text: Knitting. She was always bloody knitting. Always with a pair of needles in her hand, always with a ball of yarn hiding somewhere on her person, a line of the stuff feeding out from some hidden pocket. It wasn’t time spent with Amelia if there wasn’t the familiar clack clack clack of her needles sliding together seamlessly. It was crazy; you’d see her with a line of loops on her needle (a “cast on”, she’d rather aggressively spat at me one day), and within two hours, she’d have a full scarf ready to go. Honestly, it’s like magic. But, Amelia is Amelia, and without her knitting, she wouldn’t be Amelia. And I won’t complain too much; she asks me every year what colour I’m feeling, and I give her one, and she comes back at Christmas and birthdays with a beautiful piece of knitwear that’s entirely unique to me. “What are you writing, Jen?” Amelia asked, leaning over my shoulder. I was sitting at my desk and she’d let herself in. I paused and waited for her to read it. “Oh! You’re writing about me!” “Yep,” I smiled. I turned, stretching my back out. “All about you and that bloody knitting.” “I honestly think you should try it! Look, you’re writing for a lifestyle magazing. This is a lifestyle!” She brandished her needles at me. A small circular pair that was literally the length of her finger, which instantly began clack-clack-clacking together with a beautiful pale green yarn. “What are you making?” I asked. Honestly, it’s how all of our conversations started. “Tiffany’s having a baby!” Amelia grinned. “So I’m making her a blanket for him, and then I’ll do a beanie hat and a stuffy.” Tiffany was her friend from work. “Right... and she’s due...?” “Oh - er... next month, I think. I didn’t want to risk getting the season wrong. Like it’s for now, and it’s hot, so I wanted something that reflected summer - it’s a light cotton-bamboo mix, it’ll keep him warm but cool.” I nodded sagely. She knew what she was talking about. Buggered if I did. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” “Not a single bit.” I smiled at her and turned to save my work. “Want a drink? If you can stop your hands for a second, that is.” “Har har,” Amelia mocked. “Have we got any iced tea? I’ve been obsessed with that stuff since I came back from Florida.” “Err... Ams, it’s England. We have tea. Who the fuck ices tea?!” I stared at her. She chuckled. “Worth a try,” she smiled. “Alright, just some apple juice please.” “And how do you know we even have that?” “Because I put a box of it in the fridge yesterday when I came home.” “Touché.” As I walked into the kitchen, I felt it. The familiar tightness in my chest, the way my legs turned to lead for no reason. My breathing felt like an absolute battle. I felt my head start to spin, thoughts racing through my mind at lightning speed, too fast to really pick one out. I let out a huge gasp, trying to regulate myself. What was causing this now?! I’d been fine! I was fine! But I couldn’t convince myself fast enough, and I descended into a panic attack which made me black out. The next thing I remember was Amelia sitting beside me, needles abandoned. It was the only time she ever abandoned them. When I needed her. “Alright?” she asked me gently. It took me a moment to register that I was sitting against her. Her arms were around mine, holding me physically together. Her legs either side of mine. Her chin on my shoulder. “Y-yeah,” I whispered, closing my eyes. My entire body was cold. Her warmth was reassuring. “That was a bad one, Jen,” she murmured. She didn’t say more. She didn’t expect more from me. That was one of the reasons I was writing about her. She completes me in a way that no-one else ever has. A soulmate. I leaned against her for a while longer, until only my hands trembled. “What brought it on?” “I... d-don’t know,” I said quietly. She kissed my temple and helped me up. “Honestly. I don’t know. I was fine all day.” “Well, it’s happened now. Let’s not dwell on it. Although I’m glad I was here, Jen.” She started rifling through cupboards she knew like her own flat, and made us both a pot of tea. She was quiet as she put together some food, too - snack bits, but healthy ones. “I know.” I leaned against the breakfast bar and palmed my face. “I know... maybe... maybe, Ams... I mean...” I thought about how to phrase it. “Maybe you should just move in?” Her hands stilled against the teapot, but for all the world she could have just been waiting for the kettle to finish boiling for the three seconds she was still for. Then, she laughed. “Jen, I’d need the spare room for my wool.” She poured the hot water into the teapot. “I’m not saying no right now, but I’d rather not discuss that while you’re in a state.” “Gotcha.” “Come here. Pick up this plate and take it into the living room.” She followed me through, which was unnerving until I realised she was actually going to get her knitting. Of course she was. A few minutes later, we were settled. Amelia watched me, her hands moving her needles silently