The Old Shoes

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.