Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Wingless ❯ Chapter 1

Birds chirped outside the windows as sunlight tried to stream in between the curtains. It was a beautiful day outside with the sun shining brightly and people already actively going about their day. But the person inside hearing the birds chirp, knowing the sunlight was trying to stream in between the curtains, and knowing everyone else was already up and about was trying to go back to sleep.

The person moaned, struggling to unwrap themselves from the covers they entangled themselves into the night before. After a few moments of meek struggle, a young-faced, black-haired young man popped his head through to the stuffy air in the room. He briefly moaned again as he decided that the six hours of sleep he already had were all he was going to get and he might as well get up and get something to eat.

The door to his room opened as he sat up and pulled his arms through the covers. It was the maid coming in to clean his room but upon noticing he was still in bed, and shirtless, she tried to back out the way she came and close the door. Unfortunately, the young man's red eyes locked onto her and she froze.

“I-I'm sorry, Mr. Adams,” she began, “I was just coming to clean the room. I didn't-”

But he cut her off. “No no,” his low morning voice rang as he messed with the sheets to get his legs free, his eyes straying from the maid. “It's okay. I'll be out of here in about ten minutes.”

The maid bowed and received her opportunity to shut the door as she left him alone to go do someone else's room.

When the maid's footsteps faced, he looked that direction for a moment before going back to freeing himself. Once he was free, he got up and went to the bathroom. He shivered as he went for he was not in fact shirtless, but was completely naked because he seemed to sleep better that way. That was why he let the maid leave, otherwise he would have let her clean while he dressed.

He took care of his business in the bathroom: took a short shower while he was at it, combed his hair, and got dressed in the clothes he placed on the toilet lid last night. When he came out, he was dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and black socks, looking like a typical teen more than the typical college student, which is what everyone knew him as.

“At least,” he thought, “at the hotel.”

He picked up his brown jacket from the back of a chair and left his room, taking the “Do Not Disturb/Maid Please Clean the Room” sign off the closet doorknob and exposing the “Maid Please Clean the Room” side on the doorknob in the hall. Seeing the maid's cleaning cart down a few doors as he put his jacket on, he headed the other direction and down the stairs to the street below.

He was hailed as he passed the front of the hotel. “Good morning Mr. Adams!”

He looked and saw the front desk clerk holding the door for some guests leaving, waving at him. He waved back, giving a friendly smile as he kept his pace down the street as if nothing could stop him.

Here, he was Mr. Adams, a college student on vacation in a tourist town. After only a week, almost every shop owner knew him by name or sight. They were pretty friendly and it wasn't because he bought their merchandise. If they had the time, they would talk to him and find him very welcoming, despite how dark he seemed to be. In fact, he was headed for one of his favorite shops right now where the owners were loving and hospitable.

He passed by two shops before opening the door to a bakery. The bell rang as he entered and though the place was busy, the woman at the cashier shouted over the noise,

“Hello Mr. Adams!”

He sent her a warm smile and waved his hand a bit as he got in line. When it came his turn, she welcomed him again.

Hello Mr. Adams. What can we get you today?”

The woman was the wife of the founder and cook of the bakery and since she was the cashier, she knew his face very well while her husband only by name. Speaking of which, her husband came out, apparently hearing “Mr. Adams” and letting curiosity take hold.

“So,” he said, “Is this the young man you were talking about, dear?”

He had a hearty voice and Mr. Adams already liked him and sent him as warm of a smile as he had given his wife.

“Hello, I love your baking skills,” he said, meaning every word.

“The usual then?” the cashier asked.

He nodded and continued to make conversation with the backer. “I must say, you make my mom look bad. Your blueberry scones demolish hers.”

The baker laughed, his laugh just as hearty as his voice. “Really?”

“Yes. I was really surprised the first time I tried them. And the plain,” he rolled his eyes back, bent his knees, and gave a satisfying, “Ohh.”

“Well, I'm glad you like them.”

“Well I don't usually eat plain anything but those are addictive!”

“Be careful then. Too much of anything will give you health problems,” the baker said in an entertained tone.

“Well,” the cashier said as she put a big bag of what Mr. Adams usually purchased on the counter to ring him up, “He's not too worried about that, are you Mr. Adams?”

He smiled and shook his head. Nope. Not really. I eat a lot anyways so it might as well be something good.”

