The Land Of Lost Gloves


I was cozily snuggled up with my partner on the shelf when the light in the closet went on. We saw the face of our lovely lady who reached inside for her full-length, fancy coat. I stretched out my five limbs and hoped she would choose us to go on this trip. Hoorah! She grabbed the coat, then us, and headed to the front door.

When she stepped outside into the chilly December morning, I gave my partner, Left, a hug, and he said, “See you soon, Right,” and onto her hands we went. Left and I had an easy relationship with each other as we were so alike, cut from the same cloth or leather in this case, a mirror image of each other. We were quite a pair.

The air had a bite to it but we did our job well and made sure her hands were kept warm. The city was so festive and decorated for the holidays, and Left and I would give a pinky wave to each other as we enjoyed the day’s adventures.

After a while, she stopped to get a water from the street vendor and pulled us off. Strangely, however, this time she put Left and I back in different pockets. She never did that. She knows we love to travel together. And now I was in the pocket with just, horrors, a tissue. My discomfort turned to terror when she reached in not for me but the tissue. I felt myself starting to slide out of the silk lining. I tried desperately to hold on but I just kept slipping until I was in free fall. Noooooooo. Then I hit, hard, on the icy sidewalk. Don’t panic, I thought. She’ll just reach down and fetch me. But she didn’t. She just kept walking. “Left! Help!”

I am a glove. I am not even a hat or a scarf, which can survive just fine on its own. No one picks up a single glove or rescues it to give it a new home. I am stuck, on a sidewalk, alone and without value.

“Psssst, Right,” I heard so I called out, “Who’s that?” I realized I hadn’t seen him at first because he was hidden underneath the bench. He was not sophisticated like my Left but bold in colored stripes and looked a little worse for the wear, his thumb worn through. “It’s okay, you’re not alone,” he said, adding, “You’re beautiful by the way.”

And as the snow gently fell, we got to know one another and realized how much we actually had in common, this Left and me. Despite being totally different materials and designs, his lady wearing “Shake Your $ Maker” nail polish and mine wearing “Ballet Slippers,” we both loved the first day the leaves started to fall from the trees and dreaded the warmth of spring. We both were thrilled when we got to pet dogs or rub a child’s head. Lying next to each other we looked an unlikely pair.

“Have you been here long?” I asked him. “Yes,” he answered sadly. “Maybe,” he said, “We could make a go of it together? My Left to your Right?” I gave him a thumbs up and tried to keep the conversation positive but his voice seemed to get dimmer as the snow got thicker.

My hope had faded with the setting sun when suddenly, I felt a hand reach down and grab me. “Oh, there you are!” my lady said with relief. She lifted me up and put me on her hand and I saw Left glowing with happiness at our reunion. I looked down at my striped friend to wish him good luck but realized that he had gone stiff and lifeless, frozen in the snow.

I silently said a prayer, “May you have a gentle journey, my unlikely friend, to the land of the lost gloves. And there, on this Christmas Eve, find peace.”

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