Rubia's Socks

“Good morning, Ms. Rubia! Here’s your mail!” A young girl of no more than eight or nine years bounced through the entryway with a stack of envelopes and advertisements. She plopped the pile down on the end table near the elderly woman.

“You know you don’t have to do that, darling,” Rubia replied. “I would have made it to the box eventually.”

“I know, but Mama used to tell me I should help you out whenever I could!”

“How is your mother?” Rubia ignored the implication that she was old enough to be worthy of the community’s charity.

“Oh, you know…”

“Would you like a biscuit? They’re still warm.”

“Oh no thank you, I made toast this morning. Have a nice day Ms. Rubia!”

Rubia shook her head as the girl bounded out the front door. Her name was Delores, but Rubia had never called her by name. She rarely called anyone by name anymore. Her memory wasn’t what it used to be, so to avoid awkward mishaps, she simply called everyone “dear” or “darling”.

Rubia watched through her front window as Delores skipped across the street to her house. She and her mother had lived there for about five years now. Her mother had been a good neighbor to Rubia before the accident, but now she was confined to a wheelchair, unable to speak or even feed herself.

Rubia had taken over a plate of cookies when she saw the medical transport bring Delores’ mother home. After seeing her mother’s condition, Rubia had implored Delores to come over if she needed anything. Delores did stop in every few days, but always under the pretence of doing a good deed for Ms. Rubia. Some days she would stay and chat while they ate biscuits. But she turned down any offer of help that Rubia made, claiming that she had things under control. Rubia doubted these claims, as she never saw anyone come or go from the house besides Delores and the grocery delivery van. But Delores was adamant that she was doing just fine, and Rubia was not the type to pry into others’ lives.

Rubia returned her attention to her knitting. The hole in her left sock was now large enough that she could see her entire toenail. If she didn’t finish these socks soon, her foot might freeze off during the night. Her hands were no longer nimble, however, and each stitch was a lengthy labor. Delores had brought her a new pair last week, but Rubia had rejected them. She had always made her own socks, and she saw no reason to change her ways in her last years.

--

“Ms. Rubia wake up!”

Rubia’s eyes snapped open. Delores was shaking her a little less gently than Rubia would have preferred. The girl looked terrified. “What is it, darling?”

“You have to get out! Your house is on fire”

“Oh my! Just a moment, dear.” Rubia sat up, or rather, Delores pulled her into a sitting position. She fumbled for her slippers. “Let me just grab something from the living room.”

“No, you can’t go that way! Come on!”

Delores pulled her toward the back door. Rubia opened her mouth to protest, but smoke had poured into her bedroom as soon as Delores had opened the door, so all she was able to do was cough.

Delores turned the doorknob and pushed against the back door. Then she threw herself against it. The door shuttered with the impact, but did not open. Rubia put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and pulled her back. As she met Delores’ eyes, Rubia could not tell if her tears were from fear or just a result of the smoke. Rubia stood on her tip-toes to open a latch near the top of the door, and the door swung open. Delores nearly pulled Rubia over in her exuberance to get them both out of the house.

Sitting down on the curb in front of Delores’ house, Rubia finally grasped the weight of her situation. Smoke billowed from her roof, and bits of flame leapt up here and there. Delores came back outside and draped a blanket over Rubia’s shoulders. Rubia’s first instinct was to protest, but she was getting chilly.

“Thank you dear,” she said softly. “Did you call 911?”

Delores froze for a moment, then jumped up and ran inside her house.

By the time the fire department arrived a quarter hour later, flames were leaping from Rubia’s kitchen windows and dancing on her roof. Rubia watched as a piece of her roof fell in, and she hung her head. Worry began to overtake her. She had never not been able to care for herself, but now she wasn’t sure when or how she would eat or sleep again. Then Delores fidgeted beside her, and she noticed the girl was shivering.

Rubia wrapped her arm and blanket around Delores, and to her surprise, the girl cuddled up close to her. They sat and watched as hoses were unrolled and water begin to shoot out onto the house.

A firefighter approached them. “Is anyone still in the house?” he shouted over the noise.

Rubia shook her head. “Just my socks,” she said softly as he walked away, but her voice was lost in the roar of the engines.

--

Rubia settled into her new life more easily than she thought she would. Delores had insisted that she stay with them, “at least until they build you a new house.” Neither Delores nor Rubia had known who “they” would be, but another neighbor had helped Rubia figure out who she had homeowner’s insurance with and filed her claim.

Delores had helped Rubia sift through what was left of the house. They had salvaged most of Rubia’s clothing and personal items from her bedroom, but the kitchen and living areas were completely destroyed. Rubia had dug around for her nearly finished socks when she thought Delores wasn’t looking, but had not found anything worth saving in the charred remains of her living room.

Rubia had insisted on taken over the domestic work at Delores’ house. The house was filthy when she moved in, and half of the food in the fridge was spoiled. It took Rubia a few weeks, but eventually the house was not only clean but cheerfully decorated.

Rubia still knitted in the evenings after Delores went to bed. She sat beside Delores’ mother (whose name, she had learned, was Carmine), and though neither spoke, Rubia felt that Carmine appreciated her presence. Rubia did not know what her diagnosis was, but Carmine seemed to make small hints of progress as the weeks passed. Delores became a carefree schoolgirl again, worrying more about her homework than about making sure her mother was fed and comfortable.

The night after the builders had levelled what was left of Rubia’s house, Rubia did not make much progress on her knitting. She held her needles as she stared out the window, tears streaming down her face. Carmine dozed beside her. Realizing that she was not going to make any progress tonight, Rubia set the blanket she was knitting down and stood up. Carmine stirred, and Rubia touched her hand gently, as had become her custom when saying goodnight.

Carmine turned her hand and grasped Rubia’s. Looking up into Rubia’s eyes, she slowly lifted her other hand to her chin and signed “thank you”.

Rubia squeezed her hand. “No, thank you,” she whispered. “Sleep well, dear.” Rubia tucked Carmine’s hands back under her blanket, then retired to the bedroom she was borrowing from Carmine, wearing the socks that Delores had finally convinced her to accept.