stories in stitches
The following story was written by Glenn Slaby, inspired by the quilt “private world.” Here is Glenn reading his story in front of the quilt at last Sunday’s opening of Stories in Stitches at the New Rochelle Library:
Come be inspired to write your own story! The show will be opened during library hours through January 28.
Here is Glenn’s story:
The stranger watches as the woman somewhat absent-mindedly steps in the snow and continuous to walk on the unshoveled path even though the sidewalk was cleared just a foot or so to her right.
She continues her walk, oblivious to the slight beauty offered up by the minor snow fall from the nigh before for the city has yet to fully awaken and ungainly mark the streets. Her senses fail to pick up the city sounds muffled by the blanket of white cotton, or the smell of air freshly filtered by nature’s condensation of moisture. Even the odor of fresh bagels from Steins Bakery does not seem to distract her from her quest.
Heads turn as someone slips on some small patch of ice near the corner light. Here the sidewalk changes from cement to steel marking the sewer. As this is the first snowfall of the winter, pedestrians have not yet garnered up the wisdom and experience of walking in winter’s not always small challenges. Two strangers come to assist the fallen, elderly gentleman who was somehow able to keep the morning edition of Sunday’s Post from getting wet. The coffee, however, added its ugly tint to the snow. The stranger watches as many heads turn, to confirm the fallen’s status as he gingerly and slightly embarrassed continues his journey. The snow has also brought with it the compassion of neighbors. These few early walkers nod affectionately to themselves upon the elderly man’s renewal of his journey – all that is expect for the young lady. Lost in thoughts known only to her or perhaps a lover.
What caused this internal solitude - was it this unknown lover or perhaps a sick child in need of some over the counter remedy. Or maybe she was on her to work, but would she have been more aware of the path to take snow, and not end up wet feet in the office
A dog, some mutt of various ancestries, tries to garner her scent, but is pulled back by his elderly owner who tries to make an apologetic glance but the women avoids all eye contact and continues on her journey in fog thicker than that of her breath. The mutt, male, showing some signs of grey protruding through his black and brown mange making him only slightly younger than his owner. He sniffs, finds a familiar scent - a dog he has known for some time, but never had the opportunity to meet. A female, he concludes, a few years younger than himself. How he knows this he cannot comprehend or explain if ever given the chance to, but that is likely, for no one ever asks. He is thankful that his pampered life has not dulled an instinct horned and sharpened by earlier generations of powerful hunting dogs of Europe’s Royalty, or so he wants to believe. It’s better than the truth which is generations of bitches and bastards making a living in the back alleys of the Village.
Slowly the mom and pop stores are waking up. The giant metal grates open with a clanking sound. Like eyelids of some giant monster featured in Chaplin’s Modern Times or Metropolis or some other Industrial Age gone haywire movie, the world stumbles to life. McDonalds has been open for some time now for a few hours. The smell of manufactured plastic food begins to dominate the street. Diesel fumes from some van heading for Chinatown tries to compete with that of Mickie Dees. Where else in the world can one get such an abhorrent mixture? Well probably throughout most of world. So much for globalization.
She heads toward the intersection and what seems like the last moment notices the ‘Don’t Walk’ sign turning to red. With her determined path, interrupted, she heads around the corner bypassing the Pakistani shoveling the sidewalk of his small establishment. In an instant she disappears.
Tags: glenn slaby, new rochelle public library, private world, stories in stitches
