Mirror, Mirror

Yellow Socks

Dedicated to my friend Jake

He had always been part of the background, like a shadow. He was wallpaper, and as much a part of my town as the dumpsters behind the church and the bike stand near the library.

For a while, he was there, but not there. I, at least, was too busy to notice him. I was wrapped up in my own thoughts and my own life. The one thing that I will never forget about him, though, is that he always, always, always wore yellow socks.

They were actually quite nice. Bright, and they stood out against his normally shoddy outfit. I noticed him, really noticed him, for the first time, when I hit kindergarten. For me, it was a big accomplishment. I'd run to school, showing off my new lunchbox and shoes, proud of having entered a new stage of life.

There he was. Standing near the front doors, face upturned to the skies with his parents standing beside him. My age, wearing those socks. When school started, the teachers regarded us with pride. Their new litter of pups.

Playtime arrived, as it always did, and we happily ran to their separate sides of the room. Boys with dinosaurs, and girls with our dolls in their lace and linen. As was expected, we all argued over who would be the mom and who would have the best pair of shoes from the bin in the corner.

That was when I noticed him. He wasn't playing with the dinosaurs. He sat alone against the wall, glancing every once in a while around him, and then looking down once more. He would glance up at us girls, almost as if wanting to come over and join us.

Now and then, the teacher would try to engage him in a game of legos, of Power Rangers or Cars, but he stubbornly turned his head at every attempt. Eventually she gave up, going back to do the tasks which were no bother to us as children. Grown-up things.

For a reason I will never understand, I felt it necessary to make sure no one was paying attention before I stole away, making my way over to where he was sitting. He glanced up when he saw me approach. "Hey," I said.

His eyes were hazel, flecked with green and bright with intelligence as he looked back at me."Hi."

"You wanna play?"

"Depends." He had his hands tucked between his knees, looking at me cautiously.

"You can play house with us. You can be the dad."

He considered this for a moment. "Sure," he said, and reached for the hand that I offered to him.

And just like that, as quickly as Summer turned to Fall, a friendship was formed. Never a day there was after that which we did not spend playing house in the mornings. My mother expressed disapproval of me making only one friend, which was of the opposite sex, but nevertheless invited him over.

I didn't think anything of him playing dress-up with me. We were kids. That was what kids did. I didn't mind that he'd try on my clothes, or that he wouldn't tell me who his crush was even after I told him mine.

He gave me flowers, picked from the garden in his front yard. Roses of many different colors. Sometimes my friends teased me and told me we were going to get married when we grew up. But somehow I always knew that he didn't like me in that way. 

At that time, my attention was small, but I still noticed the way my mother's smile at his presence gradually faded, the way she'd set things down on the table for him a little too hard, the way she'd shoot him short, suspicious looks out of the corner of her eye.

Our only dispute was over a matter so trivial it refused to be recalled even a mere amount of time after it took place. I don't remember the reason, but I remember the details. I'll never forget even the way the bark of the tree I was leaning against scraped against my back.