First Glove of the Season
I looked down. And there it was. Sad, lonely, waiting.
The first lost glove of the season.
It had followed its owner to Starbucks, riding quietly along in the car in the front seat. Gloves had been very helpful in the chilly air as Mr. started up the car. But it got warm in the car, so Mr. took off his gloves and laid them on his lap for the drive to Starbucks before doing a bit of Christmas shopping with Mrs..
Mr. and Mrs. had talked about what to get the kids. New mittens, of course, would be on the list. Having a basketful of mismatched mittens at home from prior seasons of cold, meant it was time to adopt a couple more pairs from LL Bean or Reny’s.
When they reached Starbucks they pondered whether they should go in or just get a drive-thru coffee vente. Mr. thought they had plenty of time, so they decided to go in and enjoy a few minutes of Starbucks magic.
As Mr. got out of the car, the inevitable happened. One glove fell to the floor of the car, while the other fell out on the cold, wet ground in the dark.
Free at last! The glove was ecstatic! The only thing better would have been if his partner had made it out too.
The car door closed, Mr.’s feet just missed stepping on Glove’s thumb as he turned to go into the coffee shop.
It seemed hours in the darkness before they returned to the car. Perhaps they will see me here, Glove thought. But it was too dark. The shadow from the car beside them, hid Glove from the light of the lamp post.
Mr. opened the car door for Mrs. and then stepped over Glove as he got in himself. They drove away without seeing, remembering or wondering.
They bought new mittens for their kids and even a couple more pairs to donate to the school for children who might forget their mittens on a cold day. And then they drove home.
It wasn’t until the next morning, heading for work, that Mr. couldn’t find his gloves. He searched the closet and his coat pockets thoroughly before remembering having them the night before in the car. He raced to the car, fearful of what he might find...or NOT find.
There on the floor was ONE glove. Not two. Not zero. Just one.
A quick search of the car confirmed it. One of the gloves had escaped.
Having one glove was senseless. If they had just gone together, there was a chance they’d have found a good home...some cold hands that would welcome a nice warm pair of gloves. But this, sadly, was not the case.
Remaining Glove was sentenced to the mitten basket with the other mismatched hand coverings. Who knows, maybe those wanderers will return someday and again will be paired, left with right.
But I’ve seen Glove out on the street. It isn’t coming home.