CREATIVE WRITING CATHARSIS: Operation: That’s My Scarf

Photo By Kim De Guzman/the Chameleon

By Jackie Gorman
Chameleon Creative Writing Blogger

Somewhere out there through the falling flakes of snow was my scarf that frosty had lost grip of in the powerful wind. It was my Mom’s- it wasn’t her favorite, but mine.

The turquoise paisley scarf somehow got me lost and brought me to a different world at a close glance of the intricate patterns of erratic color.

I used to put it on my head as if I were the next Jacqueline Kennedy. Later in the day when I’d be assigned chores like cleaning up the toy room including the lava game I had strategically planned out with the couch cushions, and when I had to clean up I would tie the scarf as a headband like a housemaid.

When I went to meet my older brothers at the bus stop when they were dropped off from school the scarf would drape gently between my elbows making me look like a woman on mom’s fashion magazine in the living room.

It was clear that Frosty did not see the importance of the paisley scarf, it was my signature. Just because it wasn’t his color did not mean that he could let the wind have it. Pocahontas said the wind has colors, it doesn’t need mine.

Somewhere in the snow banks down the street was the only place it would be so it was up to Sammy and me to go find it.

Sammy was a strange cat to say the least. His thought giving Christmas presents was leaving mice on the front steps; he was the fierce fighter of the Zabrosky Ave jungle. He walked with attitude and secrecy, letting the alibi be taken to interpretation.

His appearance made him look like an alley cat he was skinny and gray with a focused expression always. We walked onto the fresh snow, sometimes clumsily falling 8 inches deep; most of the time I couldn’t even see Sam.

I only knew he was still behind me when he would jump up into the air only to plunge back into the snow, he was frustrated. Once we passed by Frosty in my front yard I began to look all around but nothing was there, just snow and a mitten, it must’ve fallen off of him as well.

My pink hat seemed to start dragging down my forehead so I lifted my head up to the sky and pushed it up for me to see better. Where could it be? When my head began to come down and focus on what was in front of me.

I saw Betty-Anne, my neighbor, waving to me as she pressed the button to unlock her car. I waved back with a smile and then the smile went to an “o” instead of a “u”. She was wearing a black coat with jeans and an accenting blue shirt, or was it a scarf?

Betty-Anne was wearing my scarf! I couldn’t believe Frosty gave away my scarf. I kicked Frosty only to leave him with a footprint on his bottom third and ran into the house with Sammy leaping to catch up with me.

The instant warmth my house gave when I burst through the door wasn’t going to help low the blow. I rushed to the arts and crafts table downstairs to quickly draw a plan of action. This one in particular was going to be called Operation: That’s my scarf.

Catch new pieces from Jackie Gorman and the other creative writing bloggers when “Creative Writing Catharsis” publishes every Saturday.