She was looking down at the yarn wondering what the heck she was supposed to do with it.
Not once in her life did she ever use this kind of thing; she must have looked like an idiot to the women surrounding her but she had no idea what they expected her to do.
They started speaking… too fast. She had to stop them. Amazing! A lesson in a language she was barely starting to understand on a subject that she had absolutely no interest in whatsoever.
Why did she agree to this? She was no housewife. She’d never done this in her life.
“It is alright… krigare dam… it is to learn. Hold out your hands.”
One of the young women told her, thankfully talking slowly; still the words collided in ways that didn’t always make sense. But she didn’t ask. She would figure it out at some point.
The young woman took her and placed them in such a way that the palms faced each other and then she started placing the yarn on it. She pulled at it and used her hands like – she wasn’t certain what… but it seemed to satisfy her.
At some point the yarn was rolled in a neat form and they gave her what she guessed must be knitting needles but she had no clue what to do with those.
“What…” she was trying to find the proper words. “What do I do with… these?”
They all laughed indulgently and it was all she could do not to stand and leave. She was no simpleton; her life had been different. But she’d promised to try. She just hadn’t expected it to be so… frustrating. It wasn’t necessarily hard; well it was, because it was so far removed from her usual, but not…
“Calm down; anger is not good for the baby.” One said.
She almost laughed: did they truly think this was anger? No; she was far from angry. Anger wasn’t… easy. And it came with its own issues for her.
She placed her hand on her belly; it seemed like forever since she was pregnant, even though she still had almost three months to go. The old crone beside her placed her hand on hers and she gasped, as images flashed, the yarn of her own life woven into something she should have expected but that scared her more than she knew.
She stood then… Gods! No! She couldn’t do this. Head spinning, she felt hands grabbing her, as the world turned dark.
“Love…” She called weakly. She would have to tell him. Gods she wouldn’t survive this.
In response to Linda G Hill’s stream of consciousness prompt Yarn