The Old
Shoes
JMBlondin
01/15/2018
The old shoes sat in the corner,
toes facing the main room. The laces of one shoe were draped into the foot hole
of the other and the laces of that one were still tied in a neat bow. The
leather was old, dark and cracked; the stitching broken in places and in others
sticking out like whiskers of the old man that owned the shoes. As time has
passed the drying has caused the toes to lift making them seem like faire
slippers but they are not, they’re working man’s shoes. Dirt still clings to
the seam between shoe and sole even after all this time.
He has been gone for a very long
time, the old man. He left on the wings of an angel years ago. Most of the
things he left, the few things, are still here but put away, out of sight
except the shoes. Those shoes have sat there so long that they have become part
of the room. The furniture is old and some has been replaced. The walls
repainted and the curtains are new but the shoes remain just as they have since
he put them there.
She has taken care to never move
them when she cleans around them. She also dusts them very carefully so as to
not disturb what he left. The morning of the day he departed he came in from
the fields and sat heavily in the chair he called his own. Sat there unmoving
for a spell, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Then with a start he leaned over
and pulled the lace of one shoe and slipped it off his socked foot. Carefully
setting it next to the chair he reached for the second shoe.
He stopped and with a sigh leaned
back to rest. One shoe on and the other off sitting beside the chair. After a
few minutes he again leaned forward and reached for the remaining shoe and
again he stopped mid-way. With a deep sigh he sat up straight and using his
socked toe he worried the shoe off his other foot.
The old man sat up after gathering
both shoes in his hand and looked around the room with his liquid blue eyes,
eyes that have shown him the world for uncounted years. Leaning on the
overstuffed chair arm he pushed himself to his feet and shuffled towards the
other room stopping to place the shoes, heel to the wall right where they now
rest and where they have for a long time.
He never came to recover those
shoes. The next pair that he wore left no prints on this earth. They were never
walked in, they were not working man shoes but like the new suit that he only
wore once they stayed with him forever.
Sometimes when she is cleaning she
stops and stares at the shoes for a long moment remembering the old man.
Sometimes when she dusts them she returns the laces of the untied shoe back to
its place. Sometimes when she is lonely she will stop, bend down and touch the
toe of the old shoe and mutter something that is not for the living to
hear.
She too is getting old and tired.
She too sits in that chair, its cushions barely dented by her slight weight.
She also removes her shoes there. Working woman’s shoes, shoes that have taken
care of this home for a very long time.
The old shoes sat in the corner,
toes facing the main room. Next to them sat two smaller shoes, newer shoes, shoes
without laces. They have not been there very long time.
