The Shoe Store

aka, the day they all dropped.

My whole life, I’ve waited for the other shoe to drop. Until one day, when it finally happened. It wasn’t just one. Or a pair. Actually, it was the entire shoe store that dropped to the floor. And there I was, right in the middle, picking up shoe after shoe in an attempt to put it back into its designated box, onto the shelf it belonged on.

I thought this must be an easy task, no? Size 11 white sneaker goes with size 11 white sneaker. Size 6 black open-toe sandal goes with size 6 black open-toe sandal, and so on.

Boy, was I wrong.

Turns out it wasn’t easy at all. It was as messy as can be. I could find the size 8 suede kitten heel, but where was the other one? I couldn’t put the size 10.5 flip-flops into their box as it was all smashed up. It just would not fit in there after the fall. There was more than one pair of size 7 wedges in ivory white, more than I could count, yet not enough boxes for each.

After a while, after putting back quite some of the shoes, I took a step back. Expecting to marvel at what I had rebuilt, what I had restored. I thought this can’t look that bad, can it?

The further away I stepped, though, the more I looked, and the more I changed my mind. It still didn’t feel right. Why? I stepped so far back that my back hit another row of shelves. Wait, what, more shelves? Where did those come from? I thought the ones in front of me were all of them.

I turned around. And then I kept turning around. I kept noticing more and more shoes. I kept turning. And turning. And turning. The shoe store was much bigger than I thought. And there was no customer in sight. No cashier. No shop assistant. No saleswoman or salesman whatsoever. I was alone. Completely alone. Me and the shoes. All around me.

Should I fix it? Should I walk out? Pick the pair I like best right off its shelf? Leave the ones I don’t like on the floor? I don’t know. At least not yet.