Thursday, October 04, 2007

K.I.P.: Broken Ribs and Old Friends

I met with an old friend for lunch today, Sandy and I used to work in publishing together. It felt good to catch up: freinds, family, work, people we love, people we hate, et al. It's funny how in New York you can be just a train ride away but rarely meet up with old friends. Why is that? It seemed like old times, I was 25 minutes late and she was worried. Sorry Sandy. We promised to not loose touch as we parted ways. Again.

On the train home, two boys were messing around hitting each other, one threw something at the other. It clacked off the window, hit a lady on the arm and landed on the seat. I sat down, picked it up and inspected: one enamel pin with the image of the Infant of Prague. I said "Which one of you is throwin' Jesus around?" They pointed at each other. One said "Sorry mister." "You should say sorry to this lady, you nearly got her in the eye." She jumped in with a sharp Jamaican accent. "You should say sorry to Jeeezus!" The boys got off at the next stop. I pulled the scarf that I started from my bag. But somewhere between the bag of pork rinds, cell phone, cigarettes, and umbrella it came undone. It was beyond saving so I ripped it out and started over. The woman asked what I was making. I said "a mess". She laughed, "You know my father used to knit when we was livin' in England. Good for the mind, good for the soul." She watched for a bit and got up for her stop. "Don't leave Jesus behind" she said as the doors closed.

Brooklyn bound, I continued to knit in Broken Rib (2x2 rib on mult. 4 + 3) the train filled up with the post-lunch time crowd. No one sat where the Infant of Prague lay. Was it Jesus or me? Oddly enough I've never been hassled when I've Knit In Public (K.I.P. for those in the know). Among the obese guy with asthma, the over-tattooed/pierced hipsters, and the chick texting while crying as we passed over the bridge, I pale in comparison. There was only one time I can think of, I was in court waiting (oi vey, very very long story) on a bench. The kid with the doo rag and missing teeth got up and mumbled "faggot" at me. I replied "That's Mr. Faggot, jack-ass." The woman with a black eye sitting to my left smiled, said she used to knit but she's more into crochet now. "What you makin' baby?"

The same scarf.
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