The baker looked at the bag with wide eyes. “You're going to eat all that?”

Mr. Adams handed the cashier his money. “Yeah, and this is only breakfast for me,” he admitted shyly.

The baker's eyebrows raised. “Well, she wasn't kidding.”

“I told you,” the cashier said as she began to hand back the change.

But Mr. Adams took his bag and started for the door. “Pleasure meeting you. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“But you're change!” the cashier called.

“Keep it,” he said at the door.

“What?”

He grinned. “Don't think I didn't see what you put in this bag. Two extra scones? Thanks, but I can't take advantage of you. I'll be back tomorrow.”

And at that, he opened the door and headed down the street, stuffing a whole blueberry scone in his mouth and swallowing it in less than ten seconds. He kept walking as he shoved another in his mouth and by the time he had gotten to the corner, he had eaten five. He went around the corner and down a few more shops before he came to a park where he went and sat under a tree. He was the only person in the park as he ate the remaining scones and a loaf of dark bread he enjoyed just as much, maybe even more than the scones.

After he was finished, he leaned his back against the tree and looked to the sky. It was gray, like one big cloud. He sighed, recalling the days that had had a similar sky. They were mostly boring, eventless, or disappointing.

A flash of an exciting day with such a sky raced through his mind and it tickled a smile out of him. He missed that day, having been unable to experience anything as enjoyable as it for a long time.

“I wonder what he's doing right now,” he thought. “I wonder if he misses that day once and a while.”

He got to his feet and dusted off his pants to go and look for shelter, for it wasn't only cloudy looking but it also looked like it was going to rain. It started to do so as he made it down the street but it wasn't bad until he made it to the corner. Then he decided that he might as well go into the closest shop instead of getting wet and walked in.

The bell rang as the door opened and closed but he didn't go too much past the door just yet, for he was dripping a little water and didn't want to get it all over the floor.

“Hi, Adams.”

He looked up and remembered which shop he was in: the yarn shop. He had only been inside twice, the first time because he was curious and the second because there were some boxes outside and he helped a woman carry them in. The girl at the counter, however, was a part-time worker and had seen him at a few of the restaurants he had eaten at so she knew his name pretty well, thought he didn't know hers.

“Came in `cause of the rain?”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Well, might as well come in. The rain doesn't look like it will be letting up soon.”

He flicked off any extra water he had still on him and began to walk around the shop, feeling some of the different yarns. They felt nice or looked nice. Some even were very colorful but felt awfully itchy.

“Hey, want me to teach you something?”

He looked up at her, letting go of the yarn he had been feeling. “Like what?”

She smiled. “Come here,” she pointed to the stool near the counter and waited for him to come up and sit in front of her before she came out from behind the counter and went around the store collecting things. When she came back to the counter, she had some plain yarn, a crochet hook, and kitting needles.

“So, what are you going to teach me?” he asked, though he already had an idea.

She leaned on the counter and rested her head on her hands. “You know, not too many guys know how to knit or crochet. Some don't even sew. They think it's a feminine thing but that's just stupid. They don't know what they're missing.”

He looked at her as she stared at the yarn she put on the counter. She thought he was going to say no. He looked outside where the rain rumbled down so hard, it seemed to threaten to take everything away with it.

“Well,” he thought, “might as well.”

He took the yarn and held it up to examine it. “The only thing feminine is giving birth to babies.” He smiled as she looked up at him, their eyes locking. “Teach me.”

He handed her the yarn and she sat up straight, a bright smile on her face, as she took the yarn and began to find the ends inside.

“Okay. You want to follow the instructions on the label to find the correct end. If it is a skein like this one, the end is usually hidden inside but you have to pull out the one on the outside so the yarn doesn't get tangled.”

She showed him what she meant by finding a string of yarn looking like it was going inside one of the ends and pulled on it so it came out: end number one.

“You don't want to work with this one unless you have to because it unravels from the outside. The shape of the skein is designed to be pulled from the inside, making it easy and free from anything, other than itself, that could tangle it.”

She reached inside the other side and wiggled her fingers around inside until she found the end and pulled it out.

“This is the end you want to work from but it's not always so easy to find. You might have to pull some yarn out to find it. Now, you want to take the yarn between your thumb and index finger and wrap it once around the front of the second joint of your index finger and when you get around, you wrap it around the back and keep that yarn there between your index finger and middle finger.” She was doing so as she talked. “Then you take the front strand, bring it over the back one, and pull the back strand through, taking the yarn off your finger at the same time. And then,” she said as she held up the final product, “you get a loop.”

