Yellow Socks

Trigger Warning:

- sexual violence

- mental health

- substance abuse

- physical violence

- suicide or self harm

She would always go there on a bad day, and today was particularly troubling. It was a tree, about 30 minutes into the woods if she didn’t get distracted by a butterfly or stop to try and decipher which tree the woodpecker chose to torment that day.

Only 13, one might assume Rachel’s parents would be concerned about having their daughter go missing for hours on end, but they never came to look for her. Her mother spent all her days in a room with buttercup walls reading and her father had taken up a collection of wine corks he was very proud of and tended to whenever he wasn’t at work. Rachel was free to roam the acres behind their brick house whenever she please and for however long she pleased.

Similar to deer trails, her path to the tree was thin and well worn, but if you looked directly at the woods you could make out the steady line. Leaves had begun to fall, but they didn’t dare touch the mud Rachel had claimed as hers.

Back to her bad day. That morning, Rachel had gone looking for a pair of yellow socks with frills. Recently, she was enamoured with yellow, which was a distinct switch from her usual red and black attire. She had found the socks, in fact she was wearing them today on the trail.

Some days Rachel felt totally enamored by herself. On these days her soft brown curls would frame her face perfectly, her makeup would be painted on precisely and every joke she told was hilarious, even when no one laughed. But most days, Rachel kept her hair tied back. She barely dabbed on concealer and when someone told a joke she would always smile, but she rarely found them funny.

Today those coffee curls were wrapped up tight and her checks were sore from smile after smile, none of them of course being genuine. Today, when she was paying for her socks she reached into her pocket and found a 20$ she was sure wasn’t there the last time she wore the sweatshirt.

“Oh Mary,” she sighed with a slight smile.

Mary left her little gifts in old clothes she knew Rachel would eventually rewear. Sisters have that intuition. The bell on the push door jangled as Rachel stepped out onto the street. A group of girls gathered at the corner were alerted by the noise, but averted their gaze when they saw Rachel was the one making it. The socks caught the brunt of her embarrassment, their fibers suffocating in her tight grip. Shoulders raised to her ears, Rachel headed straight for her tree. Halfway to the trail she paused at a bench, removed her shoes and discarded her old gray socks, slipping on the new ones. The cool autumn wind drifted across her cheeks and nose, and then out into the woods, her thoughts drifting along with it.

The first time she saw the socks, her and Mary had been out running an errand for Mom. Before she took up reading, Mom loved to paint and she had just run out of the sky blue she needed to finish her landscape. As the sisters passed by the boutique, the bright yellow trim of the socks caught Mary’s attention and she darted into the store for a closer look.

”Mary, you know mom doesn’t like when we are her,” Rachel whispered. “She doesn’t like the Georges.”

The Georges owned the boutique. They were a perfect couple, always kind to everyone, fair to their employees and didn’t raise prices even when the river flooded and no one could afford clothes. In fact, they gave older used clothes and blankets to the families struggling the most. Mom just didn’t like them because Mrs. Anne George was married to Mrs. Tracy George. ”A Barbie needs a Ken,” as mom always said.

“I know she doesn’t but look at the socks!” Mary exclaimed.

Rachel stood pressed against a rack of dresses in the back of the store and watched as Mrs. Tracy walked up and greeted Mary. And they talked and talked, like they were old friends. Mary seemed to forget Rachel was there, but Rachel didn’t once take her eyes off Mary. After a few minutes Mary got quiet, said something to Mrs George softly. Mrs George smiled sadly and embraced her. That was enough for Rachel, she ran out of the boutique and went around the corner, trying to get as far as possible. Moments later Mary joined her.

Mary placed a gentle hand on her sister's shoulder. ”Hey. Follow me,” she said, taking her hand and leading her away from the boutique and towards the woods. They walked in silence for a while, until they got to the tree. It was a large tree, strong, with thick limbs. Perfect for climbing. Mary showed Rachel where to put her feet and in no time they were halfway up.

“This is where I come when I get sick of the world. Isn’t it beautiful?” Mary exclaimed. Rachel nodded.

