Its Socks by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Its Socks

Page 85

In his clumsy heist, Jaheem tore open the packaging and snatched Gypsy, stuffing her into his oversized pants pockets before being chased out by a security guard wielding a pool noodle. Moody was left behind, stunned and alone, his elastic trembling.

Years passed.

Moody was eventually purchased at a deep discount by a woman named Dolores, who used him as a dusting mitt for her porcelain cat collection. Gypsy, meanwhile, endured a chaotic existence; worn by Jaheem during a failed interpretive dance audition, then abandoned in a laundromat behind a vending machine.

Time frayed them both. Moody grew thin from polish and Pledge. Gypsy bore the scars of mismatched pairings; a neon toe sock, a sequined ankle warmer, once even a mitten.

Then, one rainy Tuesday in a retirement home laundry room, destiny stitched them back together.

Dolores had moved into Sunny Pines Assisted Living, bringing her dusting sock for comfort. Jaheem, now reformed and working as a janitor, had found Moody during a deep clean and, feeling a pang of guilt, kept him as a reminder of his sock crimes.

They met in the lost and found bin, nestled beside a broken hearing aid and a rubber duck with a monocle.