Saturday's Storyteller: "Here. I'll teach you how to sew."
by Belinda Roddie
Here. I'll teach you how to sew. The machine's not so scary, love; see, it won't attack your fingers. There, watch as the thread dances through the needle's eye. Its eye is not for seeing, but instead for string theory.
We'll take some old fabric of mine. We'll make a weird quilt of scraps to help you stitch in straight lines. We'll learn how to do this by pedal and by hand. Soon, you'll have a scarf to wear, or a new patch streaked with pride on your denim jacket. Sure, sometimes, we can just iron them on, but other times? The zig zag pattern is your friend.
I know the sewing machine frightened you when you were younger. You would always hide in your room when I worked with it, finding solidarity with the family cat as you snapped on your headphones and let pop music pound in your ears. That feline friend was the company you needed as I waged a cacophonous war against rips and tears and homemade Halloween costumes. You may have secluded yourself, but at least you got to dress up as a dinosaur when I was done.
Now you're here, and you're thirty years old, and you're tired of the panic attacks you receive with merely thinking about operating this plastic beast. But I am here to help, and though I may be older, and my fingers may be stubby and shaky, my hands can be equally dexterous to your own. If you can play guitar, paint your nails, and open beer cans, then you can mend the hole in your jeans.
I'll stitch this rainbow flag on myself, dear. This coat's material is a little tough to pierce through, like fog on a regular bay area day. Once it's done, you can wear it around all your friends. I know how much you want your colors to shine. I know how much you want them to care.
Then you can fix the ripped seam on my last good white dress shirt. Because I want to look nice for my wedding anniversary, and I'm taking your mother out to a filet mignon and lobster dinner.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.
Here. I'll teach you how to sew. The machine's not so scary, love; see, it won't attack your fingers. There, watch as the thread dances through the needle's eye. Its eye is not for seeing, but instead for string theory.
We'll take some old fabric of mine. We'll make a weird quilt of scraps to help you stitch in straight lines. We'll learn how to do this by pedal and by hand. Soon, you'll have a scarf to wear, or a new patch streaked with pride on your denim jacket. Sure, sometimes, we can just iron them on, but other times? The zig zag pattern is your friend.
I know the sewing machine frightened you when you were younger. You would always hide in your room when I worked with it, finding solidarity with the family cat as you snapped on your headphones and let pop music pound in your ears. That feline friend was the company you needed as I waged a cacophonous war against rips and tears and homemade Halloween costumes. You may have secluded yourself, but at least you got to dress up as a dinosaur when I was done.
Now you're here, and you're thirty years old, and you're tired of the panic attacks you receive with merely thinking about operating this plastic beast. But I am here to help, and though I may be older, and my fingers may be stubby and shaky, my hands can be equally dexterous to your own. If you can play guitar, paint your nails, and open beer cans, then you can mend the hole in your jeans.
I'll stitch this rainbow flag on myself, dear. This coat's material is a little tough to pierce through, like fog on a regular bay area day. Once it's done, you can wear it around all your friends. I know how much you want your colors to shine. I know how much you want them to care.
Then you can fix the ripped seam on my last good white dress shirt. Because I want to look nice for my wedding anniversary, and I'm taking your mother out to a filet mignon and lobster dinner.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Roddie.
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