The Last Stitch (Revised)

The Last Stitch

Angie dressed in her prettiest nightie, arranged herself on the bed, and waited to die.

Angie Bandowski, a full time member of the hard luck club, had handed in her resignation. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” She’d heard it time and time again, but she wasn’t strong, and she’d had enough. Maybe she hadn’t taken enough pills to do the job. She couldn’t face the humiliation of ending up in the hospital, fingers pointing, whispering, but most of all, the pity. Another thing she couldn’t do right.

Born the only child of a struggling but happy family, Angie had it all until her father was taken from her after fighting cancer for a very long time. Angie was about eight years old when her father died. Then her mother took up with Syl, and Angie's fairytale life became a nightmare of unwanted affection and abuse, both she and her stepfather kept from her mother. Years of dreading the end of a school day, having to go home to an empty house because her mother worked the late shift.

It had been okay in the beginning. Angie remembered the first time her mother brought Syl home. He was very polite to the little girl who trusted everyone. Most of all he was so good to her mother. It wasn’t long before Angie’s mother and Syl were married.
“Call me daddy, girl.” Syl would coach her every time she called him uncle. It was a confusing time for the little girl but in time she settled for daddy Syl.

For a while Syl was a good father. He worked hard at the factory. Angie’s mother bloomed in the new marriage. Syl would pull her into his arms and slide his hands under her blouse while she cooked supper. “Stop.” She would giggle. “Angie’s watching.” Then she would kiss him deeply while his hands wandered farther. He would praise her mama’s cooking, telling Angie she was a lucky girl to have such a good mother. Angie loved Syl as much as her mother did--then.

When the factory closed Syl slumped into a deep depression and the bottle became his preferred comfort. Angie’s mother took a job to support them. “Just until your daddy gets another job,” she would tell Angie, “them mama will quit and things will be back to normal.”
Normal never came.

Angie shuddered at the vision of the first time he came to her while she lay in her bed. From that day on it became their little secret--a secret that if told would take away Angie’s mother. At sixteen, alone and pregnant, never having had a boyfriend, never wanting her mother to know her shame, she made her getaway and never looked back. After Syl had lain with her and passed out from the whiskey, Angie stole all the money in his wallet--It was a small price to pay for the theft of her innocence and her childhood, she reasoned. She caught the first Greyhound leaving, fearing Syl might come looking for her.

She took buses as far as Syl’s money would allow until she found herself in a bus depot, all alone, with six dollars and change in her pocket.
Carefully counting her money she bought a sandwich in the vending machine, unaware of the eyes watching her.

“Hi” the stranger called. “You new in town?” Angie nodded as the girl made her way over to where Angie stood. “C’mon let’s get a table. I’m Tess.”
“Angie”she replied, glad for the company.
“Where you from?” Tess motioned for her to sit.
“umm” Angie paused.
“S’okay, so, how far along are you?”
“Along?” Angie looked at her, a puzzled look on her face.
“Preggers” she said, then still seeing the confusion she said, “How many months pregnant?”
“Oh,” Angie replied and shrugged “Don’t know. Five maybe Six months”
“Any plans? What are you going to do? I know someone who can help. Do you want to have it--’course you do it’s too late to do anything now. My friend, Jonas, he can help you.”

Jonas was a smooth talking, good looking dark skinned man. He called Angie baby and fussed over her. He took her to see the doctor; got a lawyer to handle the adoption and paid for Angie’s motel room and everything she needed. He was there to drive her to the hospital the day the baby was born.

They wouldn’t let her see the baby boy. Jonas said it would be easier if she just let the lawyer handle it. He told her she should just forget it ever happened. She saw him talking to the lawyer and when she asked him what was in the envelope he had put in his pocket, for the first time Angie was concerned. His eyes flashed as he told her it was none of her business.

Jonas was there when Angie was discharged from the hospital. He treated her gentle and he helped her into his fancy car. When they didn’t drive to her motel she asked, “where are we going Jonas?”
“Jonas is gonna take good care of his sweet baby girl. Now, slide on over closer to your daddy.”
Jonas smiled his gold tooth smile “We’re going home baby. If the alarms went off at the word “daddy” Angie didn’t hear them. She felt loved. Sliding over closer to Jonas, she let him slip his arm around her shoulder.
“Yesiree, Baby, Jonas is gonna make it all better. You’ll see, just leave it up to me. I’m gonna take care of you now.

