Claire LaZebnik - Knitting Under the Influence

When Sari turned five, they moved to a bigger house, and she got her own room. She was thrilled-no more worrying that Charlie would suddenly decide to empty everything off the shelves or methodically pull every hair out of her dolls’ heads as he occasionally had done in the room they shared.

But for years after that, if she woke up during the night because of a bad dream or because she heard a strange noise or because it was raining out-for any reason at all-the loneliness of her own room would become unbearable. She would slip out of her bed and dash across the hallway to Charlie's room. Before she had even reached the threshold, she could hear his snoring-he was already growing fat and had always had allergies, and the combination made him a noisy sleeper.

Sari would crawl into bed next to him, shoving him over to make room for her on the outside half of his narrow twin bed. He often muttered in response but never woke up, and Sari would snuggle up tight against him. He was big and warm and the familiar rhythm of his snores soon put her back to sleep.

In the morning, Charlie would wake up early and roll over her to get out of bed, as if she weren't even there. Sari would huddle under the covers then, still half asleep, and drowsily watch him while he walked in circles around the room, hooting and waving his hands in the air, an alien creature whom she could never completely come to know.

So what's the apartment like?” Lucy asked, glancing up from her knitting. This morning was the first chance she'd had to start the sweater for James, and she was casting on stitches for the back.

“Big,” Kathleen said.

“What is it with you and big?” Sari asked. She lived in a tiny one-bedroom fourth-floor walk-up near Westwood Village and could barely afford the rent. Right now, the three of them were crammed around the one small round table that functioned as both her kitchen table and her desk-she'd had to move her computer and a bunch of papers onto the floor before setting up for brunch. Plates of half-eaten muffins and cups of tepid coffee were jammed in with knitting magazines and uncurling coils of measuring tape. Sari gestured around her. “How come you keep getting to live in these big beautiful places, and I’m stuck here?”

“I don't know,” Kathleen said. “Maybe I was nice to cows in a previous life and earned a lot of good karma.”

“I was a cow in a previous life,” Lucy said with a smirk. “Back in high school.”

“You weren't fat.” Sari squinted at her row counter and flicked another number forward. “You just thought you were. Is it furnished, Kath?”

“Nope.”

“Shit,” Lucy said, throwing down her needle with the cast-on stitches. “I’ve counted this three times and I’ve gotten a different number each time. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Here.” Sari rested her own knitting on her lap and held out her hand. “Let me try.”

“Thanks.” Lucy handed it to her and watched as Sari slid the stitches along, one by one, her lips moving silently. “So when are you going furniture shopping, Kathleen?”

“I already bought a couple of airbeds and a few odds and ends. But I’m not going to buy any real furniture or anything. I mean, the guy could kick me out at any minute. No point getting too settled. Plus I’m short on cash.”

“How long can you live like that, though?” Lucy said. “It sounds like you'll have this place for at least a few months. You can rent furniture, you know.”

“Too much work.”

“Well, at least buy some kind of bed frame, so you're not sleeping on the floor with all the bugs.”

“There aren't any bugs in that place,” Kathleen said. “They can't afford the rent.”

“I got sixty-four,” Sari said, handing the needle and yarn back to Lucy.

“Good,” Lucy said. “I got that once, too.” She took her knitting back to her own seat. “You'll need a table and at least three chairs, Kath, for when it's your turn to host.”

“Can't we just sit on the floor?” Kathleen said. “Have we gotten so old we need to sit in chairs all the time?”

“I have,” Lucy said. “It's one thing to be all bohemian and stuff in college, but we're years out of college now. I’m over being uncomfortable.”

“But I like having the empty floor space,” Kathleen said. “I can run laps in my own apartment. And do push-ups and play soccer-”

“Play soccer?” Sari said. “Your neighbors must love the sound of balls thwacking against their walls night and day.”

“No one's complained yet. Except for one old lady but she's the type who'd complain about anything.” Kathleen stopped knitting to pull at a couple of strands of yarn that were all tangled up. “Hey, did I tell you guys I’ve got a job interview tomorrow?”

“You're kidding,” Sari said, searching through her bag. “That was fast.” She pulled out a skein of white wool, frowned at it, and shoved it back. “What's the job?”

“Nothing exciting. I’d be the assistant to some real estate guy. That's all I know.” She reached for her coffee mug and took a sip.

“What's his name?”

“Rats-Sam told me, but I don't remember. Something Porter, I think. Johnson Porter? Jackson Porter? Something like that.” She put the mug back down.

“You should probably try to get it right in the interview,” Lucy said.

Sari said, “Is he the Porter in those Porter and Wachtell signs you always see on big construction sites? That Porter?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“If he is, that's a huge company,” Sari said. “I see those signs everywhere. How did you get the interview?”

“Through the same guy who got me the apartment. Sam Kaplan.” She squinted down at the pattern she was using. “Does anyone know how to do a yarn-over at the beginning of a row? I can't figure it out. It doesn't make sense, does it? Doesn't it have to be in the middle of a row to work?”

“Hold on, let me take a look.” Sari put down her own knitting and came over to kneel in front of Kathleen. “Well, first of all, you've gotten it all tangled up,” she said.

“Like everything in my life,” Kathleen said, watching Sari's hands sort through the tangle. “But you'll fix it, won't you, Sari?

That's what you do-you fix everyone's messes.”

“This is the slipperiest yarn I’ve ever seen,” Sari said.

“Slipperiest?” Lucy repeated. “Is that even a word?” She looked over. “But I see what you mean. It's all shiny. You might even say blinding. What are you making, Kathleen?”

Kathleen held up her Vogue Knitting so they could see the picture. “A tank top.”

“A bright gold tank top,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “Subtle you're not.”

“I like bright colors,” Kathleen said. “We can't all be elegant and boring like you.”

“I’ll accept that as a compliment coming from a girl with bright green toenails.”

“They're not green,” Kathleen said, stretching out her bare feet so they could all see. “They're chartreuse. It's my new favorite color. When I finish this tank, I want to make a chartreuse tube top. Don't you think that would be cool?”

“If you wear a handknit tube top, don't your nipples poke through?” Lucy said.

“Not if you use a small enough needle and a really fine yarn,” Sari said. “I think I got it straightened out, Kath. Let me see the instructions.”

“Anyway,” Kathleen said, handing them to her. “What's wrong with a little nipple showing? Give ‘em what they want, I always say.

“And do, from what I’ve heard,” Lucy said.

“Plus I can always wear it over a T-shirt or tank top.”

Lucy wrinkled her nose. “That would look weird.”