He copied her, holding the end piece of yarn between his thumb and the middle of his finger. When he wrapped it around the front of his knuckle and the yarn barely came back around, she directed him.

“Good. Now wrap it over the back of your knuckle.”

He did as she said, bringing the yarn over the other side of his knuckle with only about a fingerprint's length behind the other yarn wrapped on his finger. Before she could help him again, he let his index finger and middle finger come together, picked the first yarn up with his other hand, pulled it over the newer yarn, and pulled the newer yarn out. It got stuck on his finger but he stopped and pulled it out before pulling the yarn into the loop she had shown him. He then held it up to her, satisfied with himself.

“What now?” he asked.

She handed the hook to him. “Put the loop on there with the tail down and the yarn connected to the skein near the hook.”

He assumed the “tail” was the end of the yarn and slipped his loop on, holding the hook like a torch or like he was about to hand someone a ruler.

“Now, hold the hook in your fingers, using the thumb as support and the other fingers for manipulation of the hook. Hold the knot of your loop steady with your left fingers when you make a chain. Take yarn coming from the skein and drape it in between your middle and index finger and use your index finger to wrap it around the hook and eventually pull it through with the hook.”

He had no idea what she just said. “Have you taught anyone this before?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I can see why.”

She glared at him and punched him in the arm.

“Ow,” he exclaimed, “ Maybe it would be easier if you showed me.”

“Fine.” She took the hook from him, positioned her hands like she had tried to tell him, yarned over the hook, and pulled it through. The final product was a loop with a line of yarn through it, a new loop now on the hook.

“This is a chain.” she told him. She gave him back the hook so he could try.

After a few moments of fumbling around with the hook and trying to pull the yarn through like she did, he finally made a chain of his own. Though it was a frustrating process, he found himself beaming at his accomplishment.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Now you make more of those to practice.”

He made about ten more, each becoming easier than before, when he was about to make another, she stopped him.

“Okay, that's enough. Now,” she took the closest chain to the hook “in order to make anything, or go back across, you have to skip this guy and go on to the next one because this is what is called your turning chain.” She ran her finger up and down the length of chains, “Do you see that this side has a sort of v-shape while,” she turned the chains around to the backside, “This side has only the section in the middle sticking out? You either enter it on the v-side to leave the one or enter it on the one side to leave the v, either way will start it. Now, enter the hook in there.”

She let the yarn go and let him finger the chains until he had the right one. Since he didn't care one way or the other, he inserted the hook and looked up for further instruction.

“Now, yarn over the hook, pull the loop through so you now have two loops on the hook, yarn over, and pull through both loops.”

He did as she said and found it to be easier than the chain.

“And that's a single crochet: the easiest and basic stitch in all of crochet. Almost all patterns you find will have at least one of these in them. You continue to make those across the chains, one for each chain.”

He nodded, finding the next chain. When he got to the end, she was more than ready to give him more instruction.

“Now that you're at the end, make a turning chain and now you're ready to go back and forth as many times as you want. It's important to remember that turning chain or you'll soon find you have less to work with.”

He nodded as he started the next row, after making that important chain. He went faster than he did before and he felt pretty good about himself. She watched him like a hawk for the first few rows until she felt he had it down good enough. Then she brought out a project she had started and worked on it while humming a tune. He was concentrating too hard to notice anything she was doing but he would have gaped at how intricate her work was compared to the simple thing he was doing.

After a couple of hours, the rain hadn't let up but he had used most of the yarn in his skein and had made what looked like a scarf. He stopped for a moment, feeling his stomach groan for food but, thankfully, didn't make a sound. The last thing he needed was the counter girl taking pity on him and give him food on top of the hobby she just taught him. He then became aware that his hands felt sore from the exercise and the longer he kept from moving them, the more they throbbed.

While he flexed his fingers, he took one good look out the door to the rain that didn't seem to end. He sighed, knowing he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon and, even though he knew the answer already, he asked,

“So, what's next?”

The counter girl stopped what she was doing and picked up the two needles she had grabbed with the other things she had collected earlier. She smiled.

“Knitting.”

He could swear that thunder roared overhead as she said it.