I don’t think that I can take it any more. She picks me up whenever She feels like it and then puts me down again as though we had never met; never shared a moment in our lives together. It is these fractures in our intimacy that tear the very soul from me.
The best days are when She wraps my arms around Her, so closely, so tightly – the feel of Her skin against my alpaca fibres and the way that Her pleasure is evident in feeling them in turn against Her own skin. This two-way communication between us is so private, so exceptionally intimate, that it thrills my very being. Then, as suddenly as it came, that contact is torn away and I am tossed once more into the drawer with all Her other past loves.
It is not that I blame Her. I am after all a dull thing and my merits are all in my drape, my handle and in my very form – which offers an intriguing asymmetry (or so I care to think.) She is a wild thing; a lover of colour – yet so fickle in that love! One day She courts the purple triangle, another She floats in a sea of blue cashmere or twirls a green scarf about Her throat; that throat that I long to be wrapped about once more.
Once day in the middle of last week, the early Spring light flooded in as She opened the drawer. My heart leaped as Her hand closed about my long tail. “Pick me. Pick me!” it was all that I could do not to gasp my thoughts out loud: “I am perfectly made for a day such as this. Pick me!”
I was glad not to have spoken out loud and thereby saved myself the mortal shame and embarrassment of dealing with the awful rejection. She let go, and then took away the showy multi-hued Coquille. French flirt. Tart of a temptress! She is as common as muck, that Coquille. She has Nylon in Her makeup. Nylon! I ask you: not at all warm enough for this weather is it. Not like me, so soft and cushy and cosy, yet without any of Mam’selle Coquille’s flamboyance. I am gently warm and stylishly under-stated, not at all in anyone’s face. I can blend in to any situation whilst I warm the skin and lift the spirits.
I may say it myself but it is that superb subtlety that makes me suitable for any day of the week; I can be worn with anything. Thereby lays my salvation. My knitter will always come back. Despite Her myriad infidelities, She will return and one day soon Her fingers will close about me and wind me about Her neck once more.
O! Those days when She seeks me out; I can barely express the thrill. She takes hold of me in Her hand and draws me gently from my sleeping place. She always smiles when She looks at me. That smile makes me feel so good about myself. I love that smile – always accompanied by a soothing palm drawn across my fibres. Sometimes She evens pats my pretty wee leaves. That makes me very happy indeed.
After the smile and the fondle comes that one magical moment when She places me against Her chest and wraps first one long arm about Her neck, and then the other is wrapped about in the other direction until they meet once more in front and we are secure together, as closely as we ever could be – proof against wind and cold.
Those days. Those days! Those days are such a thrill. Always the wonder and the expectation. What will She match me with – shirt or sweater. Will I recline half-hid by outer coat or can I be the star of today’s show and sit atop all else. O! Let me be the star! Please. I can be such a star.
Where will we go together? I like ferry days the best of all. Please, take me on the ferry.
This week She did pick me and we did go for a day out on the ferry. We had such a good time, even though I had little opportunity to do my job as the day was warm and sunny.
We set off in the Land Rover with the Man driving. We left the vehicle in the ferry car park and the ferry was sailing over from Eday as we walked down to wait by the linkspan. I enjoyed watching the turbines going around and the swallows swooping. There were Terns on the wing too, screeching away as they do. It was lovely, and still all the anticipation of going to town.
On the ferry we went out on deck for some fresh air. Sadly, my help was not needed. Mr Sun defeated me. Nor was I needed when we arrived in Kirkwall – when we walked to Tait’s at Hatston. We were going to buy a car. I waited patiently for business to be done, all the while admiring a lovely rugged he-man of a Quad Bike. Wowee. He could get my motor running any day of the week.
Tesco afterwards was far less fun. I clung onto the trolley and She and He made a lightning dash around the aisles, fearing that we would miss the ferry home. We made it into the queue OK and I must say that I felt quite regal, gracing the dashboard of our lovely new car. I think it suits me far better than the faded glories of the Land Rover.
It can be funny on the ferry or in a coffee shop in town. I do enjoy the confusion that She suffers when strangers stop to speak about me. It is because I am so unusual. Rarely have they seen anything quite like me. I enjoy being recognised as special and stylish. I confess to rather less excitement about the way that such strangers pick me up with not so much as a by your leave. They turn me over and tug me about and yank on my pretty wee leaves. The fondling can be nice, sometimes when the people are gentle with me, like Janet was (and she is no stranger to us) but… you know… hands. Strange hands on my fibres and I no idea where they have been. I prefer to keep myself for Her; She, The Knitter. All the same, it was a lovely day out and I am so happy that She chose me to go with her.