For the next three months Angie lived the life she had dreamed of. Jonas catered to her every whim. He bought her presents and fancy clothes. She quickly lost the extra weight she had put on during pregnancy and took time each morning to make up her face and fix her hair for Jonas. She cooked for him once or twice but most times he took her out to restaurants. Angie loved being on his arm in the fancy clothes he bought her. Jonas made no demands on her but thoughts of sharing his bed made her giddy with want. Memories of Syl kept her from taking any initiative.

After a night of dining out, Jonas surprised her with news he was taking her to a very special party. A party for her, to introduce her to his friends. When they got there the party was in full swing. The windows vibrated with the bass booming inside. Jonas kept his arm around Angie as people came up and said hello and chatted with him. After a while he led Angie down the hall to a bedroom. He pushed her up against the closed door, kissing her deeply again as his hands roamed over her body. She kissed him back, she loved him more than anything in the world, she thought. Jonas led her to the bed and softly said,” who’s been takin’ care of you baby?”
“You have Jonas” Angie sighed.
“Who loves you baby?”
“I love you Jonas” Angie moaned. Jonas chuckled.
“That’s right baby, you love me and Jonas loves his baby,” and after removing her clothes he took her.
“Damn baby.” He fretted. “You’re cold, you gotta feel the love baby.”
Eager to please him, afraid to disappoint him, Angie said, “I’ll do anything Jonas.” Jonas laughed.
“That’s my girl. Jonas is gonna give you something that will make you loose baby. Then we’ll go again and you will make Jonas real happy--real happy.” She trusted him completely.

The needle pinched just a little and any fear Angie had was replaced with euphoria and a kaleidescope of colors. She smiled at Jonas and tried to focus as he kissed her again. After making love to her once more Jonas helped her dress and fix her hair and touch up her makeup. Angie barely remembered names but smiled in bliss as he introduced her to his friends. She found herself sitting on the sofa with someone--she couldn’t remember his name. He had his arm around her and kissed her and slid his hand under her skirt. Angie’s mind raced and slowed in a drug induced extacy.
Her night was a fog of sloppy kisses and distorted faces grinning down at her as they touched and straddled her and took her, over and over.

In the morning, or was it the afternoon,she woke up to find herself in the middle of sleeping bodies. Her head hurt. She hurt all over. Grabbing her shirt or someone’s shirt to cover her nakedness a flash of memory of what had happened the night before with these men and women made Angie feel physically ill. The sight of Jonas lying with Tess, his arm draped across her belly brought tears to Angie’s eyes as she realized she had been used again. She found her clothes and after dressing quietly she made her move to escape this madhouse.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jonas jumped up to block the doorway.
“I’m going--I’m just going.” Angie told him. Jonas lunged at her.
“You ungrateful bitch!” His fist caught her on her temple. As she fell his foot kicked her in the stomach. “You ain’t going nowhere.”
“You belong to me! You owe me and you will pay. If you’re a good girl Jonas will be happy and you won’t have to worry but if you’re a bad girl, then Jonas has to punish you.” and he hit her again and again. Angie covered her head to ward off the blows, crying silently for her mama. Then she felt Jonas arms cradling her, rocking her. “Baby, look what you gone and done. That hurt me more than it hurt you. You love me don’t you baby?”
“Yes, Jonas I do.” She whispered the truth to him. He pulled her to her feet, into his arms and kissed her deeply on her bruised lips. She pushed into him to return his kiss. He picked her up in his arms and carried her to an empty chair. She watched as he tightened the tourniquette on her arm, filled the syringe and pushed the needle in. Once again she was back in her kaleidescope of colors and giggles. Soon waking bodies joined in her laughter and she was caught up in the orgy of sex and drugs and drink again.
The next day her life as one of Jonas’ girls began. He set her up on a street corner where she spent her night high on drugs picking up johns as Jonas instructed, fearful of being beaten again. From that night on Angie’s life consisted of picking up men, getting high or beaten depending on Jonas mood,falling into a drug induced sleep when she had earned enough money, waking up and returning to the streets. It would be that way until a bad trick put her in hospital and a court ordered detox set her free from Jonas’ world. She spent four weeks of hell in detox. Withdrawals made her think she was dying, at least it felt like she was dying.

