It’s in the depths of summer. That time of year when the cicadas are so loud it’s deafening. When you walk outside and are unsure if the air is hugging or suffocating you. Pretty sure it’s the latter but, ya know. Regardless, here I am. Sitting outside on my patio warding off mosquitos and trying to breathe through the thickness in the air that only comes with this time of year. Being out here tonight, I felt the need to write. I’ve had a great many things pop into my brain over the last month that I’ve wanted to wax poetic on but wasn’t in a place where I could sit down and put it to paper (or laptop if we’re being realistic). But today, there is one thing on my mind.
Today I ran by a pair of shoes on my evening jog. The same pair of shoes I ran by earlier this week. Last week too. They’re sandals. Women’s. On the edge of the sidewalk leaned into the grass of someone’s front yard – neatly. Like they were placed there strategically, with a purpose. One leaned slightly on top of the other. Almost like they were posed for an eBay photo.
I have a million questions. First off – why would someone place them so neatly, then forget them. I imagine the owner, running around with glee, about to do a cartwheel then she says “wait!” and runs them to the edge of the yard before doing her acrobatics. But no… if you’re about to do a cartwheel, you kick them off with abandon!
I then picture a lone girl, getting kidnapped – wondering if she lost her shoes in the process… should I call the police ? But no, those wouldn’t have been neatly placed either. They would have been lost in a struggle.
They are curling up on the edges now, because of the rain. When I first ran by them they were cute! Clean – not heavily worn. Now they look like they have stories to tell.
I want to walk them to the front door, hand them to whoever answers and say “you forgot these!” but then I realize – surely they have seen them by now. There must be a reason they’re still sitting there.
I think of lost friendships, that they could represent something someone lost, and moving them would harm the memory. But really, how likely is that?
I think about the owner living there. Maybe she wore them on the worst night of her life, took them off the second she got out of the car and up to the door – and just left them and couldn’t bear to look at them again. Someone would take them and then they’d be gone!
A pair of sandals on the sidewalk. They might have no story at all, or they might have one better than I can dream up. I guess we’ll never know.