THE CHOICE

THE CHOICE

by Rosemary Clarke

"Are they really magical?"
"Metaphorically speaking."
I looked at the three jumpers in front of me neatly folded on the table they looked the same, creamy colour soft and shaggy, but if you looked closer you could spot that they're made of different types of wool.
"So what animals were sheared to make these?"
The old woman stopped knitting and put her needles and unfinished work into the basket.

 "This one is made from camel hair; wearing this you will always spit, metaphorically speaking, on any problem but you will have plenty,” She said. 

 “This one is goat, wearing this you will always complain and make people feel sorry for you, but there will be plenty of people in your life,” She paused. 

“This one is sheep's wool; you will be hidden from problems and from good people but you will be safe, although alone.  You can only choose one and be that person forever."
"Metaphorically speaking?"
"No, so what will it be?"

She picked up each jumper, feeling it against her face and thinking as she held each one; she'd hardly ever complained, in fact, she should complain more but she couldn't bear people to feel sorry for her, the Angora wool did feel soft and comforting.  Would she like people to feel sorry; it didn't mean they'd help if she had trouble and anyone can feel sorry while not lifting a hand, no she couldn't be miserable it wasn't in her nature.  The soft sheep's wool bounced lightly under her fingertips like lambs jumping in a meadow but hiding; she would only do that if really necessary, a sort of calming down before facing the world again, but alone?  Alone she could handle but no problems meant no adventure, no working out no growing...she smiled suddenly; as long as there weren't too many at a time, problems were good.  Lastly, she held the Camel hair; it was coarser than the rest, harder wearing and if she knew how to spit on her problems instead of worrying they shouldn't be too bad.
She turned to the old woman holding out the Camel hair jumper.
"This is the one; if I learn to spit on my problems, whatever happens, I can handle it."

The old woman smiled knowingly.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke