by Nathan Schwepler

Created on: April 22, 2009

One Pink Sock

"Mom! You gave me one of Jenny's socks. I have one gray and one pink. We have to go back, so I can get another gray sock."

Mom didn't panic like I wanted her to. She didn't stop the van or turn around. She kept us headed for school and said, "It might be better to put your shoes and socks on in the house, but it's only pink on the toe. With your shoes on those socks look like they match."

"But they don't! Did you pair these socks with your eyes closed? Pink matches pink and those go in Jenny's closet. Gray matches gray and those are mine!"

"I'll let you show me how to fold laundry right after school. Now put on the shoes and socks you have with you. We are almost to your school."

That didn't start the day very well, but I almost forgot about one pink sock and extra laundry duty until I was climbing the little tower at recess. I heard giggling and felt fingers gripping my foot.

Horror upon horrors, my shoe was slipping off.

"Wait!
Stop! Don't take it!"

Was it pink?

It was the gray one.

Lisa held my shoe and laughed, but I was just thrilled that my shoeless foot was covered by a normal gray sock. I jammed my shoe tighter into the foothold. I had to keep that shoe secure. I felt those little fingers again, and leaned out around the little tower.
Lisa held my stolen shoe as she pulled on the strings of my other shoe.

"You'll never get that shoe off, Lisa."

"Don't worry. I don't need your whole shoe.
I just need this one little string."

I felt a few little shoestring pulls. Then she ran away and left something hanging from my shoe. It was my other shoe.

I pulled my shoed foot back but not very far.

It was stuck.

I was stuck.

Trapped by my own shoes and that one pink sock.

One shoe was on my foot covering up the disgusting pink sock, and the other shoe was hanging under the little tower. If I kicked my foot back, the other shoe stopped me, and I only tightened the knot if I pulled.

It didn't take long for me to figure out that I couldn't cut myself free, but I had to choose my help carefully. Most kids would have a lot of fun with my problem and be very little help. My eyes were scanning. And then suddenly, there he was. The perfect kid.

Calvin.

Super nice. He never laughed at anybody except himself.

Super smart. He knew everything about everything.

Super short nails. Always.
Short beyond short. His fingernails were shorter than a mouse's teacup, but still he sat and he clipped. Shorter than a desert snowstorm, but he clipped over and over.
Again and again. Every day.

Calvin

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