Blanket Girls

Two cousins were born within a month of each other, Alda and Odelia, and their aunt made them identical blankets. Odelia became “Lia” to the surrounding grownups, because she was named for her grandmother, while Alda kept her name.

It wasn’t until they could speak that they perceived the blankets as belonging to them. At Grandma Odelia’s next Christmas party, when the girls were four, Aunt Nikola sought them out. She was wearing jeans embroidered with rust-red tulips.

“How are you doing?” she asked the girls. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed a deep exhaustion.

They perched on a couch, coloring clowns in floppy books. Two boxes of crayons, with the red and orange ones worn down past the half. The blankets draped over them, pink sides facing up.

“Okay,” Alda said, using the crayon to scratch her cheek.

“We like your blankets,” Lia said. She drew zigzagging lines around the clowns in green.

“Thank you,” Aunt Nikola perked up. 

“How did you make it?” Lia grabbed a blue to do a straight line of sky in her coloring book.

“It was pretty simple with the machine, and I hand-sewed this end.” Aunt Nikola indicated. “That way, I could flip it and hide the stitches.”

“I wanna make one like this for my Barbie.” Alda added more balloons for her clown to hold. The squiggly lines stretched over the wrinkled pages. “But we don’t know how.”

“I can show you next time you all visit.” Aunt Nikola perched on the couch next to them. She reached into her pocket, took out a purple stress ball shaped like a slug, and started squeezing it. The balls inside moved in and out.

“One side is pink lamé that shimmers white in the light, and the other side is blue flannel,” Aunt Nikola said to them. 

“Mama says the blanket is hard to wash.” Alda wiped her hands on the couch. 

“Of course she does.” Nikola rolled her eyes. “It’s not that hard; I gave both your moms clear laundry instructions. But never mind what they think. What’s important is how you both feel about it. And you can choose either side, or even another color if you wish.”

“I like all the colors.” Lia put away her blue crayon. “And I want to wear them all.”

“I like colors, but this pink is my favorite.” Alda stroked the pink lamé. “It makes me feel safe.” 

“Some say that pink is a calming color,” Nikola agreed. “And I can always make more blankets for you if you all want a new color.” 

“I like my blankets, Aunt Nikola.” Alda clasped hers. “Can you get more cookies for us?”

When their aunt laughed, it was always a throaty cackle. She rarely smiled at parties, but when she was with her nieces and a few nephews, something lit up in her. Around other people her age, her shoulders tightened, and she often stared at the ground. Alda and Lia had noticed, even if there was so much of the world they hadn’t seen. 

“I need to clear that with your parents when you guys can have cookies.” She also stroked Alda’s blanket. “I had the lamé in my drawer for quite a while. It was too beautiful to cut, but I did it. Because I knew it would be perfect for you both.” 

“I hope this pink lasts forever,” Alda said. “It makes me think of you, Aunt Nikola.” 

“I hope it changes colors!” Lia responded. “It’s more fun that way!” 

They cuddled on the couch, the three of them. Nikola kept squeezing her stress ball before taking out a small pencil sharpener. She spent the party sharpening the crayons for the girls so they could keep drawing and enjoying their single private moment. As far as her nieces knew, she did not talk to anyone else.

#

The girls played when their parents lived near each other in the city. They perceived snippy remarks tossed each way from the grownups, remarks about the women having high standards and the rooming arrangements at Grandma’s suburban house. Their dads got along well enough, arguing if the Miami Dolphins stood a chance against the Packers. 

In Grandma’s living room, the girls played. They each brought one Barbie and gifts from their many relatives. Without all the guests, they had more space to play. 

The wrinkly brown couch was their favorite jungle gym, and the television was so big it was three times their size. The girls had learned the hard way not to crawl all over the television.

“Your Barbie should have her cape,” Alda said. She had tied a rectangle around her Barbie, who was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. This rectangle was made of a white felt, which she had colored pink with a scented marker. She had more fabric set out, along with thick thread. 

