KJPcreations

Argyle Socket, by Mandy Crandell

I sacrificed an old pair of argyle knee-high socks in the name of the creative process: an attempt to cleanse my way towards genius or dispense with the clutter of distraction that demurely draws me away from the muse. Clutter is not demure in it of itself (confused or disordered state) but rather, it’s the collection of memories attached to a particular object that I find alluring, contemplative and heavy like the weekend I spent with you in Charlotte, NC high on adderall and alcohol and love. That weekend I wore the argyle knee-highs with a smart pair of brown pumps and my favorite green mini. We hung out naked and watched movies in your bedroom where you lived with a cat named, Miss Kitty. I think she was given away to an ex-girlfriend of yours before you moved to LA to pursue the album deal with New West Records. But that was long after our blissful weekend together. You adored that cat. I loved you hard that weekend.

Some kind of love outlasts a pair of socks and others don’t. There’s weekend love, lifelong love, passing in the street kind of love; there’s fleeting love and enduring, missed, lost, replaced and patched up kind of love. I could have darned the hole in the left sock; they would have lasted a bit longer. I could have left Los Angeles and moved to Charlotte years ago but then you would have eventually moved to LA for music and that would have been silly.

You called last week and told me you loved me. I sobbed on the phone. Now you are a father, live in Charlotte, have a tour planned in June with Rilo Kiley. Now I am single, live in Portland, have ponderous moments about socks.