The Life of A Shoe As Told By A Shoe Part 2

The next week was school.  I suppose as it was the first day of school, my brother and I were given a good facelift.  I felt proud for I was shining like never before.  Andrew dressed for school, pulled us on his feet and went in the car to wait on his mother.  I was on the right foot and my brother on the left.  Usually, Andrew’s mother had to wait on him but quite surprisingly, that first morning, the situation was reversed.  He became rather impatient and kept on shouting for his mother to come.  My own feeling on the matter is that he was anxious to show off his new clothes, particularly his ‘new shoes’.  At the time, I felt good for that.

Finally we arrived at school.  Andrew alighted from the car and his mother drove off.  Andrew walked over to a group of children whom I believe were his close friends, probably his classmates.  The gathering was made up of both boys and girls.  As you would guess, the topic of the discussion was about shoes.  They were all showing off their new shoes.  Andrew argued that we were not only the best looking of the shoes around but that we were also the most expensive.  I felt proud.  Things were really beginning to look up, or so I thought. 

The school bell rang and the children hurried to their lines.  I could not believe that these were the same children who only minutes ago were boasting about their shoes.  Right there in the line a dirt fight commenced.  Andrew started it.  He kicked dirt in the shoes of the person in front of him and his classmate reacted in the same manner.  Very soon half of the children in the class joined in what for them had now become a game.  You could imagine how we all looked.  My tips were all scuffed and bruised from the dirt and the small pebbles.  Andrew more than anyone else dug deep with my tips to ensure that he brought up the greatest amount of dirt.  My polish job was spoilt and I felt horrible.  What started as a good morning became a fiasco for me.

The next ordeal of my first day at school came during the luncheon period.  After my master had hurriedly eaten his lunch, he went on the playing field and joined a game of football.  I wish I could ask him what he thought he was doing but as you know shoes must keep their thoughts to themselves.  I dared not open my mouth.  In that game each time I connected with the ball, I winced in pain but my master could not see.  He did not care.  After all, I was only a pair of school shoes.  While chatting with my twin brother in one of our quiet moments, he had told me that he understood that there were special shoes which were used for games. 

 Sometime after I discovered that our master was the proud possessor of no less than three pairs of these shoes but chose instead to abuse us.  That day the bell saved us from more maltreatment.  During my school days I learnt that they were some bells that you welcome and they were others that made you tremble.  I liked the bells which ended any kind of recess.

When we arrived home in the afternoon, the conversation went something like this. 

“Andrew,” called his mother in an inquiring tone.  “How was your first day back at school?”

“Great, Mum, absolutely great.  I had loads and loads of fun.  I won the shoes showdown hands down.  Nobody even came near me.  My shoes were tops,” he emphasised with a rather boastful attitude.

“You know very well that is not what I mean.”

“So what do you mean, Mother?” he inquired.

“Never mind.  All day at work I felt badly about spending so much money on a pair of shoes.  Some how I felt that I was sending you the wrong signals.  You know, Andrew, it is not how expensive are the things you own, or even if they look better than somebody else’s, but that you appreciate what you have with contentment,” she counselled.

“Awh Mummy, there you go preaching to me again.  I hate it when you preach.  You know very well that I appreciate the things you give me,” he replied in a self-righteous tone.

Meanwhile his mother had taken up the shoes to examine them.  “Andrew!” she shouted.  “Come here this very minute!” 

“What now, Mummy!” he shouted back. 

“You did not bring home your school shoes,” she called back, with an unconvincing attempt at humour.  “ Where are your school shoes?   As a matter of fact it seems that you have exchanged one of the shoes for an old one.”

“I don’t see what you are making such a great alarm over, Mother.  They are just a pair of shoes.  The shoes are not even bothered.”

That really made me angry.  I felt like I could walk right up to him and give him a kick where it would really hurt.  What also hurt me was when Mrs. Howell referred to the shoe that was exchanged.  I knew that she was referring to me.  I had become an old shoe in just a matter of days.  My twin brother looked in far better condition than I did.  What blemishes he had could easily be corrected with a polish and shine.  My condition was far too severe for that.  I needed reconstructive surgery.  That’s the kind of treatment a right shoe experiences.  And if you were a right shoe belonging to my master, it would be worse.  My master was the ‘pits’.

