Fruits of Insanity

story time at the library

There are four of us sitting around the table at the library. We're there most Saturdays, although since Anne pulled her knee, we've had several weeks when she wasn't well enough to join in. Every once in a while, someone stops and asks us about what we're doing, and we show off. They ohh and ahh, and tell us that their grandma taught them to knit years ago, but they don't remember anything, and even if they did, they don't have time to sit, let alone make a scarf or a blanket or a sweater or socks. I don't make socks. Too fiddly.

We just encourage them. After all, knitting is a simple thing. If they come on a Saturday, we'd be happy to give a refresher, get them all set up with needles of their own and yarn and they could come out of it with something interesting. They smile at us and promise that they'll think about it. Maybe they'll be there next week. And they want to learn. It's amazing what we do.

They never come join us the next week. And it's all right. We don't really expect them to, but we're ready when someone finally does decide to join in.

This week, we're all set up in the middle, near the information desk. We tried to get a study room, but they're first come first serve, and we weren't first. We make it to a study room about thirty percent of the time, which is good because we can get loud. Edwin occasionally yells at his project. And we all laugh when someone has a story to tell.

This week, the children are stopping by the info desk to turn in summer reading logs for a prize. It makes us want to have the adult version of that game. After all, we read, too. I listen to books on tape on my computer while knitting at home. But there's no incentive to report for adults.

Today, three of us knit, and Anne crochets the front of a sweater in blue and white. Anne doesn't like knitting as well as crochet, but we like her anyway. Leigh and I crochet occasionally, but Edwin only knits. Anne spots my water bottle and points at it.

“Louise? Your water bottle reminds me of yesterday.”

I look up from my knitting. I'm close to the end of my shawl, so the rows are nearly an hour and a half long now, but that just means I'm ready for a good story. “Yesterday?”

“Yeah. I was at a cafe with Henry, Bridget, and Lucy,” she says, and I just nod because I know that Henry is her husband, Bridget is her daughter, and Lucy is her ten year old granddaughter. Cute kid, very polite. “And it's on the corner of Main Street and a little side street that doesn't have much traffic, and this guy comes around the corner. He's pulling a trailer with three big pallets of water on them, and as he turns, the top of the last pallet loses some of its plastic wrap and there's water all over the road.”

“Like they burst?” That's Leigh, who's working on illusion knitting—a rabbit's face that looks like stripes straight on, but the picture appears if you look at an angle.

“No, just bottles of water and flats of water all over the road.”

“That could be dangerous.” Edwin says. He's working on a double knit project. “Next person who comes around the corner and there's puddles all over the road.”

Anne shrugs. “Not really. Everything'd fallen on the curve in the corner of the road. And it's not a busy corner.”

We nod—scene set.

“Well, Bridget sees the water bottles all over the road, and she gets up and goes to help pick things up. Henry, too.” Anne is currently in a knee brace, so we don't expect her to help. “I turn to Lucy, who's just sitting there, and ask her, 'Are you going to help?' She says something like she's too little to pick up water, but I just look at her and she goes to help.”

I grin and nod.

“It was amazing to see. Once Bridget started it, a couple of other people from the cafe went out to help. Even someone walking past stopped to help.” Anne nod, emphatically. “Spontaneous good deeds sent into the universe.”

We all laugh a bit, but it does make us happy to think there are people who want to help.

“But there was this lady sitting the next table over. She sees it happening and just gets so totally negative.”

Anne rolls her eyes and turns her project. “The driver got out of his car, takes a look, and pulls out his phone.

“She says: He should be punished. Why isn't he doing something.

“So I say, loud enough that she can hear: Maybe he's calling some help.

“She says: He should be ashamed carrying it loose like that. Imagine if someone got hurt when that load fell off.

“So I say: And he was to know the shrink wrap would fail? I see straps holding it down so at least it was only the top of that pallet that fell off.

“She says: I saw that flats of water were selling for a dollar at the Home Depot. He shouldn't have that much water. Hoarder.

“So I say: Maybe he's giving that water away.”

The three of us nod. After all, three big things of water were more likely for a church function or a school event than for personal use.

“She just kept saying more and more negative things, always taking the worst light that could possibly be taken on the situation when this was such a wonderful show of how people reach out and help when they're given a chance, so I kept on retorting with a more positive spin.”

I chuckle because I know Anne. I can see this whole thing going down. People think that knitters are meek—shows what they know.

“Finally, I just say, “Well, if you're so worried about the mess out there, you could have helped. But I guess your legs are probably just as worn down as mine.” And then I turned to her and said, “Bless your heart,” with the sweetest smile I could give.”

We gasp. Those are fighting words.

Anne sets down her crochet for a moment and readjusts her leg on the chair beside her. “She didn't say anything else.”

I shake my head. “I wouldn't either,” and turn back to my row.

Word count: 1115
Prompt 2: Worldwide Knit in Public Day (6/8)