Martha always stayed in. No, she couldn’t go to the amusement park with her friends because she was afraid of heights. No she couldn’t possibly go out in weather like this, she might slip and break her leg, it had happened before. No she didn’t want to go over to your house because you had a dog and she was scared of dogs because once upon a time her mom’s friend’s cousin’s daughter was bit by a dog and had to go to the hospital for stitches. The beach was a definite no-no because A, there was the possibility of sharks, (she didn’t care if there hadn’t ever been a shark sighting at the Jersey shore, have you seen Jaws?) and B, she was extremely pale and would burn in an instant, a condition which was exacerbated by the hermetic lifestyle that, for the most part, kept her out of the sun. Martha never agreed to offers to socialize with friends, she was too afraid of the everyday dangers of normal life to venture out of the East Village apartment she had shared with her parents since birth unless it was absolutely necessary. Her friends stopped inviting her because they got tired of constantly being denied and eventually, they even stopped calling and coming by as well, for Martha never really had any interesting news and the average person has an attention span similar to that of a goldfish. Martha had all the makings of a crazy cat lady, except; unfortunately she was allergic to cats.
Martha would wake up at 6am on the dot everyday without setting her alarm, and she went to bed no later than 10pm in order to ensure that she got the precise eight hours of sleep necessary to replenish her energy reserves, depleted from a strenuous day of reading, taking online classes (she was working on her PhD in Latin), and knitting sweaters. It had been Martha’s New Year’s Resolution, even though she hadn’t stayed up to watch the ball drop because it was past her bedtime, to knit a sweater every week. She never sewed because the needles were too sharp and she might prick herself accidentally. By the third week in February she had already knitted seven and a half sweaters, one for her dad, one for her mom, and five for the friends she hadn’t heard from in months.
It was 11:49 on Tuesday morning when Martha ran out of wool. She was shocked because she generally had a good idea for how much wool was left in her stock. She kept tabs and when her supplies ran low she made sure that she gave her mother enough notice so that she could pick some up for Martha on her way home from work and save Martha an anxiety-filled trip to the Yarn Galore. She glanced outside, the sky was clear except for a few clouds, scattered like cotton balls throughout the blue sky. Sam Champion, Good Morning America’s weatherman, had informed her that it was likely to rain in the afternoon, but if she went quickly she could avoid the rain and still be back in time for Oprah. In the cold February weather, the roads would probably be slippery if it rained and she didn’t want to chance a fall, or even being hit by an out-of-control taxi that skidded on the ice. There was so much hidden peril in the world that no one else seemed to be mindful of except for Martha. She decided to be adventurous and leave after the last eleven minutes of Maury was over, she really wanted to find out if Marcus was the father of L-a (it’s pronounced le-DASH-ah)’s baby or not.
Martha stepped outside in green and blue striped rain boots, an oversized bubblegum pink parka, and a matching hat, scarf and mittens that she had knit herself. As soon as she stepped outside the cold air fogged up her glasses and she had to pause to wipe them off. With a clearer vision of her surroundings, she set out for the yarn store at a jaunty stroll, her mousy brown braid swinging in her wake. The jaded New Yorkers she passed, plugged into their iPods, paid her mismatched outfit no attention as she whizzed by them, intent on her destination. Martha waited patiently at the cross walk for the little white man on the pedestrian crossing light to beckon her to the other side, even though there were no cars coming and she could easily have crossed in a much more timely fashion. However, the prospect of being hit by a car or an inattentive bicyclist proved to be too deterring. When she glimpsed a dog walker approaching with a slew of ill-sorted hounds, Martha quickly ducked into the nearest Starbucks and waited until they had all safely passed before resuming her journey.
She finally reached the yarn shop and bought three different balls of yarn, all different shades of green. St. Patrick’s Day was coming up and she wanted to make a festive sweater for each member of her family. She was walking particularly briskly on her way back to her apartment, the line had been long in the shop and she wanted to make it back in time for the re-run of The OC that would soon be airing, she couldn’t help but have a monster-sized crush on the geeky-but-cute Seth Cohen. As she trotted down the street, her gaudy rain boots squeaking with every stride, an onslaught of subway passengers emerged from underground, engulfing Martha in a mass of bodies and briefcases. In the gaggle of businessmen, Martha’s precious cargo became dislodged and the balls of green yarn scattered and rolled onto the street. In a momentary lapse of caution, Martha jumped into oncoming traffic to retrieve them and was greeted by a vulgar remark issued from an angry Pedi cab driver, displeased at having to suddenly swerve out of the way to avoid hitting her. Startled by his yell, Martha lost her balance and tumbled onto the asphalt, scraping her knee in the process.
“Aw blast and tarnation!” she exclaimed as she slumped on the curb and hiked up her pant-leg to inspect her wound. She was so intent in her examination that she didn’t notice the gangly shadow that loomed over her.
“Do you need a band-aid?” Martha turned around and was faced with a pair of orthopedic loafers and thermal socks that were only visible because the khaki pants that should have covered them were a few inches shy of being socially acceptable. Martha’s eyes drifted upwards to see a lanky boy about her age pulling a travel-size first aid kit out of his pocket. His adult braces gleamed as he smiled, “I’m always prepared for situations like these.” He knelt down and swabbed her knee with an alcohol wipe before applying a generous amount of Neosporin and covering it with a Star Wars band-aid. Princess Leia briefly grinned up at her before Martha pulled her pant-leg back down. Then out of his other pocket, he pulled out a bottle of Purell and squeezed some out on his own palm before offering it to her. Martha was in love.
The boy helped her up and introduced himself as Brian and said he liked her boots. They immediately hit it off and stood talking by the side of the road for twenty minutes, the fact that Martha was missing her cheesy TV drama completely slipped her mind, as did the arrival of menacing rain clouds. It turned out that Brian was part Irish and his favorite color was green, so Martha agreed to knit him a sweater the following week, she couldn’t have him celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in improper attire. Their moment was interrupted when all of a sudden the clouds carried through on their threats and it started to rain. Martha inwardly cursed Sam Champion for always being right, at least in a meteorological sense, and tried frantically to stuff her yarn into her jacket-front to avoid it getting spoiled by the rain.
“I got you covered…literally.” Brian said cheesily as he calmly pulled a compact poncho out of another one of his many useful pockets. They huddled together under the cheap plastic garment and held freshly sanitized hands as Brian chivalrously escorted Martha home. She in turn invited him in for hot cocoa and ignored the fact that she was missing Oprah, even though it was the episode where Oprah was going to give away all her favorite things to the lucky members of the audience. It was one of Martha’s life ambitions to one day be on that episode, but that rainy afternoon it was more important for her to engage in companionable chit-chat with her new “friend”. Brian invited her to ice skate that weekend and uncharacteristically, Martha agreed, disregarding the dangers sharp blades and slippery ice posed to her health. With Brian, armed with his first-aid kit and portable hand sanitizer, she felt secure.
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