Tonight I am spent. Emerging from underground I struggle to shake free from my day. And try to speak real words after hours of perfunctory call and response.
I walk blocks to buy high heels. Passing lit up storefronts and holiday-styled windows. I ascend an escalator and am floating above a Starbucks interior.
I make phone calls for moral support and then try on the first pair I see. They fit well, but I spend minutes examining my ankles in the mirror. Trying to look at them from front, side, back, front again. They seem to be growing in front of me.
I take the shoes off and try on another, immediately more painful pair. I attempt to stand on one for a split second, it’s like I’ve been burned- teetering on a red hot toothpick. Back to the first pair, I return to the shoe mirror.
A woman sitting nearby laughs out loud. She’s alone; is she laughing at me? I look over my shoulder. “I never buy high heels,” I say somewhat defensively. But she’s speaking and struggling with a boot. “It went on so easily,” she mumbles, and grapples with it, removing it.
I hurry to an opposite corner of the shoe department. Moments pass. The boot woman is gone and I take her seat. I need to try the shoes on one more time. I need to see the ankles. Possessed by this quest for wedding appropriate footwear, I turn in circles in front of the mirror. Convinced – I hand over cash, make an exit, and walk three blocks in the wrong direction.
I go home.
you look so cute in heels, i promise
haha thanks hollie. I like them, I do! was just trying to draw the feelings I was having.