qb.i

i dreamt of you knitting tonight, jane. you sat at the
back of my classroom while i graded and the students watched an old black and
white version of the book we’d been covering and the two of us laughed at some
beautifully crafted and sassily delivered joke from the leading lady. our
laughter was the only laughter. the rest of the class groaned in unison, but
the girl sitting next to you, dueling you with her knitting needles for some
reason, added, “Oh, that was terrible.”

and you said, “she’s just sour because i am kicking
her ass,” then gleefully giggled with that grin I love so much, the one where your
top lip pulls back to reveal your teeth with the mischief of a child pulling
one over on a favourite relative. you’re in your sixties now, aren’t you? yet
you still play with the joy of the fresh and energetic. your smile made me say
something in reply, but i can’t remember what. i do remember your reply,
though: “it’s the ginger ale. i am fueled by granny champagne.”

it was a dream. only a dream. but it felt so real, and
i woke up as joyful as you were in that darkened classroom. i woke up with the
clickity clack of knitting needles in my ears. fuck i love knitting needles.