Shoes

I don’t feel like going home to an empty house after class today; I have a hankering to be with people. It’s been a trying week and I feel unsettled, needy. Aside from a bit guilty about breaking my promise to the dog. I imagine her sitting by the front window, watching out for me, one eye on her lead. It’s an image too uncomfortable to sustain, so I quell it and head for the shops.

In my state, I know the shopping centre is a dangerous place. I could well end up expanding my wardrobe with clothes I don’t need. No, make that shoes.

The food court seems a safe bet, so I buy a roasted vegetable focaccia and a strong coffee, then situate myself at a table that looks across at the main shopping thoroughfare. From here I can watch other people shop.

A young girl in black stockings and an extremely short black skirt half tiptoes, half shuffles past, a laptop slung over her shoulder. Walking must be a feat for her, the heels on her sling-back shoes so high, her feet are practically vertical. An elderly man ambles along behind her, pushing a trolley and wearing a pair of brown corduroy slippers. I wonder if he has chosen to wear them to the shops or whether he has forgotten to change into shoes. Maybe he didn’t have time. His wife strides out in front and every so often turns back to hurry him along with an angry little beckoning motion.

I decide to do an informal shoe survey. I’ve been looking for shoes to match an outfit I’ve chosen for my niece’s wedding. Nothing I’ve seen in shops comes close. I’m nearly at the point of giving up on the outfit and choosing something else to match shoes I already have. Maybe I’ll get some ideas while I savour my focaccia and coffee.

I see pink canvas Dunlops, bright red slip-ons with bows at the front, white court shoes with gold stripes, over-the-knee black boots that look both super soft and stunning, brown lace-ups with a jazzy moulded sole, scuffed pointy-toed high heels, as well as a conglomeration of new and not-so-new runners.

But nothing that would go with my wedding outfit.

I play a game with myself. I focus on a face and train my eyes to look at the top half of the person, then predict what sort of shoes they’re wearing. It’s not as easy as I first imagine. Mainly because people are walking by too fast. I shut my eyes for a moment and think of the symbolism, make a mental note to use in a story.

I can’t believe I’m sitting in a food court playing guessing games when I should be out walking the dog, then immediately start up another one to push the tragic image of her waiting at the front window out of my mind.

Between sips of my coffee I pick out a person, check out their footwear, then picture the shoes still on the shelf in the shoe shop. I imagine the moment of recognition, the moment of attraction that can’t be explained with words. The knowing that the shoes are just right. Then my mind floods with images as I script a movie scene, and my shopping centre character becomes the star, and they buy the shoes with money they found stashed in their senile old aunt’s biscuit tin while she was napping.

For a while I contemplate where peoples’ shoes have been, what they’ve witnessed on the feet of each passer by and how many miles they’ve walked.

Then I think about the dog and how I really should be doing some walking with her.

I have the last few sips of my coffee and go off into a daydream about all the favourite shoes I’ve had and where I bought them: my absolute favourite brown fur-lined Munich boots with the moulded sole; the grey Chapel Street buckle-up boots that cost most of a beginning teacher pay packet (and still sit in the bottom of my wardrobe because I can’t bear to throw them out); the Ocean Grove bright blue Docs my mother hated and called ‘clodhoppers’, but which attracted admiring comments from complete strangers whenever I wore them; the Sydney shoes that felt as if they had cushions for soles.

Who was it that said you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes?

I do a bit of window shopping as I head off. My head hurts, so I decide to treat myself to a neck and shoulder massage before I leave. It seems, however, when I arrive at the shop, traditional Chinese massage is in high demand today and there is a long wait, so I reluctantly walk to my car.

As I drive home I think about the wedding outfit and decide if I add leggings I could get away with some newish Doc sandals I have in my wardrobe. That all the strappy high heeled fashion shoes I’ve been trying on over the last few weeks just aren’t me.

When I turn into the drive, the dog’s waiting by the window.