Shoes

Posted on June 21, 2003 in Book of Days Possessions

Note: This is part of a series based on exercises from A Writer’s Book of Days. It’s something of a rebellion against the Friday Five and similar tupperware content memes.

Today’s topic: Write about a pair of shoes.

I bought them in Firenze, Italy. I’m not sure what to call them: they have broad, square toes and zippers up the inner sides. Beige calf-skin, subtly crinkled, covers the outside; lamb wool suits up the inside. They stay in my shoe rack for most of the year: I bring them out when temperatures drop and rain oils the pavement.

“Eskimo shoes” is what my mother thinks they’re called, though they were sewn together by an Italian shoe factory worker. “Buy shoes when you go to Florence,” she instructed me before I set out on my European education twenty five years ago. I obeyed and came back with these shoes.

They still fit: I replaced the soles once. The originals were soft and hollow: inside of two years, they were down to nothing. An American shoe repairman slapped on a thinner, harder set, made them new shoes, gave them a new spirit. I’ve worn them ever since when the temperatures drop and the rain oils the pavement. I’m one with them. They’re me.

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Tomorrow’ topic/prompt: Write about a letter.