A Real Socking

A few months ago, Brittany C. posted her experiences about the Braille Writing Contest she participated in. The following is the story that Brittany read when she received her award:

A Real Socking
By Brittany C.

I was an ordinary girl working a part-time job and going to school. Everything was perfect. Each day consisted of waking up, dressing and getting on with life. But then one Monday morning, things changed, and I got a real socking.

The bell rang to end the morning classes. As the students got up to leave, our teacher Mr. Tardoche asked,” Are any of you missing a sock? ” He waved the sock around holding it between two fingers at a good distance away from his nose.

When no one replied, I volunteered to take it to the front desk where I worked the noon hour shift as a receptionist. My first announcement was about the sock. Then as part of my job I answered the phone and directed people to where they needed to go. All noon hour students passed my desk giggling and wondering if anyone had claimed the lost sock. “OH! It’s no use!” a mournful sound came from somewhere. Thinking it was a person I asked,”How can I help you?” There was nobody there, but the sniffling continued. “Who said that?” I jumped back in alarm.

“I did” was the reply

Terrified, I slowly moved the papers aside and all I saw on the desk was the sock.

“But you’re a lifeless, feeling less sock,” I exclaimed in astonishment.

“Don’t call me that!” it yelled. Then, without warning, it reached out with its toes, and kicked my hand hard. It was a sock; it couldn’t do much else. I was stunned. The sock heaved a discouraged sigh, slumped down, and turned away from me. When I looked at it, it was crying.

“What’s wrong?” I pried gently.

“I just want to go back to where I belong,” moaned the sock.

“Where do you belong?” I asked.

“Not here!” it shouted indignantly.

“Calm down or you’ll draw attention to yourself” I warned it.

“Oh, sorry” it said.

I finished my shift and got up to leave. The sock got up too, jumped into my hand, and we were off.

Later that night, the sock and I were sitting on my bed and it was telling me its life story which I discovered was about two weeks long. It shed many tears but eventually confided to me that it had belonged to a laundress named Donna, who lived in Toronto. Then, the sock grew quiet and still. Exhausted I watched the toe end of the sock move up and down and, as it gently snored into my ear, I drifted off to sleep.

The poor sock never did find its mate. Instead, it made its way to the lost and found box, where it met another sock just like it.

The two of them lived a happy life together and befriended last year’s winter mittens.