Box for the shoes

A box for the shoes

Look at what they've made me! I feel so lonely as I silently wait
amidst the black brogues and suede slip-ons. Waiting, watching,
anticipating as my size 8 neighbours get picked. You can almost hear
them saying, 'I'm so lucky not to be those size 9 brown loafers'

Who gave me life not knowing if I would even get a life worthy of
living. The brogues look at me mockingly , 'The only person you're
going to get is a painter and decorator who only gets you out to go to
the British Legion on Saturday nights'. My toes curl up with dejection.
I look sideways and imagine them being owned by a city banker who
catches the 0742 to Paddington everyday. Who's the lucky one now I
wonder?

I look across to the shelves opposite. I can't see any shelf edge
labels with prices on over there. There's some definite snobbery going
on. I can feel the sticker on my underside without bothering to look.
The Saturday assistant with a piercing in his left eyebrow came in
early this morning, turned me over, crossed through the 49.99 with a
smelly red felt pen and wrote 29.99 next to it. Should I feel grateful
for this special offer? Will it mean I can leave this place more
quickly? Perhaps a painter and decorator will buy me just to use as his
work shoes now!

Suddenly, an elderly couple stand close by. She is carrying a Tesco for
Life shopping carrier and he is wearing a grey Dannimac raincoat. I'm
not ready to retire yet, my life hasn't even begun. As she picks up my
size 8 friends, I feel relieved.

Without a pause a balding middle aged man strides across and
confidently picks up the black version of me - my distant cousins and I
haven't even had a chance to introduce myself to them!

The shop becomes busier. Mothers and hideously coloured buggies.
Parents with their Baby Gap clad toddlers arrive. Thankfully they stay
down their end of the shop otherwise I feel sure I'd get picked up and
maybe incorrectly placed back with the shocking pink jelly sandals or
even those trainers with flashing red lights built into their
heels.

And then - whilst I am just dozing off, a sprightly elderly man picks
me off the racking takes me to one of the many black pvc covered
stools, sits down and tries me on. Thankfully, his socks seem quite
fresh and they are made of a decent quality lambs wool. No sooner has
he tried me on, he is taking me off and hurriedly putting his own shoes
back on again. I quickly take a casual glance down at them - faded
brown suede desert boots - that gives nothing away to me about my
likely home. Nevertheless, I remain optimistic and patiently wait to be
found my original box and prepare myself for a dark, jolting
journey!

A short time later, it seems like I am on the back seat of a car, for I
can hear a mix of Classic FM and the drone of a car engine. After about
an hours travelling, all noise and movement stops. I wait with a new
feeling now - that of excitement. The idea of starting a new life -
meeting new friends but most of all going out on interesting walks and
being in contact with different ground.

I feel myself being picked up and carried a short distance. I can hear
a key in a lock and then a few seconds later the combined clunk of a
latch and wood on wood as the front door is shut.

I can hear some voices but cannot make out exactly what is being said
as I am still inside the shoebox and probably the shops own carrier bag
too. I think one of the voices is that of a woman. I feel myself being
passed to someone else, a rustling sound and then the sudden brilliance
of daylight as the lid is slightly raised on one side. I realise I am
being 'inspected'. The person who has opened the box and is now staring
down at me is a grey-haired woman smelling of lavender.

"Oh yes dear", she remarks "they will do fine. I'll put them with his
suit, shirt and tie ready for the Undertakers tomorrow. It was
certainly a strange request of your twin brother Bill to be dressed up
in all new clothes for his own funeral"