Short Fiction

Blue Blanket

several yarn balls
Photo by Rijan Hamidovic on Pexels.com

Blue Blanket
Red-rimmed eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, cotton mouthed, she sat on her sofa, in her spot, as she snapped open the plastic container. A familiar fragrance teased her nostrils as she gasped and then allowed the scent to overtake her senses. Staring at the blanket through blurred vision, it was soft country blue colored, with fringed edges. Knowing this blanket was her sister’s favorite, she needed to keep this treasure.

Cozying in to the familiar soft comfort of her spot on the sofa, she gathered her yarn and hook. Excitement tickled her soul as she pondered the joy her sister would feel when she saw and touched her new blanket. While it was not her taste, her sister loved blues and mauves. Selecting the soft toned, country blue was easy. This would be a gift for her sister’s 21st birthday and she wanted to give something to her sister to treasure all of her life. As was her habit, she pondered positive thoughts as she hooked the yarn. Believing that keeping good thoughts would only make for many good things, she was certain that this blanket would bring much comfort and joy.

Holding the well-loved blanket to her face, breathing in the scent, closing her eyes, memories flooded her. Feeling the softness as she grazed the blanket with her fingertips, she came across a raised, rough patch. Looking closely, there was a stain, much in the shade of red, as in nail polish. This would have been from her niece. She loved the blanket and was likely wrapped in it while she painted her nails.

Working each row, creating the design, allowing for both durability and beauty, she counted and watched as the blanket unfolded into a work of art. Her old cat would keep her lap extra warm as he crawled underneath the workings. He was old and not so likely to bat the yarn as he did in his younger years. A bit of him would go along with the blanket, as it would be very difficult to pick out his golden fur.

Even after all these years, there were gold flecks in the blanket. Oh Kitty, she thought, you now can rest with my sister and her other pet children. Tell her to keep a warm spot for me, one day. She stroked the gold and closed her eyes, remembering the comfort he brought to her in all of his days. Dozing to a nappy sleep, she woke to nothing more or less than the changes of life. And peace. Peace in knowing that those before have no more pain and peace in knowing that those left behind can best bring comfort to each other. It’s the circle.