#ireallylikesocks

#28 “Your socks are mismatched.”

The day was beautiful - the weather finally being consistently warm - and I decided to read outside at a nearby park rather than plunking myself own on the couch as usual. I settled on the grass beneath a large maple tree, its growing buds casting dappled shadows across my lap. Leaning back against the bark, I took my book out of my purse and kicked off my shoes.

Reading like this was peaceful even with the hoard of yelling children crashing through the park’s playground equipment a couple dozen yards away. Sunshine, blue skies, slight breeze. Perfect. Smiling, I found my page and dove in, awash with contentment. 

“Your socks are mismatched.” The young voice shook me from my story a short while later. Looking up, I found a girl, perhaps five or six years old, standing in front of me.

“Of course they are,” I said. “I never wear matching socks.”

Bright green eyes widened under a blonde fringe, blinking with curiosity. She tilted her head slightly. “Why?”

“Because life is too short to wear matching socks.” That seemed to confuse the girl more, so I simplified: “Because it’s more fun.” At that, her face lit up, smile complimenting the spray of freckles across her cheeks and nose. I’m not really one for kids, but I’ll admit she was a cute little bugger.

“I like your socks!” she exclaimed, making me chuckle.

“I do, too,” I said, looking at them myself. I happened to be wearing some of my Boku no Hero Academia ones, sporting a chibi Bakugou on my left foot and Midoriya on my right.

“My name is Jessica but I like ‘Jess’ better,” the girl said. “What’s yours?”

I pulled my legs up to sit cross-legged, giving her some room to plop down in front of me. “I’m Amber. Do you have someone here with you at the park?” Heaven forbid I have to deal with a lost child.

Jess turned and pointed. “My momma is over there with my baby brother.”

A woman about my age was helping a little boy down the slide. As she lifted him up and spun him around, she glanced over at us. Both Jess and I waved. She braced her child on her hip and walked over to us.

“She’s not bothering you, is she?” the woman asked when within easy speaking range.

“Nah, she’s fine,” I replied. “We were just chatting. She likes my socks.” I wriggled my toes, causing the mom to smile. “I’m Amber.”

“Sarah,” she said, reaching down to shake my offered hand. She looked to her daughter. “I don’t mind if you sit and talk,” she told her, “but if Amber needs to leave or wants to be left alone, you come right back over to me, understand?” 

“Yes, Momma!” Jess beamed.

Getting a nod of consent from me, Sarah set the little boy down and chased him back to the slide.

Jess shifted forward to lay on her stomach. Feet kicking the air, she started rapid-firing questions at me: “What’s your favorite color? Do you like dogs or cats? Do you have any brothers or sisters?” 

“Blue, both, and two older sisters,” I laughed. She was disappointed when I told her my nieces and nephews lived in different states and wouldn’t be able to come play.

Jess kept the conversation interesting by flitting from topic to topic with no apparent transitions whatsoever. She told me about her parents, her little brother, their two dogs, what her school was like, what she wanted to be when she grew up. She punctuated her ramblings with thoughts like, “Do butterflies know they’re beautiful?” and “How high do you think birds can fly?” I found myself enjoying this erratic six-year-old’s company. Soon, however, Jess’ mom was calling for her so they could go home. The little girl stood, brushing grass from her hands.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” she asked eagerly.

“I’m not sure,” I said, “but I come here a lot when it’s nice out. You’re welcome to come say ‘hi’ whenever you see me.”

“Okay! Bye-bye!” And with that, Jess turned and skipped away.