Confinement by Julia Johnson

Confinement 

     Socks. Socks were the problem. At least they were my problem. I’m not sure what it was about them, but I didn’t like them. They made my feet feel claustrophobic, it’s like some people are scared about being confined in a small space, but for me, it’s just my feet that don’t like this imprisonment.

     The sun was beginning to set when I got the call. I had an interview for the Penguin Books publishing firm in New York City. At first I wasn’t sure if it was real, I mean these types of opportunities don’t just happen everyday. Then, it started to sink in. I was getting the chance to really work in the writing business. Thankfully I was sitting in the chair because if I hadn’t been, I definitely would’ve fainted. 

     I immediately started calling people. Every single person on my contacts list in my phone was dialed. I could barely get the words out to anyone. I was so excited. They all most likely just heard me gasping, taking sharp breaths, and trying to decipher any of the words that were spitting out of my mouth. Some of them hung up, because they thought it was a prank call, but I didn’t care. I was just happy. Genuinely happy.

     My best friend was the last person I called since I knew I would actually talk to him for more than a few minutes. “Guess what! Guess what! Guess what!” I yelled into the phone.

     “You got the interview!” he shouted back.

     “Yes! How did you know?!”

     “Because I know you. Of course they were interested!”

      We talked about the news for a bit. Then I realized, I had to figure out what I was going to wear. I quickly hung up the phone and began hyperventilating. The interview was in less than twenty-four hours, and I had nothing planned. Suddenly the excitement died down, and the panic moved in. I was running circles around my apartment, looking for something spectacular. Everything in my closet was scattered across the floor. It looked like a rainbow threw up and landed in Manhattan. Shoes were flinging themselves across the room. My dog hid under the table, barking at a pair of black pumps. 

     Nothing was right. 

     And then I tripped on a sock. 

     A sock.

     I didn’t realize I had any left. I tried to avoid them at all costs. They were unnecessary pieces of clothing. But I guess I had to wear them. It was the middle of winter, and I couldn’t keep wearing only flats and heels. Socks were so restrictive that my feet couldn’t breath, and they weren’t even fashionable. 

     I took a deep breath. 

     The next day, for my interview, I wore socks.

     I got the job.