The Bee Socks
I find it, rolled in dust bunnies. I thought it was a dryer sheet, but the colour’s wrong. Through the grey lint and wads of dog hair, I see it is orange and striped. Gasp.
I remember hunting through the house, Emily wailing at my side, “They’re my princess buzzy, wuzzy socks. How can I tip toe on tiger lilies without them?”
I was furious with her. Echoes of my angry voice bounce in my head.
“Find some others. Clean your damn room. Flush the damn toilet!”
“Bee socks, Mommy!”
The house was torn apart. The house remains torn apart. I am torn apart.
I clutch the dirty sock and raise it to my nose. There’s no scent of Emily. But, it is a new found memory, and I cling to it. I realize there may be more hidden memories in the house.
After months of numbness, I cry.
This story is dedicated to Tamara Grand and her family, in memory of Clara and her hand knit socks
Claire Lawrence lives in Port Moody, British Columbia, Canada. She is a student of Oxford University, Advanced Creative Writing Program and a graduate of the Southbank Writer’s Program from Simon Fraser University, British Columbia.
Claire’s winning entry to Ouen Press’ international contest was published in an anthology entitled, Last Run. Claire won the Sampad South Asian Arts International Writing Competition and was published in an educational book entitled, Inspired by Gandhi. She received accolades from the Liar's contest for the National Gallery, UK. She has a number of other prize-winning short stories which have been published in Canada, the United States and United Kingdom. Claire’s illustrations have appeared in The Fractured Nuance.