The Quintessential Quilt

In a dark, dusty corner of the old curiosity shop laid a quilt.  It was frayed and faded, but it still beckoned me to come closer.  Not a lover of nostalgia, I only found myself in this quaint little shop to pass the time until my appointment with the doctor. Funny, though my visits to the doctor were weekly, I don't remember having seen it here before. I had entered because the cold outside was most unpleasant, and the chill had penetrated straight to my aching bones.  The doctor had given me very little hope that this aching would be relieved.  It was a side effect of the chemicals that invaded my body each and every week of what remained of my sordid life.  The cold aggravated my condition.   

The shopkeeper asked if she could help me, as I made my way to the check-out counter with the old rag.  She was accompanied by her cat, who seemed to be one with the contents of the shop. Surprising even myself, I answered, “No, thank you.  This quilt will be all.”

She smiled, vaguely, as she responded, “I think you will be pleased with your purchase.  It has amazing warmth left in it.”

Odd comment, I thought to myself.  Nonetheless, she wrapped the quilt in layers of tissue paper and placed it into a bag.  I made my way to the door amid a variety of oddities for sale.  On a table lay a set of old keys next to a dragon shaped teapot. On the wall hung a red hat.  A small rocket ship stood in the corner, and intertwining with its wings and stages was a strange plant. None of the other items piqued my interest, as had the quilt. It was now time for my appointment.

Usually, I felt that “no news was good news” but, today as the doctor stated there were no changes in the growth rate of the invasive tumor, I felt devastated.  Why had I wasted my time and my money poisoning my body and killing myself with a “cure”, if it did not perform the magic I hoped it would do? With only three more treatments left, I hoped for a miracle.  And, the miracle had been slow in coming.  To this point, it was non-existent.  There were no miracles!  No cures! There was nothing that could stop the growth of the cancer that escalated within my body. 

I re-entered the cold January afternoon to find an icy sheet now covered the sidewalk, and biting snow flurries danced intermittently throughout the traffic. A desolate scene, much like the desolation that I felt.

Taking the next available bus to my apartment, I found that the soon to be newborn storm had expanded its birthing pains to rip away the power supply.  There was neither electricity nor heat.  I looked down at the package in my hand, and took out the relic.  Somehow in the vanishing light of the afternoon, the colors in the quilt seemed a few shades brighter.  I wrapped it around my tired and aching body and settled into my easy chair to rest. 

As I rested, I dreamed of days gone by; days in which I was healthy; days in which I didn’t feel the cold or pain that was now my constant companion. I dreamed of summer; beaches of white sand; gulls flying overhead; waves lapping at the shore.  I dreamed of tropical sunsets; volcanoes erupting; lava flowing towards towns and villages.  I dreamed of pyroclastic clouds coming at me as I tried to escape their flow.  Dreams turned into nightmares!  I screamed in my efforts to flee.  Fire-breathing dragons chased me as I ran to get away from their clutches.  I could not break out of the burning embrace of flames emerging from every direction.

Morning broke. Storm now over, a quilt of fresh white snow covered the streets.  Patchwork patterns created by street beds completed the analogy.

Covered by a brilliant quilt of vibrant color, I awakened.  Throughout the night, I had drenched the coverlet with perspiration.  This was a sweat born of fever but fed by the flames of my dreams.  It appeared that my sweat had rejuvenated the very threads woven into fabric.  My waking found less stiffening of my joints, and less pain piercing my bones.

Each night thereafter for the next three weeks, I found myself reaching for the quilt.  Each night my dreams were tortuous, but each morning, I found respite from the ailments that had plagued me for a long time.  I continued my trips to the oncologist, and continued the final three treatments of chemotherapy that were left. 

I was feeling more like my old self.  I no longer ached deeply within my body.  Perhaps the drugs were finally having the desired effect.  Or was it something else?  Perhaps it was only my imagination directed by dreams of extreme heat…a heat born in the depths of my consciousness.  Or maybe a supernatural force in the folds of an antiquated quilt purchased in a dusty shop.

I since have returned to my former self.  The doctor pronounced that the chemo was a success.  I am now in remission, with no traces of the tumor to be found.  Countless tests have been conducted to affirm the doctor’s success.  I let him believe what he would.  However, I know the true source of my cure, although I may never know how it came to be.  I know that in the afternoon that I purchased a frayed and faded quilt from a curiosity shop called Alice's, which I might add, mysteriously disappeared from next door to my doctor's office, my restoration began.  And I know, that a beautiful, seemingly new quilt graces the foot of my bed, now, and will remain there until I the day that I leave this life.

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