Sasha scoffed, “I can’t even knit.

He’d turned his knees toward her, “I thought it was my nana…like maybe that’s what
she looked like when she was younger. But then I saw you when you came in and I–”
he laughed giddily. “You gotta admit this is pretty cool!”

Sasha still felt put-off. There had to be a better explanation. But the dream had
been real and this guy was real. At least she hoped he was. Maybe the mom by the
driers hadn’t said anything because Sasha was just talking to thin air.

“I still have it,” he said quietly, but excitedly, “my nana’s loom.”

“You must think I’m an idiot,” she said. No way she was going anywhere with this
guy and besides, she barely knew what a loom was or how it worked. Though the dream
had felt so real. In it, she’d known exactly what to do with the loom and what it
meant as she wove each thread. She’d held them in her hands, felt the strings slide
between her fingers.

“I know I put you off, but I’m not that kind of guy. Really.” He pointed to one of
his bazillion rings and flipped his phone screen toward her. There was a picture of
him with his arms around another man of indeterminate age set as the background.
The two of them stood smiling in front of a Christmas tree. Sasha nodded back
toward the wall of washers.

“Why don’t you have any clothes?” she asked, eyes still narrowed accusatorily.

He looked sheepish again. “It was a really strange dream. I just really needed to
clear my head. Not much else open at this hour.”

She crossed her arms, still unconvinced. He sighed and took out a business card.
The embossed letters read, Arlo J. Karr-Ramirez., Attorney at Law, followed by a
number, email, and website. She frowned at him. He just shrugged and stood up. “If
you change your mind.”

Sasha was hesitant, but she took the card. With that, he nodded at her and left.
Sasha crumpled up the business card but paused before tossing it in the
wastebasket. Would it really hurt to hold onto it? At least if something else
freaky happened she would have a name and number to give to the police. She tucked
it into the pocket of her sweatpants and went back to watching her laundry.

Sasha stood behind the counter at the convenience store all morning in a daze. She
couldn't stop thinking about Arlo and the dream. When it was slow she watched
videos of people weaving on her phone, checked out Arlo’s website, and read the
Wikipedia page on tapestries. Her fingers didn’t feel like her own anymore by the
time she finished her shift at noon. The crumpled-up business card was on the front
seat of her car. It must have fallen out of her pocket that morning. Without even
realizing what she was doing she dialed the number.

“Weaver!” Arlo answered excitedly. She almost hung up right there.

“How did you know it was me?” Sasha demanded. He chuckled.

“I’m retired. I don’t just hand my card out to anyone. So…”

She was quiet for a long time. “I want to see the loom.”

“That’s great!”
“Can you bring it somewhere?”

“It’s kind of huge.” When she didn’t say anything else he sighed. “Where do you
want to meet?”

The YMCA parking lot was busy for the middle of a workday, Sasha thought as she
pulled in. She parked behind an empty school bus in a far corner of the lot. Arlo’s
old Mustang came in hot, the loom poking out of the trunk, a few haphazard bungee
cords holding it in place. Her heart sank when she saw it though. Recognized it.

“It looks…” she shook her head as he set it out in the bright parking lot. In the
dream, the workspace had been dim, but it was unmistakable. “They probably all look
like that, right? Like if I saw one in a movie it would look just like that one.”

Arlo had a plastic bag in his hand. “I stopped at the craft store on the way here,”
he said and handed her the bag full of tapestry thread in a few bright colors. He
went back to the trunk and produced an old wooden chair fashioned from the same
wood as the loom. It was straight-backed and looked uncomfortable to sit in for
long periods of time. The kind of chair you’d find anywhere in the world.

“This is ridiculous,” she said as he set the chair in front of the loom. She pulled
out a spool of thread and ran it between her fingers. She closed her eyes and saw
the workshop at the edge of the world.

“Maybe it is,” the cat said, “but it’s worth a try, right?”

Sasha opened her eyes, looking down at the blacktop. Two pairs of feet facing each
other.

“What if–” she looked at the loom. The air felt dry and full of dust. She could
smell rotting fabric on the faint wind blowing over the parking lot. When she
turned back to Arlo he was wearing that feline grin again.

“Now you’re wondering too, aren’t you?” Would she make things happen or as they
happened? She shook her head began to string the warp with quick, practiced motions
like she’d been doing it her entire life. Like she was born weaving and had always
done it and known it.

“Don’t you see I’m right,” the cat said. He was standing behind her, but his voice
sounded like he was below her. Speaking up from her feet. “It does matter.” His
voice was on a wind telling her what he would say before he said it. She could see
them sitting there. It was like she was at another car in the parking lot across
from them, or in the school bus looking down at them. She could see them from every
angle, the weaver and her cat.