“Your Barbie should have a new cape.” Lia picked up her doll. “My Barbie likes her cape. I glued some diamonds to the back!”

They both had safety scissors, some plastic needle and thread, the lamé and flannel blankets, and their Barbies. Aunt Nikola had even gotten them each a sewing kit and was trying hard to bargain to buy a kid-friendly machine for them. The arguments ranged about Aunt Nikola spending her wages on other people rather than herself, and how kids didn’t need so many toys that they would never use.  

“Those are rhinestones, not diamonds.” Alda considered the square of fabric she was trying to make into a rectangle. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not stupid, you are.” 

“No, you are.” 

“You are!”

They kept their arguing low. Grandma was in the bathroom, and she would be annoyed if shouting lured her out of it. 

“Barbie says that I’m smart.” Lia moved her doll’s arm. “And Barbie is right.” 

“My Barbie says I’m smart too. She likes Aunt Nikola for making things for us.”

“I like Aunt Nikola.” Alda had her Barbie turn away. “I want to do ballet, like on TV.” 

“Me too!” Lia said.

“You can’t; I said it first.” 

“Can too.”

“Can not.”

They stared at each other. So did the Barbies. The Barbies never blinked, but the girls did. And their eyes fell on the blankets. 

“I don’t like our blankets are the same,” Alda complained. “Why do we have to get the same things all the time?” 

“Did your blue side also turn pink?” Lia flipped hers. “Then we were littler. It was a dark blue. But now it looks pink, like the shiny side.”

The girls studied the fabric. They knew red and white made pink. But what color, when mixed with blue, also turned into pink? 

“Mine also did turn pink. I don’t like it.” Alda showed hers. “I liked it when the colors were different.” 

The blanket twitched. It moved back and forth, creating a small pocket of heat. 

“I think it’s fine,” Lia said. 

#

The lamé’s color kept spreading into other parts of the girls’ houses. Lia said nothing. Her mirror reflected pink when she brushed her teeth, while her black ballet outfit gained lurid magenta highlights when she turned from side to side. Her ballet shoes were already pink, so it didn’t matter if they also changed. In fact, life made more sense with all the pink. She could stare at the hues and not think about the arguments overheard about money and Grandma. And when the blanket grew, Lia could wrap herself in it, snuggling with the warmth accumulated over years. 

Alda cut holes into her blanket, tearing off pieces. The fabric regrew, not even scabbing like a scraped knee. She found pink in her nightgowns, even the blue ones, and all over her Barbies. Blonde and brown hair grew strands of pink, sometimes braided against each other. The braids were too small for anyone to tighten them, and they needed no rubber bands to be held in place. If one looked closely, even Barbie’s lips had gone from dark red to a muddy bubblegum tint. 

Telling her parents did no good the first time, her mom merely said it must be fabric dye, and she’d talk to Aunt Nikola about choosing better fabrics for blankets. No matter that Aunt Nikola lived in another state, and the blanket hadn’t stained any delicates in the washing machine. Adults. They never listened to the important things. 

But the pink spread the farthest in Grandma’s house, each time the girls came to visit with their blankets. This was not because of holidays; the parents wanted to spend more and more days with each other and scheduled it around the ballet lessons and sports practices — Alda’s mother was trying to get her into tennis and tee ball if tennis didn’t work out — and the visits to the other grandparents, who lived across the country. 

“I don’t wanna,” Lia said. “Saturday I want to watch TV.”

“Lia isn’t my friend,” Alda said. “I have new friends. Why can’t I see them?” 

“You fight all the time with Grandma and Aunty. Do you hate them?”  

“I’m a big girl now. I do ballet!” 

Somehow, their words did not register with their parents, and they were once more playing in the same room as before. This time no sewing kit, but rather a wide array of toys. 

“The TV is pink,” Lia said. “Look at the sides.”

Pink reflected from the screen, though it wasn’t on; the girls saw themselves in light hues. The formerly black paneling was also pink. Neither of them had access to the remote, and they were too little to climb it to reach the button on top. 

