Ohmigod, what am I doing here?
I cling to the wall, grateful for the static electricity that binds me close, even though the latticed surface imprints me with a pattern that I fear will be permanent. At least I get to maintain my distance from the crowd.
The crowd. A rough crowd indeed. Every one of them dirty and rumpled. Some are damp and they’re all smelly. The odor is almost palpable.
Yet they don’t seem bothered by it. They just sort of lounge about. Not so much weary, more like reveling in the satisfaction of a hard day’s work completed. I no sooner wonder what they’ve all been up to when wall’s static electric charge dissipates, releasing me and dropping me against a badly soiled denim leg.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I reply. While I’m not the least bit interested in making any lifelong friends here, it’s probably a good idea to be at least civil. I’d hate to turn this crowd against me.
He looks me up and down and frowns. “How’d you escape?” he asks.
“Escape? I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“The Great Cattail Rout of 2014,” he replies. “All those hours out in the heat and humidity, mucking around in the marsh? Obviously, you missed it. Damn, I don’t think I’ve ever been this filthy and I’m out there doing yard work every Saturday.”
He looks it: worn thin in spots, sun bleached in others, and permanently stained.
“Oh, but you were protected,” he says with a sneer. “Boots.”
“Boots, hell,” pipes up a cotton-knit cutie next to him. “Boots didn’t protect me. Look at me. I’ll never be clean again.”
I have to agree. No amount of soap will eradicate her muddy stains.
“You don’t belong here,” she cries. “Are you here to mock us?”
Her outburst draws attention. The others look in our direction. What starts as a murmur becomes a rumble. I can make out, “How dare she?” and ”Who does she think she is?”
Then I hear ”Get her!” My heart races but it’s already too late to act. I am buried in a pile-on of filthy T-shirts, socks, jeans and bandanas. Dirt and odors assail me.
Oh woe is me. All because I got left behind in the basket after the last load of laundry. As if being orphaned wasn’t traumatic enough.
But wait. Just in time, the hand of God reaches in and plucks me from the horde. “There you are,” says God. “I’ve been looking for you. “
She tucks me in next to my long-lost twin. I inhale the fresh scent of fabric softener and snuggle down, grateful to be back where I belong, in the sock drawer.