“You should know, I am friends with the George’s. We meet up after school sometimes and Tracy teaches me how to sew. Anne bakes cookies. It’s actually so fun!” Mary encouraged. She looked at her sister with hopeful eyes. Rachel nodded.

“I like to sit up here and think about the future. I don’t know about you, but in my future I hope I find someone like Anne. But instead of cookies she makes cupcakes,” Rachel said, all the while searching her sisters expressionless face. All she did was nod.

The pair sat up in the tree for a little while longer before making their way back home.

That night Rachel was under her bed. Dad had decided to add a cork to his collection which meant he was not to be disturbed, but Mary had disturbed him. Rachel tried to muffle the sound with a pillow but Mary’s distress couldn’t be drowned out. From what she could make out, Dad had a question that Mary wouldn’t answer. Suddenly, Rachel felt cold flesh on her ankles. Dad wasn’t satisfied with Mary's answer. She was dragged out onto the cold floor of the kitchen, Dad towering over her.

”Where did Mary get this pretty little bracelet?” He demanded, dangling a purple string bracelet over me with the charms “G&G”.

“I don’t know,” Rachel murmured. Her hands felt around the floor but there was nothing, no safety net. Pain throbbed in her chin from hitting the floor and her eyes could barely stay open beneath his gaze.

“Try again. The truth this time or Mary is gonna really feel it,” he snapped. He turned and stormed into the living room, only to return a moment later with Mary right behind him, his fist wrapped up in her hair. Rachel began to cry.

”Better fess up soon or little lamb here is gonna get a haircut.” Dad was snickering. Mary’s eyes rolled back into her head only to jolt back awake. She was nothing in his hand. He was everything. And Rachel was even smaller.

“She got it from the Georges. She wants to be like them one day, she wants cupcakes and long hair and perfume,” Rachel cried out, desperate to free her sister. “Now let her go!’

Dads face went slack. His grip loosened enough for Mary to wiggle free and she took off out the door. Rachel slid across the floor to the pantry, shut the door and waited for Dad to pry it open. He never did.

She heard the bedroom door open and shut. Mom would still be sleeping, back then she took a pill every night for insomnia.

The next morning Mary was nowhere to be found, the only trace of her being a letter left on her desk addressed solely to Mom.

Since that day, Mom has spent her days lying in Mary’s bed, reading her letter. Every now and then she’ll break open her paints, but only to conceal the spot the buttercup yellow paint has begun to chip. Dad began leaving the house when he opened a bottle, allowing Rachel a few moments of peace. That is, until heavy boots meet the wood right outside her bedroom door. The first time she tried to stop it, now she just pretends she's asleep.

The loud crack of a twig beneath her black boots brought Rachel back to reality. The leaves on the big tree had begun to fall, revealing the breadth of the limbs.

“Oh Mary,” Rachel sighed. “I bought you the yellow socks.” Rachel walked up to the base of the tree where Mary’s feet hung. “I know your toes get cold. Mrs. Tracy asked about you again today, I told her what you wrote to Mom. You know, that you’d run off to the city to buy cupcakes and you’ll be back soon. I don’t think she believes it, but she pretends for my sake.”

Once again removing her shoes, Rachel pulled off the socks and let her feet brave the cold moss that surrounded the tree. Gathering one up between her index fingers and thumbs she worked it on to her sister's right foot.

”It’s the least I could do to get you these.”

Rachel began working on the other sock on the left foot. When finished, she looked up into the branches, at the leaves that hadn’t fallen. The sky was so clear except for one large looming cloud. Rachel imagined each puff being a tower that all combined made up a castle.

“I hope they have cupcakes there. I hope they are served to you on a gold platter by someone with long hair, who wears a rose scented cologne.”

Rachel looked back down at the ground. In some areas, the moss had turned a beautiful crimson. She squeezed her sister's foot gently, turned quickly and made her way back home, destroying the trail for good as she went.

In the cool autumn breeze, in the middle of the woods, Mary hid. And next year, after the snow had fallen, melted, fallen again. After the flower bloomed. After bears and coyotes and vultures and squirrels had their way, the only evidence of her hiding spot will be the nylon rope tied tightly to the strongest branch of the tree and a pair of yellow socks with frills.