Wool Socks | Teen Ink

Wool Socks

November 20, 2011
By Viminaria BRONZE, Walnut, California
Viminaria BRONZE, Walnut, California
3 articles 1 photo 0 comments

It’s two a.m. in the morning and I look up, my frame casting a dim shadow on the wall across from the me. It was made by the lamp that has been kept burning for hours. Burning. I feel a sudden wave of coldness, as a shiver ran down my spine and I take off my slippers, realizing that my two companions were no longer enshrounded with the comforts I had never offered them. They were cold.
Just as I am about to tilt my chair back onto it’s two hind legs, because I am too lazy to reach out and pull it back, I catch a glimpse of red and blue on my table next to me. My eyes, at this point have been open longer than the bottle of vinegar in the kitchen. Grandmother had always told me that vinegar helps with a stuffy nose in the winter time.
I turn my head, because adjusting my sight has become a luxury I can no longer afford due to the extensive hours I’ve kept them working for. As I confirm what I see I feel my shoulders begin to feel lighter. The pencil in my hand suddenly turns hard and cold as I place it neatly on the stacks of papers, and in return, I take one of the two in my hand I rub one of my fingers along the neatly stitched edges.
My grandmother’s stiches. She had made two for me. “Just in case”, she had said as her hands, weary and hard with callousses, took mine in and patted them “just in case”.
I remenber I thought it bothersome at first, but now as I sit by it’s wake I realize what a foolish thought that was. I realize what a foolish person I had been.
I glance again at the objects in my hand. The loops and turns she had made reminds me stories she had once told. One of the farmer and his father, and the other an oxen and a girl. She had always loved telling these stories.
I hold them closer and reluctantly, I slowly tug them onto my feet. They were warm. The mismatched colors only seemed fitting for such a remarkably strong yet gentle woman.
I get up, this time allowing my hands to help the chair with the process. I walk to the kitchen and I put the cap on the bottle of vinegar I asked mother had leave out for me.
I grab a cup and fill it with water, still steaming from the machine that is as old as I, and I slowly lift it to my lips, allowing myself to take a small sip.
She had always said cold water was bad for me.
I would go visit tomorrow I decide.
I would buy her flowers and we would have hot tea, just like we used to. I would tell her what has happened with my life, what has changed, what has stayed the same. I would lie down next to her on the grass and I would look up onto the sky and see her again. I would realize that she had been watching me. She had always been watching me.
I would say thank you for her wool socks.
I had never said thank you.

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