My next experience was a watery experience to say the least.  It was a very rainy morning.  I was hoping that there would have been no school.  I trembled at the thought of being dragged through the mud and the water.   I squirmed in my leather as I thought about it.  As usual, Mrs. Howell dropped Andrew off at school.  As soon as she drove away, Andrew ran on to the playing field joining some boys who were already engaged in a game of muddy football.  So much rain had fallen that the playing field was under water reaching up to one’s ankles.  Andrew and his friends derived much pleasure from playing in these conditions.  By the time the bell was rung, every shoe was not only muddy but full of water.  That was a most uncomfortable morning for me.  The water and mud made my leather soft and smelly.  I longed to get out into the sun so that my leather could dry out.

During lunchtime my next ordeal was with a milk can which Andrew saw on the playing field.  The pupils no longer had the football because it had been confiscated.  Andrew was not to be denied so a milk can became his football.  This was especially harmful to me because the can scraped my colour and cut my leather every time Andrew kicked it.  He used my twin brother to bring the can in line and then he banged it with me.  As a result I came in for the greater abuse again.  At the end of that experience my sole had begun to come apart from my body.  You must remember, that at this, time it was only four days since I had left the store.  If I only you could see me.  I looked like I had gone through a war.  My laces were caked with mud and I had been bruised and battered beyond recognition.  My brother and I were the pair of shoes that Andrew had promised to take special care of.  There was I, hapless and miserable looking and unable to do anything about it.  I thought then that they really should be a law against shoes abuse.  I mean, carrying a person’s weight all day long should be enough punishment.  To think that we also had to put up with this kind of treatment was really taking advantage of a good thing. 

I could tell of many more experiences that I suffered at the hands or maybe I should say at the foot of my master.   I could tell of the many skating competitions he entered with his friends and the extreme pain I endured as he skated along on the hot road.  I remembered him saying to his friends, “Let’s see who can skate the longest.”  He was never to be outdone so he skated and skated until his friends admitted that he was the longest and best skater.  By this time my sole had become very thin and there was not much walking life left in me.  Then there was the time when I was left in the garage and was run over by the car a number of times before my rescuer, Mrs. Howell, came to my assistance.  I should mention too, that I experienced another encounter with Frisky.  This time he was far more severe than on the first occasion.  This time he yanked out my lace and tore off part of my sole.  I knew then that my master would abandon me because I was in no condition to be taken to school and the other places to which he went from time to time. 

If only I had known that my life would have been so miserable, I would rather not have left Brazil at all.  I have heard many of my friends speak of the good times they have enjoyed in Barbados.  Well, whenever they try to convince me of their good fortune, I smile and say I am better off now than when I first came.  These days I am out in the garage just looking through the gate watching my fellow shoes come and go.  You might say that I am enjoying my early retirement.  Nobody bothers about me these days.  In my corner of the garage I just sit there and remember the bad old days when my master treated me as he liked.  

Currently I am only four months old but I am already experiencing old age.  My twin brother is in much better shape than I am but whoever heard of a two-foot man wearing one shoe.  So guess what!  My twin brother, though in better shape than I am, is in the same position as I.  We are both right in the garage, thankfully away from the car wheels but close enough to be aware of all who are coming and going.  Even Frisky doesn’t bother me anymore.  I once heard a wise old shoe say, “Dogs don’t bother with old shoes.  They prefer the shiny new ones.”

At the time I replied, “You don’t know how right you are you wise old shoe.”  Well I do not care what any new shoe says. There are some things I know, for I have learnt my lessons well.  The best time of a shoe’s existence is when he doesn’t have to carry around those indifferent ungrateful humans anymore.  After all, I was in school every school day for almost four months.  I may have been under the desk but I listened well and I saw a lot too.  And now that I have become an old wise shoe, though prematurely so, all I have to say to you young upstarts is, “You haven’t seen anything yet.  Just wait until you but up on an ‘Andrew’ out there.  Then you will know the kind of misery some shoes have to go through.” 

Well, I may not be my shiny new self, but finally, I am comfortable and I guess, in a strange way I am happy too.

Stewart Russell © 2012