By Nina Piazza
I kneel at the marble coffee table for what feels like a year, carefully watching as the crochet hook ducks in and out of the loops. I count them silently, as my sisters watch Netflix and my brother dashes around the kitchen, stopping occasionally to place a couple cashews between his teeth.
Night comes, and with it, Dad cooking. And with Dad cooking, comes cursing. While he screams at his raw steak and overcooked broccoli, I finish a line of feathers, a pattern that loops seven times back into itself.
I carefully line it up with the ruler I have handy. With a gentle stretch to even it out, it reaches twelve inches.
Finally, a foot. It’s not quite a scarf yet, or anything at all. But after three days, it’s a foot.
Nina is a linguistics major. She’s always loved language and writing, and constantly seeks to perfect her craft.