SOCKS

S

 O

    CKS

“Well, I know it’s

   not that much, son. 

      Of course, I figured you could take

         the money there in the envelope and

            buy want you wanted, but I did want to

get you a little something to go with the cash.”

“Good Lord,

   Dot, how many

      pairs of socks is it? You

         must think the boy doesn’t have a pair to his name.”

“It’s only ten pair, Charles, and

   I know how much college boys

      don’t like to do laundry. No offense,

         son, but that room of yours just

            reeked that last time we were there. 

               I know it’s not your fault, what with all

                 those strong, athletic boys hanging their sweaty gym

                     clothes over the furniture to dry out, it’s a wonder you can even breathe.  

Besides, I know all

those girls are eyeing you for

husband material one day and

of course, the first thing a girl looks at is

to see if a boy has on clean socks—tells her a little

about what kind of man he’ll become.” 

“The boy’s

  already a man,

     Dot. Besides,

        you keep giving him

           that many pairs of socks

              and he’ll end up like Henry Stillwater.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,

  Charles, don’t get started on

     Henry. The poor man, God rest

        his soul, had a hard life. So, he had

           a few quirks. Don’t we all. You remember,

              Henry, don’t you, son? Here, you get the first piece of cake. 

                 He lived three doors down. You know, my friend Edna’s

husband.”

“He’s probably never met

   the man, Dot. They moved

     in right after he left for school. 

        I’d like a piece of cake too, if you don’t mind. 

           Yeh, son, you’re lucky you’ve never had to try to carry

              on a conversation with an idiot who hid hundred-dollar

bills all around the house so burglars couldn’t find them

and then forgot where he hid them.”

“Henry didn’t trust banks,

  that’s all. And I’m sure he

     was preoccupied with the

        cancer treatments. He probably

           knew the end was coming. And we

              all know that Edna never cared a lick about

                 him anyway. Only married him for his money. He

knew it too. Shoot, he probably hid all that money on

purpose just so she couldn’t spend it on more new

shoes. Lord knows, she had hundreds of pairs

                            in every color known to man.  Besides, he did tell

someone where he hid money in case

                                he forgot.”

“Yeh, the cleaning

  lady.  And how many

      did she lead Edna to after

he died? My guess is not nearly

as many as Henry hid in the first place.”

“Now that’s just pure

  speculation on your part,

     Charles. Talk about not trusting

        people. You don’t know the first thing

           about the cleaning woman. How’s your cake, Dear? 

              I put in a little of that lemon flavoring that you like. 

Anyway, Henry was an awfully nice man and I’m just sorry

that he has passed on.” 

“I’m sure you are, Dot. 

  I always thought you were

     a little sweet on him anyway. 

        I saw the way you’d stare at Henry

           when you’d take your little afternoon

              stroll down the street while he was out there

                 in his white shorts and those black socks pretending

                    to pull up weeds from their measly little flower garden. 

                         I watched you sashay right by him, swinging your

hips and batting your eyes. I could see it all from

the living room window.” 

“You saw no such thing, Charles.

  I always minded my own business. 

     Sure, Henry was a pleasant man,

and I couldn’t just ignore him if I

just happened to see him on my

afternoon walks. You know I’m trying

to exercise and keep my weight down. 

                  It would have been rude to just walk right past him

and never give him the time of day. I’m neighborly

and nice, unlike some people I know who just stay

inside stretched out on their recliner eating junk

food and watching old reruns of stupid movies

and never even trying to be sociable. I won’t

name any names of course. Son, you’re not

eating your cake. You’ve lost weight it looks

like to me. Momma needs to fatten you

up.” 

“You can deny it all you want,

  Dot, but I know you had eyes

     for the man. Made no sense

        to me either. You’ve got a good

           looking, devoted husband at home

              who knows how to dress and you get

                 all google eyed for some weirdo down the

                    street showing off his skinny legs in shorts and

                       black socks.  And don’t tell me you didn’t know about

                          all the other strange things the man did either. He

refused to eat anything that once had fur for

goodness sake. He’d eat things that had sported

feathers or scales, but not fur.  Wouldn’t even

eat hamburgers or hotdogs at the

neighborhood picnic. What the hell

                                       is the difference between fur and

feathers?  The man was crazy. Belonged

                                          down at Catawba Psychiatric Hospital

where all the loonies are if you ask me.”

“Well,

no one

asked you, Charles.”

“Good Lord, I mean the man

  died with one hundred and fifty

     pairs of brand-new socks in his drawer—

        --all still attached to that sticky paper that

           holds them together. All the same color too

              for Christ’s sake. Jet black. Now, tell me, who in this

                 world would have that many pairs of socks in the first

place, with no browns or blues even. Someone who’s

looney, that’s who.”

“The man liked to have clean

  feet, Charles. So, he enjoyed

     wearing new socks every day. 

        What’s the harm in that? And

           what’s wrong with black. Black goes

              with everything. How about another piece

                 of cake, son? I’ll send the rest home with you.

                    I know those college cafeteria ladies can’t make cake

                       like this. All I’m saying is that good foot hygiene is

important. At least Henry Stillwater kept his weight

down and his hair trimmed.”

“Well, that’s a

  low blow, Dot. 

     You know I have a slow metabolism. 

        You keep pushing big slabs of cake

on the boy, he’ll end up like me.”

“I don’t think so,

  Charles. He’s as

     thin as Henry used

        to be. With my little

           birthday gift here, he’ll have

              clean feet too. Keep eating, sweetheart.

                  And Charles, please put your shoes back on.

                      I don’t relish looking at moth eaten socks while I eat my

cake.”