Alda touched the side of the plastic panels. She poked and stroked and rubbed the dust off her fingers. The dust bunnies also swirled with pink. Grandma’s house had never looked more like she had painted everything in one of the old cans of paint that she kept in the garage. Except that Grandma complained that her back would hurt if she had to do any more home repairs. 

“I didn’t bring my blanket today,” Alda announced. “I left it at home.” 

“Too bad; I brought mine.” Lia had it wrapped around her like a cape. “It keeps me safe.”

“It’s a blanket.” Alda snorted. “A dragon can eat you if you wear that blanket.” 

“No dragon won’t see me.” Lia huddled tighter into the lamé and wrapped it around her. “What do you want to play? Dragons?”

“I don’t want to play anything.” Alda crossed her arms, sprinkling more shiny dust from her fingers. “Our moms make us play because we’re cousins.”

“I wanna play.” 

“I don’t wanna.” Alda dug her fingernails into the pink dust. It came off the television in great flakes. More covered the rug, which had gone from a deep rich-red geometric pattern to a stretched taffy puddle within the fibers. The wooden floor had also seen better days before. It had also lightened in color. Pink highlighted the scratches from overly long fingernails. 

“Why?” Lia said. She retreated into her blanket, letting the fabric bury her further. 

“Because I don’t wanna.” Alda let the pink dust fall in showers. “I tried putting away my blanket. It follows me around the house. It didn’t do that before.” 

“Mine just stays with me.” Lia’s voice came out muffled. She pulled away the fabric to reveal her mouth. “It doesn’t have to follow me.” 

“It’s not how they’re supposed to be. Why would a blanket need to grow? And why are they turning everything pink?” 

A short scream and gasp interrupted them. They both looked toward the door that led to the corridor. The door that led to the corridor would lead to the kitchen. All the adults screamed at the same time and then piped down without any interruption. Alda’s dad was never scared of anything, and Lia’s dad tended to laugh when he was scared. What made them yell like that? 

“What was that?”

“I don’t know.” Alda made her way towards the white door. 

“Mama said stay here.”

“Your mom says a lot of things.” Alda turned the knob. 

Lia trailed after her cousin, feet kicking at the accumulated dust bunnies and pink flakes. Alda marched with purpose, while minimizing her steps to little stomps that no adult could hear.  

The adults were crowded in the kitchen, which was a corridor away. They had left the kids to themselves. But they were big girls now. No one needed to watch them. If someone saw them, they’d have to go back to the living room. 

Both girls trundled down the corridor. One of the bulbs had gone out, leaving a puddle of darkness.

Lia tripped over her blanket a few times. Soon, however, they made it to the open kitchen hallway. From the electronic sounds, Aunt Nikola was on a video call again. That meant Grandma had propped up her tablet on the counter using a spare cutting board. 

Alda leaned against the wall to peer closer. When she did, a little gasp escaped her lips. Lia’s jaw withdrew into the folds of her blanket. 

Aunt Nikola had changed. Her skin, formerly a warm beige, had gone rosy. The dark hair had bleached to a sickly salmon pink. On the video call, even her eyebrows had changed color. Adults did not change their eyebrows like that. 

“It looks like blood poisoning,” Lia’s dad said. “I’ve seen those symptoms in the E.R.” 

“You’re having some sort of vitamin deficiency,” Grandma said, adopting a tone that she had never used in front of her grandkids. “Are you sure you’re eating right?”

“It’s not a big deal, Mama,” Aunt Nikola rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not blood poisoning. And yes, I am eating right. I’ve been buying vegetables and working out at the gym at least twice a week. So, it’s not a health issue, and I didn’t dye anything. And my vitamins are pretty good. I don’t look that bad.”

“It looks pretty bad,” Alda’s mom said. “I can make an appointment for you here if you fly back this weekend. Or I can talk to your doctor there.”

“Hey, we don’t even know what it is,” Aunt Nikola objected. “Maybe it just got bleached in the sun?” 

