She gave me a needle and thread for Christmas, then I looked at all my clothes and they were patchless. Not a thread out of place or a hole to mend. I looked at my linen and my socks, I snuck a peak at my underwear. All my garments and every piece of twill I owned required no mending.
Surveying the mess I made, I glanced her smile in the mirror. Casually observing me the mirror saw it all, I turned and faced it and saw myself head to toe. Smiling back at her in my reflection, I thought she found it funny how I was scurrying around making a mess.
Every jacket, shirt and sock lay about the room now. I was adamant to put my gift to use, I may have hemmed some things that require no hemming amidst the kerfuffle.
All the while She just watched me and smiled an amused little smile.
I faced the mirror, just me in my unfrazzled undies. My gaze unfocused yet revealing all. I pricked the needle to my chest and the hole came in focus. Something needed mending and it was not immaterial.
She came to stand behind me and placed her hand on my chest, I pricked her lightly with the needle as our eyes met. We both knew that would be a temporary patch.
So I quickly gathered the closest items to me and started to sew each piece to the next, pants to shirts and shirts to socks, curtains to bed sheets and hemmed it with lace.
I sewed a bridge to take me to an old place.
I threw the bridge at the mirror and watched it extend, I stepped forward and crossed over nothing, then I pulled the bridge towards me and sewed it into a peak, I climbed the peak.
At the top I saw a lake, I leapt forward and floated before the rush. hitting the water I sank to the bottom and saw the boy from my past.
He looked almost at peace, eyes closed and lying on his side, I touched my hand to his cheek and he opened his eyes. I gripped my hands to his shoulders and kicked into the ground, in a moment we were on the surface and carrying his weight I swam us to shore.
I pulled the boy up against a boulder, for a moment his eyes glinted as he saw my face, a smile was quickly choked away and the tears continued feeding the lake.
Then I ran to the peak, and for hours I climbed, my fingertips almost raw from the threads. Unstitching the top of the peak I let the cloth fall like an avalanche then landed in the pile knowing what was next to stitch.
I made the boy a bed and tucked him in and before I left I said this to him:
"No more tears little me, now you dream and nurture this land. Take the salt from this lake and turn it into care. Dream of all the good out there."
The child that is me smiled and pushed the covers down, from his chest he ripped a red cloth, stained and still damp he placed it in my hand. Then he turned to his side and closed his eyes.
Having walked back to the mountain I came down from I took a moment to fit the fabric He gave me. From my pocket I pulled the needle and thread, then sowed the piece of my heart onto my chest. I looked back to where the boy should be still be asleep and smiled when I saw he was gone.
I knew gone was not the right word but maybe it would be more accurate to say he is now home.
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