She had ignored the sweater curse. It is said one should never knit a sweater for just a boyfriend, as you will think about him the whole time you knit it and realize he never deserved the sweater or your love in the first place. She knit one for hers anyway. It was made from forest green aran wool and patterned in cable knits, with all her adoration stitched in. She thought about him for the months it took to make and they did not break up.
She gave it to her boyfriend as a birthday gift just before the start of fall. He loved it and her and wore it to work at least once a week. It never saw the inside of his dresser drawer for very long because his girlfriend was a very good knitter and sometimes there was summer rain in Seattle. He snagged the sleeve on his keys as he scrambled for them to let himself into their apartment to frost her birthday cake. She laughed at his clumsiness and awful decorating job and fixed it for him. He loved her even more.
His sister came for Christmas once they were married (of course they were married now; a boyfriend that loves a handknit sweater doesn’t stay a boyfriend for very long) and left with her brother’s sweater. It was the perfect emerald, cable knit, slightly oversized, fall-to-winter sweater she had been searching for. She wore it through the streets of New York City, with stylish boots and expensive coats and sunglasses in the dead of winter. Jewel tones are always in, and green is nature’s neutral. After many fashion cycles she grew tired of the sweater. She gave it to her girlfriend as a three-year anniversary gift and bought herself a royal blue argyle vest instead.
Her girlfriend loved the color to death. The ever-turning fashion cycle meant nothing to her except the increasing number of boxes crammed into their living room. They arranged their houseplants on top of them, decorating the apartment in the same rich green as her new sweater. After two winters, though, she realized her taller girlfriend’s sweater was just big enough to make her look like she was wearing a cable knit, dark green camping tent and that her girlfriend had forgotten she had given it to her in the first place.
They traveled to Florida in the summer to celebrate her parents’ thirtieth anniversary. She pawned it off on an old friend (the only man in Florida who needed a sweater) that she’d known since middle school. He thought the color was gorgeous, too. He told them he expected to be attending their wedding this time next year and wore the sweater whenever he could.
It started by being the only thing he would reach for to protect himself from his office’s air conditioning. Then he bought himself a cardigan in mustard yellow merino wool and realized the gorgeous green sweater was kind of itchy. He gave it away to a beloved cousin as a combination wedding and parting gift. She moved to Colorado with her new husband, and it was much colder in Colorado than in Florida.
She loved the sweater. It became a staple. She took it hiking and backpacking because cotton kills and wearing green in the same shade as the forest made her feel one with the world. She wore it with blazers to work and with skirts to parties. The sweater shifted through the seasons of her life as easily as the seasons of the year; just as reliable in the fall when she was having children as in the spring when she began a new career. She wore it to while away the hours and stare out of the window from her hospital bed. There, the cables and forest green were as comforting as ever.
Months later, her daughter searched through the box of her mother’s things that her father had carefully stored away once she died. She was looking for a golden necklace she had often worn. The sweater was folded neatly underneath the jewelry box, untouched by time or dust or moths. The cables were even clearer in the sunlight. It came with her to college in California. She said it was because of the fog and the comfortable fit. Nothing to do with all the love stitched in.
She gave it to her boyfriend as a birthday gift just before the start of fall. He loved it and her and wore it to work at least once a week. It never saw the inside of his dresser drawer for very long because his girlfriend was a very good knitter and sometimes there was summer rain in Seattle. He snagged the sleeve on his keys as he scrambled for them to let himself into their apartment to frost her birthday cake. She laughed at his clumsiness and awful decorating job and fixed it for him. He loved her even more.
His sister came for Christmas once they were married (of course they were married now; a boyfriend that loves a handknit sweater doesn’t stay a boyfriend for very long) and left with her brother’s sweater. It was the perfect emerald, cable knit, slightly oversized, fall-to-winter sweater she had been searching for. She wore it through the streets of New York City, with stylish boots and expensive coats and sunglasses in the dead of winter. Jewel tones are always in, and green is nature’s neutral. After many fashion cycles she grew tired of the sweater. She gave it to her girlfriend as a three-year anniversary gift and bought herself a royal blue argyle vest instead.
Her girlfriend loved the color to death. The ever-turning fashion cycle meant nothing to her except the increasing number of boxes crammed into their living room. They arranged their houseplants on top of them, decorating the apartment in the same rich green as her new sweater. After two winters, though, she realized her taller girlfriend’s sweater was just big enough to make her look like she was wearing a cable knit, dark green camping tent and that her girlfriend had forgotten she had given it to her in the first place.
They traveled to Florida in the summer to celebrate her parents’ thirtieth anniversary. She pawned it off on an old friend (the only man in Florida who needed a sweater) that she’d known since middle school. He thought the color was gorgeous, too. He told them he expected to be attending their wedding this time next year and wore the sweater whenever he could.
It started by being the only thing he would reach for to protect himself from his office’s air conditioning. Then he bought himself a cardigan in mustard yellow merino wool and realized the gorgeous green sweater was kind of itchy. He gave it away to a beloved cousin as a combination wedding and parting gift. She moved to Colorado with her new husband, and it was much colder in Colorado than in Florida.
She loved the sweater. It became a staple. She took it hiking and backpacking because cotton kills and wearing green in the same shade as the forest made her feel one with the world. She wore it with blazers to work and with skirts to parties. The sweater shifted through the seasons of her life as easily as the seasons of the year; just as reliable in the fall when she was having children as in the spring when she began a new career. She wore it to while away the hours and stare out of the window from her hospital bed. There, the cables and forest green were as comforting as ever.
Months later, her daughter searched through the box of her mother’s things that her father had carefully stored away once she died. She was looking for a golden necklace she had often worn. The sweater was folded neatly underneath the jewelry box, untouched by time or dust or moths. The cables were even clearer in the sunlight. It came with her to college in California. She said it was because of the fog and the comfortable fit. Nothing to do with all the love stitched in.