Aurora 2021 Mag

Briana Cramer

Shoes

I pay attention to people’s shoes. Don’t ask why, or I might have to take your shoes afterward. I have a habit of doing that—taking shoes. It isn’t that I need them, because I don’t. Some people have coin collections, stamp collections, baseball card collections, or even rock collections. Not me. I have a shoe collection. I own 212 pairs. Specifically, 96 pairs of men’s shoes, 101 pairs of women’s shoes, and 15 pairs that could be either men or women’s shoes. I have all different styles, from Converse tennis shoes and Flyers to Timberland work boots. All of my shoes come in pairs and not one pair from my collection is my size. I don’t wear shoes from my collection. I do, however, give them stories. For example, my nurse’s shoes were worn by the nurse who helped deliver me when I was born. They’re so white, light shines off them. Dad says they’re the reason Momma didn’t want me. I absorbed their light and Dad says Momma couldn’t stand to look at her unpigmented baby. Momma left me and my dad when I was six years old. Dad never was the same. He always put on a brave face for me, though. He wears dress shoes every day; he even lets me polish them! I have a pair of dress shoes like my dad, but mine are older and less shiny. I got them from the lost and found bin at the church that my dad leaves me at after school. I imagine my dress shoes being PopPop’s: my momma’s dad. They’re dull and worn out from all the nasty, sweaty socks he left in them. They will always smell like ham and pickles and leather. He never let me polish his shoes and that’s why they’re so dull. PopPop must have been an angry person because Momma never saw him or let him visit. She used to tell me it was ‘cause he didn’t like my dad. I don’t know how anyone could not like dad, but PopPop musta really hated him. Anyways, I only met PopPop once when I was two, but I don’t remember it. Dad doesn’t really know anything about him, so it’s kinda hard to give his shoes a story. I never had any siblings. But, I do have a pair of baby shoes that I imagine belonged to my cousin Irene. I found them at a yard sale when I was out walking by myself one day. I didn’t have any money, but the lady who was outside watching over the yard-sale had disappeared, so I snuck the shoes into my Polly Pocket backpack. Irene woulda outgrew them by now, but they’re pink and sparkly and light up. I imagine them being the shoes she begged for in the middle of the store, throwing a tantrum when her parents said No because they didn’t

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