Gloveless
I’d never been asked why I wear them, before. I just assumed everyone did. It came up because I flinched. She squeezed my hand and it hurt. The first few times I just assumed this is what it was like for everyone, but after enough occasions I found myself asking her how she could do that when it hurts so much. She asked what I meant, and I pointed to her gloves. * * * * * * * * My gloves were hand-me-downs, you see. The kind my mother wore when she was my age. I was resistant to wearing them, of course. Every kid is hesitant to take things they don’t understand and don’t like, but I didn’t know then what an honor they are to have, to be gifted. Eventually I was convinced and began to wear them both to school and around the house. I told my Mom they itched but she brushed me off, saying she knew: She’d complained about the same when she was my age. But she got used to them, so I would too. * * * * * * * * My friend looked down at her own gloved hand in confusion....