Knitting Under the Influence

Sari watched him take his son's hand and walk out the door with one last wave. She sank into a chair and let her head fall back.

Even hand in hand with a small child, Jason Smith swaggered when he walked, just like he used to swagger a million years ago in high school-when he and his friends ridiculed and tortured Charlie on a daily basis.

Sari tried to remember the details, but it was all pretty foggy. Funny how hard it was to remember the most painful periods of your life really clearly. Maybe there was a reason for that- maybe that way you protected yourself from reliving them.

Jason Smith was one of a bunch of faces, a bunch of names. They all blurred. Had he ever led the charge against Charlie? Been one of the ones who called him retard and shoved him against the wall? Or was he one of the kids who just stood there and laughed while shit like that went down? Looking at his face-handsome as it was-had made Sari want to throw up, so she knew he'd done at least that.

Some things your gut remembered better than your brain.

Someone had pulled Charlie's pants down during recess, in front of a circle of cheering students. Had that been Jason? By the time a friend had found Sari to tell her, and she'd gone running to help him, it was too late. There was a teacher already there, but he hadn't seen anything, and in the end no one got in trouble because no one would say who did it. It could have been Jason. Or one of his rich asshole friends. It almost didn't matter. Whether you were the one who did the deed or just the one who stood by-applauding-and let it happen-what was the difference, really?

Sari hugged her arms across her chest and rocked, feeling cold and hot at the same time.

All the girls had crushes on him. You'd walk into the bathroom and see his name in a heart with someone else's, or two girls would be sitting perched on the edge of the sinks, talking and smoking, and you'd hear his name over and over again. Even Sari couldn't not look at him when he was in the same room. He was that handsome.

He had kissed her on the cheek just now, had said that they were old friends, and she was supposed to-

She was supposed to help his kid. Sari was supposed to help his kid just because Zack had a neurological disorder, and because that's what she did. She helped kids with autism learn to talk and behave and overcome the symptoms of their disorder. No matter who their parents were.

Sari helped kids with autism get better, and it shouldn't matter to her that Zack's father and all his friends had tortured her brother and ruined her life.

She sat up straight. It wasn't Zack's fault who his father was.

So. She had to help him. It was the right thing to do and she knew it. It wasn't even a choice.

But the finality of that didn't stop her from wondering-did Jason Smith really not remember about Charlie or did he just not care?

Could anyone be that cold?

She crossed to the desk and fished her cell phone out of her purse. “I have to see you tonight,” she said when Lucy answered.

“Meet me at the yarn store,” Lucy said.

VI

Jason Smith,” Sari said, as soon as she had greeted Lucy. She had found her in the back of the store, where the wall was lined with diamond-shaped cubbyholes filled with different-colored balls of yarns. Skeins of wool were also piled up in wooden general store bins. Yarn stores usually gave Sari the same feeling that candy stores did when she was little-there was the same rainbow of choices spread out before her and the same anticipation made both wonderful and tense by the knowledge that all these choices had to be eventually narrowed down to a selection. Tonight, though, she barely glanced at the colors around her. “What do you remember about him?”

“Jason Smith?” Lucy repeated. She ran her fingers lightly along a row of blue wool skeins. “Too rough. I want it really soft… You mean Jason Smith from high school? Man, I haven't thought of him in years.”

“I know. Me neither. What do you remember?” Lucy thought for a moment as she slid along the wall, fingering more yarn. “Good-looking asshole.”

“How big an asshole?”

She plucked out a ball of wool and studied it thoughtfully. “Big. I think. But he kind of had a right to be because he was so hot.”

“Debatable,” Sari said. She leaned back against the cubbies and folded her arms. “He was one of the guys who tortured Charlie, wasn't he?”

“A lot of people did that,” Lucy said, tossing the skein back and picking up another one.

“I know,” Sari said. “But I think Jason Smith was one of the worst ones.”

“Maybe. I don't remember. What I do remember is he was always being followed around by a bunch of girls, because he was good-looking and a jock. Why'd you bring him up, anyway?”

“He brought his kid into the clinic today for treatment.”

“No way!” Lucy raised the yarn she was holding up to the light. “Pretty, don't you think?” She lowered her hand. “So Jason Smith has a kid with autism?”

“Yeah. And, by the way, I could probably get fired just for telling you that, so keep it between us.”

“He's not old enough to have a kid with autism, is he? How old is the kid?”

“Three.”

“Babies having babies,” Lucy said with a shake of her head. She searched through the bin of wool that matched the color she had picked out. “Do you think there are fifteen balls in here? I need fifteen.”

“Don't forget to check the dye lots.”

“Oh, right.”

“You know,” Sari said, watching her sort through the yarn, “we keep doing that. You, me, and Kathleen.”

“What? Forget to check the dye lots?”

“No-I mean, we keep acting like no one our age could possibly have kids. We even act surprised when people we know get married. But we're not that young anymore. People our age get married and have kids all the time. People a lot younger than us do. At some point, we've got to accept the fact that we're not college students anymore and haven't been for a while.”

“I’ve accepted it,” Lucy said, making a pile of the yarn on top of a chair. “I don't like it, but I’ve accepted it. Okay, that's nine, ten, eleven-”

“It's just…” Sari stopped and stared at the growing pyramid. Then she said, “It was really weird seeing this guy. Last time I saw him was probably high school graduation. And here he comes in with a kid and he's a parent like all the other parents I see every day. It was weird. Like he had become a grown-up but I hadn't.”

Lucy stopped counting and looked at her. “What are you talking about? You were the professional in the room, and all be did to be there was blow some sperm. Any fifteen-year-old can get a girl pregnant.”

“I’m not really a professional,” Sari said. “It'll be years till I get my license and can practice in my own right.”

“Doesn't matter. You were still the expert.” She turned back to the yarn and counted it again with little pecks of her index finger. “Twelve, thirteen… Shoot, I don't think there's quite enough.”

“What are you making, anyway?”

“A sweater.”

“For yourself?”

“For James, actually.”

“Wow,” Sari said. “That sounds serious.”

“It's just a sweater,” Lucy said.

“Yeah, right. Just hours and hours and hours of work. Hours and hours and hours.”

“I know,” Lucy said. “That's okay. I like knitting.”

“Still, knitting for a guy means you think it's going to last. I wish I knew James better-we've only ever met in passing.”