REFLECTION (SHOE STORY)
Some days walking out the door is such a task. With multiple glances in the
mirror I cannot make up my mind about my outfit. One pair of shoes coordinates
perfectly with my outfit, but with the trek across campus to class will surely forge new
blisters on my already calloused feet. Another pair is cute sitting up on the shelf, but pose
uncertainty being an uncommonly seen trend; this doesn’t match my confidence level for
the day. A third pair is worthy of consideration but is not ideal to the morning’s harsh
weather. I forfeit, changing into a simple pair of jeans and a tee shirt to match the simple
sneakers I slip into. This is a common occurrence. My roommate’s boyfriend chuckles:
“You are so ridiculous.” I’m not being ridiculous, the right choice of shoes is pivotal.
In the very first week of class, a bag was placed on a desk in the center of the
room. The assignment lacked formal instruction: “Write about this bag.” In the midst of
squinting hard at the bag and trying my best to formulate a story behind it, my vision was
averted to something beyond the artifact. Something more intriguing had caught my eye.
As if framing a masterpiece hung in an art gallery, the wooden legs and desk top of the
table confirmed the appeal of my vision. Across the room, there sat a pair of dainty legs
crossed in modest fashion; a pair of worn, brown leather Mary-Jane shoes securely
strapped to the feet. On cold days, they were paired with coordinating socks. When
moving, they made not a sound. Nudging my classmate beside me I posed the question:
“Where do you think she got those?” He replied “Salvation Army?” Shaking my head I
interjected “They might have been really expensive, they look vintage.”
Imagine a child sitting on the ground, carefully drawing out boxes with a stick of
chalk. Lines of boxes, some paired one next to another. The young girl stands up, places
the chalk gently down on the asphalt, and maneuvers through the boxes hopping on one
foot, one foot, two feet, one foot, two feet. Her strappy shoes tapping on the concrete,
arms out to her sides to maintain balance, and her eyes glued to the movement of her
shoes, making sure to not step on the lines. These were the shoes of youthful memories.
From day to day the story transformed.