A little girl skipped hand in hand with her Mother down the streets of Bar Harbor. They were leaving the playground and were on there way to Grandma’s house. It was just a few houses down from mine, I’ve seen them around town but they keep to themselves. This girl had a bottle dangling from her teeth and a blanket in her hand, her pigtails bobbed as she hopped down the street. She kept trying to run ahead but her Mother’s grip held firm. Although her mouth was full she continued to talk to her Mother. I could hear her giggles, they rang like a bird’s morning song all through the street. As they got closer, before we passed each other, I noticed more detail. Her blanket was lighting dragging against the ground. It was bright pink and had grey kittens on it. The edges were made of smooth, white silk and reflected the sun off of them. Her small fingers were holding on so tightly to that small blanket, I know she would never let it go. They turned the corner and I continued on my way home. We lived in the same town but I rarely saw her after that day.
A few years later I noticed her again, playing tag on the grass in the center of town. She no longer had a bottle between her teeth, she must have grown out of it, she looked to be about 5 or 6. As she ran her long, curly, blond hair trailed behind her but that wasn’t the only thing flowing in the breeze that her running had created. Her blanket was pinched under her arm playing along too. After a few laps around the gazebo she ran to her Mother and asked her to hold the blanket for her while she played. She passed it down to her with care, like putting down a really full cup of soup. I noticed that the blanket had aged. It was more faded, the pink was turning grey but I could tell that it was still the same blanket. The silk edges had a few holes and scratches. The white faded and you could no longer see the sun shine off of it. Then suddenly, I was snapped out of my daze as cries filled the air and before I could look to see what happened the girl’s Mother had already scooped her up. She asked for her blanket, her tone eager and demanding but her eyes were still filling with tears. Once the blanket was in her arms she rubbed it across her face, wiping the tears away. She held it to the side of her face and I could tell that it brought her comfort.
That was one of the last times I saw the blond headed girl with the pink, kitty covered blanket. I stopped seeing her around completely a few years ago. I imagine that she moved away sometime ago, and was living and growing somewhere new. Her blanket is probably stored away somewhere folded nicely maybe in her closet or tucked underneath her pillow. I know she wouldn’t let it collect dust, it’s too special for that. It’s going to be with her forever, no matter how faded or tattered but it needs to be kept well. The magic it’s given her still can reach her from whatever safe place it’s been stowed. That’s the comfort of having it near, just like when she fell playing tag on that brisk fall day. There will never be anything else that provides that kind of comfort for her. I imagine that it’s been with her through a lot, it’s one of her prized possessions. I don’t know where that little girl is now, I guess she’s probably not too little anymore, but I know that wherever she is that blanket isn’t far.
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