Angie wasn't beautiful but she was pretty, aside from the pock-marks the years of drug abuse had left on her face. Her hair was shoulder-length and only shone for a day after she shampooed it, then it would fade to a drab brown--drab, just like Angie's life.
They say your life passes before your eyes just before you die. All Angie could see was the water stains she counted on the ceiling as she clasped and unclasped her hands impatient for the moment the hurt would stop. Twenty-four, Twenty-five, twentty-six, hmmm twenty-six stains--one for every year of her horrid life

Closing her eyes, lying ever so still she was pulled from her “death rehearsal” by the ticking of the clock. Ticking? She didn’t have but a cheap battery operated alarm clock permanently set for a seven a.m. wake-up. That is, until she was laid off.

“We’ve gotten you a job at Smith’s in town” Mrs. Gladden told her. “It’s up to you now Angie. You change your ways. You have a place to stay, too. It’s not much but it’s a clean apartment and until you’re able to pay your own way the department will pay for your rent and utilities. You stay clean.”
And she had. She was friendly and people loved her. She remembered things--birthdays, puppies, cats, children. She blossomed at Smiths Grocers. She loved the pace. She was able to visit and take care of her customers at the same time.
When William took over after old man Smith retired, things changed. “We’ve got to keep up with the times. Modernize.” The new equipment arrived shortly after and new demands were placed on the cashiers. “Get the people in and out. No visiting. Be pleasant but no visiting. I expect you to push through twice as many customers as you did in the past.” William was serious.

Sales were down, she was told, but still they chose to keep Bernadette, who had started working at Smiths Grocers four months after Angie. I could have picked up the new system if they had given me a little more time to learn, she replayed her final moments at Smiths. But they didn’t and she hadn’t and now she was out of a job.

Turning towards the ticking sound she was startled by the figure of an old woman sitting in the chair by the window. “Who are you? How--? What are you doing in my room? Am I dead?”
The woman looked up and with a toothless smile said, “No you ain’t dead.”

“But I-- you--how did you get in? What do you want?” It was then she noticed the ticking was actually clicking, coming from where the old lady sat. Angie pulled herself up, propping weakly on her elbows, straining to further see the figure by the window.

Dressed in a blue flowered, button-up frock with a matronly collar, covered by a threadbare, faded pink sweater, the old lady reached up and smoothed a stray whisp of silver hair that teased her forehead.

The light from the neon sign outside, cast an eerie crimson glow on the woman.
“I wants nothing,” the old lady replied, as she turned toward the bed. Angie gasped. Two red opaque eyes looked in her direction.
“You can’t see! You’re blind!" She blurted.
“Oh, I sees what I needs too see,” replied the old woman.
“But your eyes--how?” Angie questioned. And then she laughed.
“I’m imagining all this. This is what happens--the pills--oh Angiegirl you almost added insanity to your list!” And then she laughed again. “I can’t even get crazy right.”

“Your doing fine as I sees it,” admonished the woman. Again the clicking caught Angie’s attention.
“Yeah, right--you’re not here and I’m not hearing that.”
“Hearing what?” The lady asked, a confused look on her face.
“That clicking sound--don’t you hear it?” Angie abandoned her conclusion that the specter and noise were all in her head.
“Oh, this? That’s just my needles clicking and clacking as I catch the unraveling.” The old woman held up the piece she was knitting.
“Nothing makes sense. Knitting, unraveling, clicking, clacking” Angie’s mind wandered as she laid back on her pillow and closed her eyes.

“Just cast on your stitches, that’s it” Angie’s mother patiently coached her daughter. “Put that needle through there, pick up the stitch, yarn over, slide it off the needle. See? You did it!” Angie made her first scarf in just over a week’s time.
“I’m making it for Daddy. It will keep him warm when he’s feeling bad.” Angie was six years old when she learned to knit.

After making her father’s scarf she never picked up the needles again. She wanted him to wear it when he went to heaven.
“Angie, silly girl, it will be warm in heaven. I won’t even need a coat. And daddy will be well again.”
“And then you’ll come back home.” Angie told him.
“No, princess, I can’t come back but I’ll always be with you. Just close your eyes and think of your daddy and I’ll be right there.”

