The Unfinished Hem

There was a noticeable frown emerging on her face that she tried to conceal. The sturdy scissors, with an orange handle, hung between her fingers then slid to the floor with a thump. Her shoulders slumped as she stared at the unfinished garment.

This will never be finished in time, she thought, glancing at the clock. Two hours had passed since she made her first cut into the fabric. The Fiskars rotary cutter had worked nicely. But she found she was more precise with her scissors. So, she exchanged the cutter with a brand-new pair of Fiskars scissors that had recently been purchased.

The fabric pieces were cut. But the clock was quickly inching forward- too fast for her sewing skills.

She wanted so desperately to get the skirt finished. It was a simple circle skirt, with an elastic waist and pockets. We must always have pockets.

But the time of the Spring dance was approaching faster than she could sew.

Why didn’t I start this yesterday?” she thought, with a sigh of defeat.

She picked up her fallen Fiskars’ scissors and hung them on the blue peg board of her sewing studio.

A wind of new confidence blew her way. So, she pulled back her shoulders, lifted her chin and moved to her sewing machine. The foot pedal slid slightly as she pressed upon it, making her first stitch. After a half an hour, the pockets were sewn, and side seams attached.

She moved her attention to the elastic waist band. Once the casing was complete, she searched for a safety pin to pull the elastic through. There was none to be found. With the clock ticking she ran through her house like a mad woman, opening and closing drawers, looking under beds and sifting through clothing hung in closets.

Finally, back in her sewing room, just as she would concede defeat, she glanced at the magnetic pin holder that sat on her cutting table. And there it was, one lonely safety pin, waiting to be found.

With minutes left, she pulled the elastic through the casing, sewed it together and turned her attention to the hem. She grabbed her seam gauge and began ironing the seam in place. A slight burn of her finger caused a bit of angst, but there was no time to feel pain.

With the seam pressed she rushed back to her machine and began sewing the hem. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead as she prayed her bobbin thread would last.

There was a knock at the door. It was too late. Her efforts were all for naught. There was no way the skirt would be ready in time.

Her teenage daughter ran down the stairs wearing a beautiful blue blouse. The girl’s hair was swooped to the top of her head in a bun. The silver necklace she wore laid beautifully against her brown skin. She looked like a dream.

“MA!!!!! Where is my skirt?” she barked.

Before the mother could share the disappointing news. The girl snatched the skirt, held it up in the air and squealed with excitement.

“It’s soooo pretty! Thanks, Ma!”

The girl ran upstairs with glee.

Breathing a sigh of sadness, the mother opens the front door.

A lanky adolescent boy stood in a blue suit and tie. His metal smile was bright. He was nervous, but excited.

He greeted her pleasantly and entered the house.

Before any more words were exchanged, the girl came down the stairs fully dressed. The skirt fit perfectly and was a great compliment to the blue blouse.

“You look great!” The boy exclaimed.

The girl gave a huge smile.

The couple waved goodbye and walked out the door. As they left, the sewist glanced at a thread hanging from the unhemmed skirt and burst into tears.