by Emily Branwell

Created on: November 11, 2008

She found a pair of shoes at the second hand store. They were perfect. Nothing had been perfect for such a long time and so at first she distrusted their flawlessness. She took the left one and swung it by its long unbuckled orange strap to test the integrity of the stitches. It seemed strong and sound. She strapped the right one on her foot and pretended the high heel had turned her ankle while she walked down the aisle with an awkward elongated step because of the slightly mismatched lengths of her legs. It seemed to be a very forgiving shoe.

However, the clincher was not the dependable strap or the sturdy foundation but the satisfying click tap click tap click tap sound she now made. Yes, she decided with a nod of her head, these shoes were perfect even though nothing had been perfect for such a long time.

Just to be sure she took the right one by the strap and began to swing it in test, but hesitated. She didn't really want to know if it wouldn't hold up. She had already fallen in love with them. But no, she needed them to be perfect and she brushed aside the moment of uncertainty and swung the shoe above her head in a circular motion like a Tibetan nomad with a slingshot and like that nomad, hit a target. His nose began to bleed.

But things neither begin nor end here. No, it begins with that little voice inside a person's head that whispers "if only." If only I were thinner taller shorter stronger kinder not so shy not so short tempered not so lazy not so self conscience not so alone. If only I were here instead of there. If only it were then instead of now. Then I could be happy. Then things could be the way I dream them. want themimagine them.... need them to be. It starts with being dissatisfied.

She was lonely. We all feel lonely sometimes. But she had only ever been lonely. And she could see no end. For long since had she forgotten how to make a friend. She spent the majority of each day avoiding unnecessary contact. Speaking only when spoken to. Speaking only to those who looked worse off than herself. The haggard woman in the grocery store line that she was sure she'd never see again. The bitter looking woman who manned the scanner at the college library. The short, round, effeminate German professor who always cooed lovingly, worryingly about his cats.

But these encounters were like feeding a kernel of corn to a man who'd not eaten in months. They felt warm in the belly but were not tasted on the tongue and they only added to the feeling of need. They only intensified the truth. That she was dieing. Slowly fading away into nothing.

One morning she thought the emptiness in her head would deafen her. So she got in her car and she went to buy shoes. She drove far and away to the other side of town and tried to leave herself behind for a while. And there she found the perfect shoes and she swung one in the air and hit nothing. She had almost not swung the other in the air but it was a good thing she did, because it caused the nosebleed that her grandchildren still laugh about at Thanksgiving while they load the dishwasher.

She wore those shoes, with the mud colored blood stains on the back of the left heel at their wedding a year later. They really were perfect.

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