She closed her eyes plenty of times since he went away but he didn’t come. He didn’t rescue her from her nightmare. After a while she stopped looking for him. For a moment she regretted he wouldn’t be with her in death. “Suicides don’t get to heaven” she said aloud. “I am close now aren’t I?”
“Yes, if you means the end, you are.” The old woman sighed. “See? There’s not much left to gather now.”
Angie’s head began to reel. “I don’t understand,” she moaned, feeling heavy and light at the same time. “Are you an angel?”
“Me? Landsakes no! I just gather the unraveling. You’ll see.”
“I’m so tired,” Angie spoke, barely audible.
The old woman glanced over to the bed. ”Almost done,” she sighed.

“I used to knit” Angie told her.
“It’s a good skill to have.” the old woman continued knitting.
“Why? You can buy just as cheap as homemade nowadays”
“Modernize--everything’s modernized now. I knit my father a scarf a long time ago. He didn’t get to wear it long. He left me.”
“You mean he died,” corrected the old woman.
“Died, left, what’s the difference?” Angie whispered, a catch in her voice.
“Leaving is something you choose to do. Dying is something that you have no say in. Oh, you can pray and sometimes your prayers is heard. If it’s your time, ain’t nothing can be done. That’s the difference.”

“It was red and blue--the scarf.” Angie thought back. The blue of the scarf brought out the blue of his eyes. Her’s were brown. Mother’s were brown.
“It took over a week to knit and it wasn’t perfect, but daddy loved it,I remember.”
“Yes, knitting is a good skill to have I say. Makes it a whole lot easier-- after. It’s peaceful. Everyone should learn to knit..”
Angie , her eyelids getting heavy. “I feel strange. The light--it’s getting darker”

“Got to hurry now. Been talking and not minding my work,” clucked the old lady. Then she resumed clicking and clacking as she deftly knit the piece in her lap. “There, she said, almost done--there we go” Then she cast off the last stitch on her needles and rising slowly from the chair, shuffled slowly over to where Angie lay barely breathing.

Gently lifting Angie’s hand, the old woman placed it on the square she had knitted. “Open your eyes, she commanded. “Look into mine.” Angie blinked and tried to focus on the woman’s eyes.
A little girl wrapped in a lace trimmed blanket. The old woman moved her hand over the square. Pink ribbons holding back shiny brown hair from a cherub’s face.
“Who’s daddy’s princess?” The man laughed as he held a little Angie high in his arms.

Another vision reflected in the old crone’s eyes with every movement of her hand across the knit.
The stitches varied; soft and even.
“Momma!” Angie smiled weakly. With loosely knitted, dropped stitches Angie saw her daddy, laid out in his Sunday suit and Momma crying.
“Daddy’s an angel now Angie. He’s in heaven with Grampa John” On and on, tight and twisted--Angie felt the sharp sting of her stepfather’s hand across her face.
“No one will believe you,” he snarled, his hot breath on her cheek. “You’re lucky I took up with your mother. I own this house. You’d starve without me!.” Angie cringed. When she came upon a large hole in the stitches, tears filled her eyes for the baby she had given up. Fuzzy and loose--Angie saw herself doped up and rock bottom selling herself on the streets for Jonas. Neat and organized--released from the rehabilitation program, starting her job at Smiths.

As her hand passed over the different stitches, a new vision from Angie’s life reflected in the old woman’s eyes. Happy childhood memories, pictures of her life flashed before her in the old ladies eyes,until she came to where Angie lay, in her prettiest nightie, waiting to die.
The old woman leaned down, kissed Angie’s forehead, then gently folded the knitted square, and faded as Angie breathed her last breath.


In the hospital an old lady, hooked up to monitors visits with her family who have come to say goodbye.
No one sees the old woman sitting quietly in the corner. No one hears the click-clack, click-clack, of her needles, as she gathers the unraveling.

“Congratulations! It’s a boy!” Under a dainty blue blanket, a baby lies sleeping in the Nursery, while her proud parents coo lovingly. No one can see the brown-haired girl sitting in the corner, concentrating as she casts the stitches on her needles and with a click-clack, click-clack, begins to knit.