So I was thinking...
That you should tell me a story. Or maybe that I should tell you one.
About my first lover. Not the guy who took my virginity. My first illicit lover - though it's hard to think of him that way. A. was a departure in every sense of the word. Not at all the kind of man I normally fell for. A. was all about departures. In fact, he departed for a living. Odd to imagine my academic self in thrall to a long distance truck driver but I was learning all sorts of things about myself I hadn't known. How did a man who couldn't spell worth shit ever come up with the answer 'fulfilled fantasy pink'. But what sort of jeopardy did I think I was playing when I asked -
name my lipstick color?
A. was a man of many unexpected talents. His grandmother had taught him how to sew. He made quilts. He said he'd make me one. Out of his castoffs -ripped tees and worn out flannel shirts. It would smell like him. He had done this before. For his ex. The one who kicked him in the head before she kicked him out.
Mine would be different. I has some say in it. I could pick out the backing, he said. We'd go to Jo-Ann's fabrics together. That worried me a bit. A craft store in my town? What if we ran into other... quilters? Like old lady quilters I might know? Who might know me? But I wanted it. Wanted that scent when he wasn't there. Wanted a tribute.
So we went. He had specific instructions. A. always had specific instructions.
Wear a thin t-shirt
, he said,
no bra
. Heels and jeans. That didn't sound hard. In fact, the fact that it didn't sound hard worried me a bit. I chose with care - a clingy tank the color of my skin and mules just high enough that I was slightly unsteady but not so high anyone would take notice. Anyone except A., that is.
Once we got there, he marched me up and down the aisles. Slowly. Deliberately. The store was mostly empty. A few old ladies - none that I knew, thankfully - but I still felt as if each and every one of them disapproved. A. spoke with some frumpy saleslady - asked the appropriate quilter questions that made her smile while I squirmed at his side, the useless woman who couldn't sew. I could tell she thought I was lucky.
She couldn't know how lucky. We still hadn't chosen the backing. In a back aisle, A. pointed to a bolt of flannel close to the ground.
Feel it
, he said so I knelt down and fingered it. Snoopy print. Cute. I felt A.'s hand close on my shoulder and heard the sound of a zipper. My eyes widened and A. must have felt my panic because he chuckled, zipped up and patted my head.
Turn to the shelf
