The Scarf

Flash Fiction

The Scarf

“Dad! Look!” Sandy yelled.

Dad looked up, Sandy was looking down at the edge of the house, something on the ground apparently. Just as he looked up Sandy reached a hand toward whatever it was. “Don’t touch it!” he called, rushing over.

Sandy stopped, and then looked over at Dad, “Why not?” she asked.

“It could bite you!” Dad said rushing over.

“I don’t think so…” Sandy said, with a ‘is Dad, OK?’ sort of look on her face.

Dad got there, it wasn’t a living thing, it seemed to be a scarf.

“Oh,” Dad said, “I thought it was a critter or a bug of something, what is that?”

“It looks like some of the things Mom has. You know, she has them in her pocket or tied around her neck. This one doesn’t look like any of Mom’s I’ve seen though…”

“Me either,” Dad said, picking it up by the corner, “Maybe the wind blew it in.”

“So, I can keep it?”

“Maybe… but it looks kind of fancy, it may belong to someone who would be sad to lose it. So, first you should ask the neighbors if it’s theirs. And then, if it doesn’t belong to anyone we know, we’ll discuss whether you can keep it.

“OK!” Sandy yelled, and took off with the scarf. She checked every house in their neighborhood and was delighted nobody had lost it. After that, Dad told her she could keep it, but it had to be washed first.

Sandy was eight when she became the new owner of the scarf. She was forty-eight when she turned it over to Angela, her daughter. Angela kept it until she was forty-eight also, and then turned it over to own daughter Bethany.

Bethany thought it was creepy. But she kept it anyway.