Notelet XIX:The Tapestry

Melody was very excited about the Arts and Craft 'fest opening soon at the City Centre. To top it off Curtis had grudgingly committed himself to coming with her this year only. "Honey, you will love it", she said. "I am only going because of you", he commented planting a tender kiss on her left cheek.
The day of the A and C Festival was finally here. "Hurry up Mel. We are going to be late. I want to secure a parking spot quite close to the entrance", Curtis called out to her upstairs. "Just a second", came the reply from upper. "I need to dress the part". It took a further fifteen minutes before Mel appeared in the narrow stairway dressed in a flamboyant, brightly coloured skirt she'd purchased on their last holiday. "How do I look", she inquired? "Like you always do - fine", came the curt response of her husband. "Now let's get going", he again remarked.
The fest this year involved both locals and other traders from neighbouring cities. They passed beautiful artisan works, hand-made doilies made of resin and other materials and many more wonderful delights. "Curtis was there to stop her impulse buying", Melody thankfully thought to herself. They spotted a stall with masses of people haggling for the wares. Curtis strolling behind Mel came face to face with a beautiful tapestry. He was transfixed. He wasn't one for such flimsy purchases but he liked the look of it. "Mam, can I pay for this tapestry"? He pointed to the cloth. Mel trying to hide her surprise stood face to face with him, "but honey we said we'd agree on purchases. Moreover, we don't even know how much it is and I don't think we need it". "It doesn't go with our colour scheme", said she. "I really like the look of it. Allow me to have it", he spoke to her in a gentle manner with pleading eyes. Her husband being keen on the item left but one thing to do. Pay for it which she did.
Curtis stared at the tapestry cloth on the opposite side of their fireplace. The glow of the fire showed out its beauty. The intrinsic designs, interwoven threads could be no other than a master craftsman. The detail. As he looked at the cloth longer each work in it reflected his life of pain - when he was left at the foster home, of disappointment - when he lost out on the deal, of hurt - when his best friend died, of sleepless nights and muffled cries - when he felt less than a man in so many ways.
He now understood why he was drawn to the fabric in the first place. It reminded him of his struggles. He particularly liked the interwoven threads in it of purple, gold, hues of cerise, cardinal colour blocks interspersed with pigments of chestnuts.

You are quintessentially special,
Love Abba