Laundry has never been my favorite, yet somehow I always end up matching socks. It’s rather hard to match them all considering each one is grey and scratchy. Here and there I’d find a black or white pair, but all in all, it’s still very plain and overwhelmingly boring. When I got to the bottom, I saw the best pair of socks ever made. It was my soft, neon, pink socks. My mind instantly was packed full of memories of my older brother and I. He used to steal my socks before I could put them on. Then, I’d have to chase him around the house and the rooms would overflow with laughter on those happy summer days. I missed those days; I missed my brother. We hadn’t spoken to each other in almost seven months. I don’t remember what happened, I just remember being in a fit of rage towards him and vowing to never speak to him again. If I only knew then how it would drag me down. I closed my eyes and held my cell phone.
“Answer, please answer,” I begged and dialed his number. As my finger hit each number, I felt the anger and hate I had toward him wither like a spiteful weed. I put the phone to my ear and counted as each ring went by. For a brief moment I lost all hope, it rang too many times, he would never answer. Then I heard the click, I thought he had hung up on me, I felt hot tears swell in my eyes. Then slowly, I heard his shaky voice.
“Hello...” I could tell he was just as scared as I was.