i bought new shoes today. they’re madden girl, three- or four-inch heels, closed toe, black with white polka dots. the heel itself is a deep red, patent-shiny. they’re gorgeous. you would be amazed. you would never have bought them for me, because you never would have believed i could love such a girly thing. you bragged about how not-girly i was. you would have bought those shoes for her instead.

but you did buy her shoes, didn’t you? black-and-white checkerboard pattern, like the flag that waved you both home from a hard day’s racing. she saw them in a shop window. then you went home and got on google, and a few weeks later, the shoes were hers. i heard she wore them to her wedding. as far as i know, her husband still doesn’t know who gave them to her.

i think i was a talisman you used to ward off all the girliness in the world. you boxed me in, and that word wasn’t written on the box. then you resented how muffled i got. and then you missed the things you’d defined out of me, the athleticism and the spontaneity and the occasional penchant for lipstick, and you found them somewhere else instead.


About betterpast

Thirty-seven and counting. View all posts by betterpast

One response to “shoes

  • jeff strobbe

    You haven’t written anything in a while. That is a damn shame because you’re really talented. If it’s my fault at all, just punch me, and then write some more stuff?

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