I am a forgotten memory


Socks come in pairs. It is indisputable. Unless you are one of those socks that are made for mixing and matching, you always have a twin.

My twin was my best friend. Even as we sat in the sock drawer waiting to be used for our life purpose, my twin—Sole—and I were always stuck together, staying away from the others. Maybe it was this that led Claire—our owner—to love us the way she did. We were her lucky pair.

Claire was also a very introverted person. She was always getting lectures about finding new friends, and she was always being called out of her room. Granted, us being her favorite also could have been because we are fluffy and wear an outfit full of snowflakes.

The adventures we’ve been on together are ones a sock dreams of. Hikes to exotic places, jam sessions with Claire, dancing around the living room—even though Claire is not a dancer—it always felt good to get out of the cramped drawer and away from the judgmental socks and stretch out.

We have gotten thin over the years, and Sole even has a small hole at the big toe area of Claire’s foot; we are four years old, after all. Claire received me and Sole as a present one day when she was going through a rough patch—her best friend turned into a faraway stranger. Snowflakes always did cheer her up.

So, Sole and I were there for her. If she ever needed a pick-me-up, she would open our home filled with talkative socks, put us on, and go for a walk. Sure, we were used plenty of other times, but those were my favorite. I knew I was making a difference in her life, even if I am just a thinning, silly old sock.

Being her favorite pair of socks, it was no surprise we were the pair she chose to wear when she was traveling. We were worn on the day of travel so we got to see the world from the top of her shoe. The airports were wild, people moving this way and that way, security all over, suitcases full of who knows what, and the windows that let us watch as planes flew away.

The plane ride was pretty boring—eight hours watching the other socks around us, with the occasional conversation with Sole and our neighbors. Sometimes, I got so bored I had to tickle Claire’s foot, even though I know she hates it.

We finally got off the plane and into the next airport. Signs in a different language were in this airport, but, other than that, it was pretty identical to the last. We left the airport and got in a car.

We finally made it outside, and the world was different. The town we arrived in was vibrant, and the stores we passed each gave off a unique smell based on what they sold: lavender, fresh bread, musty old books. This new town was amazing.

Claire’s family made their way to the hotel and dropped off everything they felt necessary for their vacation, and then we started our adventure.

We saw so many things: the Eiffel Tower, an exquisite park, stores, people speaking different languages walking all over the town. It was an amazing day.

At the end of the day, Claire and her family were exhausted—the plane ride wasn’t the most fun for them either. They made their way back to the hotel.

I knew I was making a difference in her life, even if I am just a thinning, silly old sock.

After Claire changed into her pajamas, I was set on the bed in a pile with Sole and the rest of her clothes. She started to pick us up and put us in a bag to make sure we made our way back to our home. That was her intention. She wore many of her favorite clothes, so she had to be certain none of them were left behind.

But I was.

I fell off of the pile as she picked the others up. I fell to the ground. I saw Sole for the last time as she was placed in the bag. We cried out for each other, but humans can’t understand us socks; if they did, there would be a lot fewer socks that lost their twin.

So I sat there on the floor, left with my thoughts and the dust that clung to the floor. I was left there for the seven days they stayed in this new city.

On the day everything was packed up, I was ready for Claire to do her last check she always did to make sure nothing was left behind. She retrieved many items over the years for her family this way.

But it never came.

I watched her zip up her suitcase. I watched her put on her sweatshirt. I watched her take her suitcase off the rack it was left on. I watched her walk through the door and never look back.

Now, I am a part of the room. I am one with the dust. I miss Sole and Claire a lot, but I have learned much in the six months that Claire left me, like how I am in the city of Paris and that they speak French here. There have been some pretty annoying people that have come in here.

My favorite family was the one with the little girl. She reminded me of Claire, and she too lost a sock. That sock—Heely—has since become my friend.

I miss my twin, but I have learned to live without her, even if I haven’t left the room since—something I fear I needed long before my terrible fall that day long ago.