Pills of love

Why Did It Have to Be Me? (part 2)

Up and down, then round and round and then down again and... cut.

Frida smiled satisfied when even the last hem was completed. She sighed wearily and looked up at the table full of clothes that she had mended, sewn, arranged, stretched and shrunk that afternoon which had now turned into evening.

She leaned back in her chair and stretched her back that had started to ache after the hours spent bent over the table. When she could indulge in fashion, in any form, she immersed herself in it so much that she even forgot where she was.

Ever since she was very young, since she had seen her grandmother knitting for hours and hours, the passion for everything related to fabrics, colors, threads, embroidery had become her passion and, perhaps, her job one day.

"Are you done, honey?".

Frida looked up to her right, seeing her granny approaching with a set of jackets over her arm.

She smiled "Yes. Finally, yes" she giggled "You?".

"I've to fix these and then I'm done too. Why don't you go home?" her grandmother said, approaching and stroking her hair.

"No, I'll wait for you" Frida replied with a smile.

Her grandmother leaned down to kiss her head "If you're bored in a while, go and don't worry about me. Henrietta can drive me anyway, she'll be leaving here late since she has a lot more things to sort out than me" she finished with a chuckle.

Frida looked around with an amused smile. The neighborhood, at that time of the year, had always been involved in the realization of the Easter recital of the local school. Her grandmother had been participating for decades. First with her grandmother, then with her mother... and now with her.

Though it was a small community performance nestled in the Swedish snow, the excitement was equal to if not greater than that of a premiere in major theaters in capital cities around the world. There were rehearsals and more rehearsals, scripts changed, scenery changed and actors added. All seasoned with costumes that could really be the envy of the best theater companies.

If for Frida that was a passion, for her grandmother it was a real vocation. There was no bag in which she didn't find a needle and thread inside, because 'You never know in life'. There wasn't a drawer at home that didn't have cotton or wool spools or needles.

Most of her clothes, since always, were the work of her grandmother. And how many times had she smiled proud of her when they complimented her on a satin skirt there or a flowing blouse there. She had always played with saying that they were works by an important designer little known in Sweden, Arntine von Lyn, and how many times had she laughed at the thought of the confused faces of the people to whom she had revealed that mystery.

"Listen, honey. Do you mind going to Sylvie's car to get more cardboard cutouts, then? I don't know what happens to them around here, but they disappear in thin air..." her grandmother interrupted her thoughts and Frida jumped, standing up.

"No problem. I will be right back!" she told her with a smile.

"Put something on because it's cold outside" her grandmother told her as she walked away.

"Ok!" and she snatched at the wool cardigan she had hung on the chair. She pushed her way through the comings and goings of people carrying trunks or trying on clothes.

"Hello, Frida!".

"Hey, Marie!".

"Where are you going?".

"I'm going to get more cardboard cutouts from Sylvie's car" Frida told her, pointing behind her towards the parking lot.

"Oh, yeah! Do not disappear, though! I've to tell you everything about last night!" the girl told her giggling, awkwardly dragging a series of tree-shaped cartons.