Shoes, Colour of Sand

‘Those shoes she wears. They’re stained and grubby and the laces aren’t tied right.’

‘She’s always been messy.’

‘Shows an untidy mind.’

‘Lazy, more like.’

‘I have more important things to do in my life. Did you hear her say that?’

‘Yes, I did. She should sort out her priorities.’

A soft pair of shoes, colour of sand. Like the faded highlights in her hair. Flecks of dried mud on the soles, a few stalks of grass. Spots of grease on the fabric. The laces loose and uneven, the zips at the side of the shoes half-undone. The shoes abandoned in the hall. One talking to the other.

At primary school the class teacher droned on and on. Let me show you. Oh for goodness sake, try a little harder, it’s not rocket science. And she did try. She tried and tried and then she gave up and she still can’t tie laces all these years later. Give her a map to read, a mountain range to navigate - not those knots, the complications of unders and overs.

Comfortable shoes, walking shoes, well-worn shoes, travelling shoes, colour of the desert shoes, take-me-places shoes, loved shoes.

She dreams of the shadows on the dunes, how they resemble the ocean waves. The shoes will take her there. One day soon. When all this is over. 

by Bronwen Griffiths