one on his brand new camera. He eventually made it to his destination, sitting a bit away from the others. She was wrapped in a blanket she had made, and she was laughing at the others antics. He approached her, still smiling. She looked up, smiling through another bite of her s’mores.
“Hey Sophia, I have to ask you something,” he said.
His stomach was resting in a tight, nervous knot, because out of all the staff, Sophia was the prettiest, as well as the most interesting. Well, at least she was to him.
“What’s up, Gavin?” she asked, looking through the lens.
Her eyes flickered over the edge to his eyes, a deep, startling blue. He grinned, lifting the camera higher to him, forcing her to look in the lens.
“Are you ready for the first yarn retreat to begin?” he asked.
She laughed, patting the seat next to her, and looking into the fire. At first, they had all thought this small action weird, but had come to realize that when Sophia was nervous, or was thinking, she had a tendency to look elsewhere. She sighed.
“Did I tell you what I got today? That all the knitters, crocheters, everyone is getting welcome bags?” she asked. “They let us all have one, you remember.”
“No, you didn‘t say. What you’d get, anyway?”
“Quivot. It’s a really expensive fiber. Like, ridiculously expensive. I got Four Ounces of it. I haven’t even touched it before today. Do you know how much four ounces of quivot is worth?” she asked. “It’s worth about twenty-five dollars an ounce. I got 100 dollars in Quivot. It’s unreal!”
“They’re going all out. I don’t even know how to knit, and they gave me a bag. It’s full of specialty hand painted and hand spun yarns.”
“Wow. How many?”
“Eight skeins, a set of glass needles, and a free class.”
“Yup, I signed up for the first week of your cable class, by the way.”
“You.. You don’t even know how to knit!” Sophia said, laughing.
“Teach me?” he asked.
“Sure. I will. You just let me take some of that yarn off your hands,” she said laughing.
“Deal,” he said, laughing.
Like that would have mattered. He had already carefully wrapped the yarn and needles up, and put them in a box. They were for her. He had no use of them- they were far too fancy for his tastes, and he was a graphic designer. She was a knitter, who was in love with color and life. She was a true bohemian.
“So, how do you feel, then?” He asked, quieter this time.
“Nervous,” she admitted. “I’m nervous. This is Northern Yarn Retreats. The gift bags are expensive, the beds are all made and nice, the lodge is clean, and the fire pits are ready. We’re an expensive resort with a five star chef… and I am just Sophia Lorraine. How am I too compete with this? What if I’m not good enough?” She asked.
She turned her eyes on him, those dark green emeralds that sparked with life. He smiled at her, and set down the camera.
“You, Sophia, are good enough. You are always good enough.”

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