I pull all the shoes from the closet, pair by pair. They are all ridiculously large. I have to leave for work any minute and these fancifully huge shoes are no good. My coworkers will surely notice them as they pick me apart with their predatory stares. Perhaps if I worked with the blind or with clowns … But even clowns didn’t wear those big shoes when they went home at night.
I choose a black pair, hoping they’ll look smaller. Before putting on the shoes, I change into the largest pair of pants I have, thinking maybe the extra diameter of the hems will also make the shoes look smaller. We’ll see, I think. Leaving the room, I try to open the door but accidentally ram it into the shoes. Immediately, I realize things will not be as easy as they once were.
Walking down the stairs, I lose my footing on the third step, tumbling the rest of the way down. I have trouble breathing and my vision is slightly blurred but I must get to work.
Being strapped for time, I choose to go through the park. The morning is clear and the grass smells good but I can’t enjoy it. I have to concentrate just to walk, digging my toes into the bottoms of the shoes so I don’t step right out of them. My attention is momentarily captured by a man’s moaning. The moaning suggests that someone is in great pain.
I see the moaner leaning against a tree. He is a huge man, nearly a giant. Not at all the type of person you would expect to see moaning with pain. I move closer to him, but not too close. My shoes will look smaller from a distance, I think.
“Are you okay?” I call out.
“God no.”
This is not at all what I expect him to say and I am at a loss.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not likely.”
This man is very gruff and I think about abandoning his case altogether, being strapped for time and all. He must be in a great deal of pain. He doesn’t even look up, just stays bent into the tree, his back heaving with sobs.
“Are you sure I can’t help you?”
“My shoes!” he cries out.
I move in closer. Elated, I see that his shoes are tiny. Or, rather, they look tiny on him.
Now he’s looking at me and, aware of the feverish excitement in my eyes, he takes a couple of steps toward me but his feet, undoubtedly numb, drag the ground and he tumbles down into the grass. I rush over to his side, using my shoes more like skis, sliding them along the dew-slicked grass.
“Too small,” he grunts through clenched teeth, trying to stand up. “Painfully so.”
“I think I can help you.” I lift a leg and dangle the foot over his head. The shoe falls off and clunks down on his mottled nose. Under any other circumstances this would have been wickedly inappropriate, but the man is overjoyed.
“Yes!” he shouts. “It has happened to you too!”
“Maybe we could swap!” I shout back.
The man hurries to sit up and folds himself over his feet.
“You know,” he says, hurrying with the knot. “I think they were starting to cut off all the circulation.”
“Yes,” I say, kicking the other shoe off into the grass. “I had to flex my calf muscles just to keep them on. Exhausting work.”
I sit down beside him and put the new pair of shoes on. They are stylish as well as correctly sized. We both stand up and walk around, as though we are trying on new shoes at a store, like there are any other choices.
“Yeah, these feel good,” he says.
“Nice,” I bounce up and down a little. “Well, I better be off.”
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