(This is part of an ongoing creative story series I created titled ‘Shoe Tales.’ For more, follow ‘Shoe Tales’ on Instagram)
The black sandals were abandoned inside the downtown bound A train, underneath a seat. The right half’s sole was worn, long ago detached from the rest, flapped annoyingly whenever its owner shuffled along the street, drained.
Exhausted on a Saturday evening, the owner weaved her way through the subway cart, lucky to have landed a seat after two stops. Once seated, she let her eyes rest a bit. It was her only day off, filled with household errands and some shopping, the kind that’s well-deserved and rooted in hard work.
The woman’s feet were both worn and hard with orange-yellow calluses – no thought in pedicures. But she bought two new pairs of wedges that evening, on sale. Her excitement over the pairs made her pull one of the shoeboxes out of her enormous bag.
She opened one box, pulled a pair of teal wedges out, and cradled them in her hands.
‘I’m going to wear them now – why not?’ she thought to herself. She thought putting them on would give her a boost of energy, fill her up with some chunk of satisfaction – the rush some get whenever they purchase something new.
The owner removed her black sandals and replaced them with the teals. Wiggled her dirty toes a bit.
Felt the same.
Her thoughts began churning inside her head, thoughts of work the following day. The thoughts grew muddy, blending with exhaustion. She dozed off, and only awoke when the train’s rumbling grew to be too much.
Like magic, her stop was next.
Her fingers bunched the bag together, and she pulled herself up with a nearby pole. She got off at Nostrand Ave., leaving the black sandals behind – one of which had long ago detached from the rest.
(Photo Credit: Alicia Tejada)