as the baby blanket grew and grew outwards. I watched, mesmerised, each stitch so natural - and she didn’t look! “Why do you knit, Ams?” I asked. I hadn’t even realised I’d verbalised the question until she responded. “It helps,” she said simply. “What?” “It helps.” She paused to pull a bit more wool to the side. “I can concentrate better when my hands are moving. I’m calmer. And at the end I get a sense of achievement because I get to create something beautiful.” She smiled at me. “Which is why I keep banging on at you to start knitting. It’ll help you.” “I can’t knit, though. I’m not good at it.” “And you think I was?” Amelia let out a melodic laugh. My heart melted and the world was good again. “I wasn’t born good. I only started properly when I was twenty-one. I was suicidal, Jen. I was pushed to the brink of wanting to die, and I found my knitting group, and the rest is history. I put my efforts into knitting instead of self-harming. I cut yarn ends instead of my skin.” She shrugged. She’d never told me that story before. “Start. Learn. Grow.” “I’m not starting knitting.” “Then I’m not moving in.” She gave me a cheeky grin. I knew her well enough to know that was a joke. We’d been dating for three years at that point. We hadn’t moved in sooner because Amelia had another two years to go on her apartment contract, but that ended in three months. I, on the other hand, had a house with two spare rooms. I’d been lucky to inherit it from my father’s sister, when she’d passed away, and it was in fairly good nick. “But what is it you really like about knitting?” I asked after we’d drank our tea. I knew I needed the info anyway for my article, but I was also genuinely curious, and I’d never really taken interest. I’d never had the chance. We’d usually been distracted by someone else having an opinion on it whenever I’d asked her. “Well...” her needles stilled. “Each thing I make... it becomes part of my history. I can remember every single thing I’ve knitted and it takes me back to a certain point in time. Like when I made everyone hats that year, because I’d taught myself fair-isle. That was the year I’d injured my foot and was required to sit - remember after the half marathon?” I smiled and nodded. We’d run it together. “I watched the entirety of the US Office in three weeks. And those hats remind me of that.” She smiled. “And the Cardigan of Doom reminds me of the lovely Swedish lady I’d met who finished half of it in an hour. She was magic... and the first jumper I made, that was special. I wasn’t in a good place, but that jumper made me so happy...” She smoothed out the blanket she’d already made good progress on. “There’s the scarves I made for the people I no longer speak to... stuffed animals I made from patterns and groups I’ve found... it’s part of me. It’s a lifestyle. It saved my life.” I smiled at her. “Every stitch is part of me. It’s a reminder that with care, and patience, and determination, you can create something beautiful.” She looked at me. “And you can put all of that in your article, too.” “That’s not why I asked you, Ams. It means a lot to me that you put it down when I need you.” I played with my fingers. “I know you didn’t ask for that. I’m serious about you trying it, by the way.” “I didn’t doubt you for a second.” A couple of days later, Amelia arrived at the house again. Her needles didn’t immediately come out, though. I was in the bathroom, washing my hands, and I heard her start to put whatever she’d cooked last night in the oven to heat up for dinner. She was the chef between us; I preferred cleaning up. “Jen?!” she called. “Yeah?!” “Come down!” “Give me a sec!” I dried my hands and fixed my shirt, and then ran down. A quick kiss, and I was told to close my eyes. “Have a present.” She pushed something into my outstretched hands. I opened my eyes. It was obvious what it was. A thick pair of knitting needles and a ball of wool in blue, my favourite colour. “Ta-da!” “Gee, thanks,” I murmured, faking a smile as obviously as I could. Amelia laughed and hit my shoulder lightly. “I love it...” I kissed her cheek and smiled as ungratefully as I could manage. “So thoughtful...” “Well, you’re going to start knitting if I have to hold your hands and force your anxiety-ridden arse to do it.” “Ugh! I don’t want to!” I pulled her close for a hug. “Then I’m not moving in.” “You pulled that card already.” “And there’s more than one joker in a pack.” She looked at me and grinned. “Try it. Please. Before you conclude your article.” “Fine. I will TRY it.” “Good girl.” Well folks, there you have it - one-hundred-and-one reasons to knit or crochet, purely from watching my lovely girlfriend knit every day. She actually bought me a pair of needles and a ball of wool... it’s a nice colour. Blue. Specifically a TARDIS blue, you know like from Doctor Who ? She’s hounded me since the day we met to start knitting, and I keep telling her no. Anyway, I have a really lovely blue scarf now, and it only took me a week to make...