“I think if the hair is bleached, you got a really bad sunburn,” Lia’s dad said. “Did you fall asleep outside at any point?”

“Leon, you know me.” Aunt Nikola rolled her eyes. “I spend most of my days indoors working from home. When I do go out, I wear sunscreen. You can check my receipts on that.”

“Just for the future, make sure that your receipts are saved first.”  

“Why should she save receipts? It’s just another thing to collect and hoard,” Grandma objected. “And we know Nikola is going to just leave it as more junk.” 

A rumbling. Alda looked down. Dust flakes traveled like grains of sand towards the kitchen. They rolled through the corridor, covering the floor. Yet this wave was not calm; the currents of sand remained taught, with a single direction. 

“I can take photos of them on my phone, Mama,” Aunt Nikola said. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal. Why don’t you tell me how the kids are doing?” 

“Oh, the kids are doing fine. They’re both such sweethearts and very well-behaved.” 

Alda didn’t move. Neither did Lia. The dust kept moving inward. It covered the tiles in the kitchen, one shiny pink flake at a time. 

“Lia is getting a bit big,” Alda’s mom said. “There’s a great ballet class where I’m taking Alda, and they would get along very well.”

“Don’t body-shame a child,” Aunt Nikola said. “If she does any sports or dancing, it should come from her wanting to do it.” 

“Lia doesn’t want to spend all her time with the same person,” Lia’s dad objected. “It’s a sweet thought, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“Kids don’t always know what they want,” Alda’s mom said. “You want them to learn as much as they can.” 

“Lia’s fine the way that she is,” Lia’s mom said. “It’s not like she’s bossing around all the nannies or teachers in daycare.” 

“Hey, are there any activities that Lia likes?” Aunt Nikola interrupted.

“She adores your blanket,” Lia’s dad said. 

“I think she’s too little for it,” Alda’s mom said. “So is Alda. They shouldn’t be carrying the blanket like babies.” 

“Let them be kids,” Grandma wheedled. 

The dust grew higher around them, and no one noticed. Pink swirling in their hair, flakes and dust bunnies gathering up to their knees. 

“You’re only saying that to contradict me,” Alda’s mom said. “Just because you babysit the kids doesn’t mean you are entitled to judging how much activity they get. They’re best friends and they should do things together.” 

“Lia’s not my best friend!” Alda shouted. But no one heard her. Dust entered the kitchen with a roar, gathering like waves on a beach. The color of flamingos if they never went in the water and rolled in the mud instead. Dirty colors and dust that kept piling after it touched the entire floor. 

“You always do this!” Aunt Nikola burst out. “Everything has to be a fight and drama, drama, drama!” 

The pink blanket grew around Lia. She didn’t notice the hand-stitched hem lengthening with the fabric. Alda twisted her head over her shoulder and saw the dust flakes multiplying over the adults. Pink after pink after pink. 

“We’re only worried about you,” Alda’s mom said. “Living on your own so far away is very tough.” 

“The whole reason why I left is so I wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore!” Aunt Nikola stabbed a finger at the camera. “Carina and Leon keep picking at me, and you say it’s because you love me. But that love makes me question my confidence all the time. I thought you’d be better with your own kids, at least. But you’re even worse with them!”

When the dust rose, it was a pink cyclone. Images swirled inside. 

Lia pulled her blanket over her head and yanked Alda underneath it. Later, when the girls answered questions, Lia could not answer why she thought a security blanket would work. 

“It makes me feel safe.”

They waited until the roar stopped. Then Lia cautiously uncovered her blanket. 

When the pink cleared from the kitchen, it was desolate. No adults in the kitchen, no tablet. All that was left were the sparkles and the stench of overripe bananas from the garbage can.

“Mom?” Lia called. “Dad?”

No response. It was as if no one had ever entered the kitchen. 

“I’m going outside,” Alda said. “Want to join me?”

“Sure,” Lia said. “Yeah.” 

They walked away, leaving a trail of rotten pink from the tiny footsteps. Soon the sound faded, leaving only furry dust bunnies.

END