Blanketed

Blanketed
     by Donnie Duvèt 

Penny whistle. That was her name. I made love to her oncet or twice and she welcomed the diversion and then that was the last I heard of her. Until this semester, that is. She is now in her 60s. Me in my early – guess. What do you think? – 40s. She was a hot one, let me tell you. Pine lid, oak gunnels, cherry false floor and Rosewood drawers with teak inlay.  After her, I took up my studies with renewed interest. When three years later I received my diploma and found that I was now legitimately qualified for entrance into whatever University would accept me, I did that. I’ve done that now, and been there. I have no praise for the university system. Nor for myself. Nor for dogs of a woolly type who piddle when the doorbell rings and who bleat more than they woof, if you catch my drift.
     Speaking of which, the year of the great March storm I had just that day, in fact, returned from the West Coast where I’d been working as a longshoreman. Well, tell the truth for once. I had been working as a longshoreman, right enough, but also as a postman, a plumber, a forest jack shimmying up trees and a talismaniac. Talismaniacs read footprints and I was hoping to read a plaster cast of a mammoth or wood buffalo but never got the chance before the fire destroyed the building which housed them and that was that. My new career done, I helped myself to as many potatoes as I could pocket and left the Friendship Centre without paying for the last two weeks. En route to my next rendezvous, I decided to stop at Buckholzes and reacquaint myself with Marla whom I remembered from one of our famous bus trips. She sat next to me for much of the way and I paid her excessive attention. I was younger then and now I would be less likely to indulge such an instinct.
     However, I digress. I meant to tell you about my compulsive friend, Leo. He found himself surrounded by woollen blankets one day, having caught the bug to buy and collect them, a few at a time. He was not planning to do this. It happened to him without intent or guile. He had too many one day, he thought, and said he had to stop this business. A few days later, he turned in at Value Village once again and said he’d just look because, if they did have an authentic Hudsons Bay 5 point blanket, he would see what the price was and just add that last one to his collection. 

     They did. That particular store had, oddly, recently expanded their line of blankets and reduced other items in order to make room for them. Fry pans, for instance, are, and were then, more readily available at the Ness Avenue store. As were various electronic gizmos worth keeping. And so on. This Pembina Avenue store had decided that blankets were their niche, and so suddenly he saw many more blankets than he used to do. He found upwards of 15 newly-received wool ones now, when once he’d come each day for a week without finding a single one. 
     So, he found his five point blanket, a deep purple one about 6’ x 7. In fine condition. They wanted $69 and he hemmed within himself but left without it. Next day he came and took off the tag and the clerk phoned for a price check but the manager was busy and after a couple of questions on the phone she gave it to him for $3.99. An unbelievable buy, wouldn’t you say? Leo thought that he was done with blankets now that he had the five point, but a week later he went to see if they might all of a sudden have one of those original five point ones in white with the signature H. Bay red and black stripes. They did. And not just one, but two. Nice and big. He asked. They wanted $49 and $29, respectively. He felt sheepish and guilty even thinking about it, but in the end could not say no and so brought both home.
     His wife, when he finally showed her later in the evening, was upset and shouted at him. She never shouted, so he was surprised and had to promise he would not get one more blanket. By the weekend she had simmered down and they laughed about it. They piled up all his blankets and counted them. They had 30 of them, and a few more, maybe six, at the cottage they figured. 
     Anyway, this was Leo’s compulsion at that time. He has stopped buying wool blankets, though, seeing that 40 of them is plenty. Reason has taught him this  What would he want with more? Leo is a teacher. He teaches at an adult college. ESL. He loves to watch soccer on TV but seldom does unless someone comes over with a case of beer. They don’t usually. He will watch maybe one or two a year, and then not pay attention halfway through the game to practice licks on his Martin. A D28. He is learning bluegrass flatpicking, you see.