Missing

March 10, 2014

Greetings from another way,

The two of them sat on the ledge, waiting for the door to open.  It was hot, both of them sweltering in the stifling closeness.  They were sitting close trying to keep their voices from being overheard.

“I’m serious,” he said “I can’t take one more day like this.”
Lefty looked at him.  His brother was dark, like himself, and it was hard to see him in this light.  But he could make out his shape.  He knew him well enough to sense the tension in his body.

They were the same size, roughly, and while they weren’t twins they were often mistaken for one another.  He had been by his brother’s side all of their lives, and they had learned to adapt for one another.  It was second nature to work together.  Now he was leaving.  He had talked about it before, and Lefty had convinced him to stay, but this was different.

“There’s no place for you,…out there.  You won’t know how to deal with things.  You have been in here too long.”  Lefty had heard stories of others who had escaped, myths perhaps, but the end was always the same.

His brother made a short grunt and said: “You don’t know.  You assume that because you are afraid.”

“You can’t go.  We have to stay together.” Lefty whispered, trying not to be heard by the others.

“Stop saying that.  I wish you would be more supportive.  There is nothing anywhere that says we have to stay together.  And nothing says we have to stay here.”

“It is the RULES.” snapped Lefty, his voice echoing dully against the steel walls.  “More than that, it is what is expected of us.  What is needed of us.”

His brother shrugged, barely visible in the dim light.  “Where I’m headed there’s different rules.”

He slid off the ledge and disappeared in the darkness below.  Lefty leaned forward, straining to hear the sound of his brother moving among the others.  It was as quiet as a tomb.  There was no good bye.

I lay awake in the early hours, this scene playing out in my head.  I am positive this is what has happened because there is no other explanation for it.

I called the local CSI team and had them come to my house and scour every inch of the laundry room.  And then the kitchen.  And the hall.  The stairs.  Every place that made sense, and then all the places that did not.  They found things but not what I was looking for.  A key I can’t identify, a battery I am not sure has any juice, a scratch-off lottery ticket.  Twist ties, gum wrappers, a business card, a safety pin. I feel like I’ve been living someone’s junk drawer.

They packed up their lasers and UV lights and fingerprint powder.  They hauled their nylon-sensing scanners back to their black sedans and crept, empty handed, out of my neighborhood in CSI shame.

The only possible explanation is that one sock has escaped.  I know how it was done; the same way I imagine doing it if I were trapped its place.  I would wriggle to the vent and then make my way along the flexible metal tube that leads to the outside.  Slide through the plastic louvered thing that flutters in the hot air and drop into the world outside.

I understand why it’s gone.  Not a very satisfying existence; stretched over a sweaty foot and shoved inside a leather shoe.  I blame myself, of course.  I took them both for granted, assumed they would do what is expected of them without any acknowledgement. 

The other sock seems forlorn and lonely, stuffed in with the other orphans, no doubt mourning his brother.  Perhaps resenting him, or who knows, envying him.

I am left in odd sock chaos.  I can’t very well start pairing them up with strangers of another kind now.  It wouldn’t be right.  The world would never accept it.  I’ll admit it, I’m not ready for that kind of radical thinking either. 

There is a chance that it will come back.  I’ve heard of such things, months later just reappearing, caked with lint, clinging to a sweater, or rolled inside a pantleg.  Looking defeated, limp, a little smaller.  The reunion, if the partner is still around, is awkward.  But in time things even out.

But I am not going to give idea much that thought.  I guess I’d rather believe it has found a place in the world where it can enjoy real hosiery fulfillment.   Some sanctuary for rebellious mittens, defiant buttons, pen-caps that just don’t fit, cuff links in search of meaning.

 In the off chance this message should reach the prodigal sock, I send best wishes.  If a return is possible, I can only pledge to be more appreciative, and to trim my toe nails more diligently.

Hope this finds you darning,

David

Copyright © 2014 David Smith