Upper Sole

(because I am a deliquent.. I chose to compile 2 assignments into one big story- this is POV and description. Plus my booth submission)--


It was not love at first sight, that’s for sure. I, for one, never even considered him my equal when he tried me on almost a year and a half ago.

Miss, can I see that one?” I remember him saying in a voice so small the saleslady never even noticed. I was quietly perched on my pedestal. The halogen light beaming its glory on my white rubber body. I was wearing two red inserts on my sides with gray mesh inserts on the front.
Sure, we were made in different colors but I believe I was the best one. I was the latest model running shoe of my kind; sleek, sexy, with the unique black “check mark” of my home company sewn across my body. I even have a poster on the wall.

Alas, being so popular, I had found myself alone-the last of my sisters. The last size. Like sleeping beauty waiting for her Prince in her tower, I too was waiting to be rescued from retail hell. Not that they were having a hard time selling us, (my sisters and I) but I was the smallest size in my batch and no one was even close to fitting. I was the size 7 men’s shoe that was left behind.

He picked me up; I see his nails were bitten down to the last edge. Ugh, yuck. - They were dirty too. This pudgy little man reminded me of the penguin in the batman series (The one Danny Devito played in the movie) by the way he waddled his way to the “trying on” area... Oh no! He was going to try me on!

I was my dream to be owned by Michael Johnson or Jesse Owens. I had thoughts of them wearing me, the sleek toes slipping into me like a body slipping into a night robe. They, with their glistening muscles and me, hugging their graceful feet in loving embrace. Together, we would make records- nay, Olympic glory! But it was not meant to be. That day, Walter Hale - (I later learned his name), convenience store clerk, candidate for the biggest loser, tried me.

Psst... I heard someone calling pssssssssst! Hey you!

I look beside me and see the grimy image of a worn down trainer. His seams almost giving way, unravelling. Walter was slowly unlacing his feet from his old trainer.
“Better brace yourself missy!” he warned as Walter raised a foot and entered. His feet caught,
Aha! I don’t fit! I would have clapped if I had hands.
Walter scrunched his eyebrows together, undeterred. He unlaced my front one by one. Carefully easing his feet in.
Then, it hit me, the smell of rotten eggs so pungent I almost passed out. His feet were calloused and fat and it felt like being stretched by a million Thai massage therapists. It was then I blacked out.

------

I woke up later that day and found myself on a table in the middle of a small apartment. Apparently, Walter had purchased me.

“Walter! Waalterrrrr!” A shrill voice cut through the silence of the air as the smell of frying bacon wafted through the apartment. A small lady picked me up and waved me around. “I TOLD you to keep your things off the table!”

She wore a HUGE floral housedress- the front stained with what appeared to be ketchup. Her face, round as a beach ball, filled up the whole top of her head. Her short hair clung to the side of her face like ivy. I could not tell if she had a neck. She reminded me of a snowman (or woman)-One small round for the head and one big round for the body. That was MOM.

“Yes, mommmm!” the small voice shouted from one of the rooms. “I’ll get it in a minute!” then a muffled blog-ooof—thump as Walter apparently fell over some furniture in his hurry to get to me.
Mom? He was still living with his mother? What kind of loser did I end up with?

Mom threw me inside the closet and I smacked right into the wall. With my head still swimming, I tried to get a good look at where I was going to live for the rest of my life.

From what I saw, the apartment was typical. There was a small kitchen, which by the looks of the inhabitants was the most used area. The walls were bright yellow- the kind of yellow that hurts your eyes when you stare at it too long. Walter had his room on the left and his mother had the one on the right. I was placed in a dark, mouldy closet near the front door. It smelled faintly of moth balls- not the it was helpful in any way- since the coats hanging there were riddled with holes. The moths were obviously well fed.

It was a few days later when Walter decided to bring me out.

“I WILL, this time.” He kept saying as he laced me up. He was dressed in some sweatpants (size XXXXL from the looks of it), a sweatshirt. He even had a corny headband across his forehead. As the blob that was his foot loomed over me, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I smelled talc. I sniffed again. It also had some starch/acrylates and some perfume. He used Scholl’s odor control powder. God bless him!

Outside the air was crispy green as he walked me around central park. All around, I could see others like me. Their owners, running in bright shorts, some in tight cycling ones. I even saw some of my sisters.

We walked only 20 minutes before Walter put both hands on his knees and had a wheezing fit. It went like “hheeeve, aahhhh...”. By this time, Walter was sweating like an open faucet. I could taste the salty drips as it drizzled like rain on me. Semicircles formed around his armpits and it was growing larger by the minute. Then, Walter began a huge coughing fit,

“hush...huughh.....” I cringed as bits of half digested bacon, bread, pizza and soda covered me, the sour bile covering me like a blanket. He hurled some more. I thought it would never end.

---

I did not expect to get used much, given the condition my owner was in. I was resigned to live the rest of my life in an old closet. Even old trainer had his doubts. He said to me one day, “Missy, you better get comfortable. It doesn’t get better than this” and by THIS he meant the mothball closet we were in. I would rather live in that closet than go out and be seen by any other shoe being worn by old Walter. It. Was. Embarrassing.

The second time we went out was about the third day. Same routine, but this time, I noticed the smirks on the other shoes faces. Walter was making an effort with his walking and as we passed by other shoes and their joggers. I felt like a Lamborghini made to run in first gear -all the time. YAWN.

“Hey you! Doesn’t your owner wash you at all? You stink!” It was the competitor. A smart ass shoe with a “N” on its side. It owner was doing stretches by a bench when Walter decided to rest for a breather. I still had yellow stains all over me.

A teen was skateboarding and his shoe, a cute blue sketcher called, “Carrying the weight of the world eh?” giggling all the while.

I nodded and kept silent. Too embarrassed to talk back. I wished I would just burst my seams and get it over with. Maybe commit shoe hara-kiri.

Weeks turned into months. Yet, to my surprise and I guess to everyone else’s Walter kept at it. By the third month, I had already developed scruff marks on my sides. I noticed too that the weight I was carrying was getting lighter. By the fourth month, Walter’s pace had turned from a jog to a run. Halleluiah!

It was in the sixth month when Walter burst into the apartment waving a flyer in his hand saying, “I am joining the New York marathon.”

His mother was speechless. Old trainer was asleep and didn’t give a sh*t. I, however, was jumping for joy.\

Walter went into training like a madman. He ran almost daily. I gave him all the support I could give. I held myself together, cushion giving everything. Walter was steadily changing. His legs gained definition. His shirt shrunk like it was in the dryer too long. He was getting hunkier. I was pumped and so was Walter. As we trained in the park, women noticed.

---

It was a week before the marathon. We had trained so hard for so long that I was sure Walter would finish in the top 10% of the pack. We were going to run again when he noticed something.

“oh, you’re getting a tear...”he fumbled with me, eyeing me from the sides and the front “i guess after all the months, you’re wearing down.”

Wearing down? What are you saying?? I was panicky. I can hold on.. promise..

Walter flicked my front, noting the gap between the insoles. “Mom, I’m going out..”

“Where are you going?”

“The shoe store... be back in the afternoon.”

“Don’t you tell me you’re buying new shoes again.. you still have a good pair right here!” Mom shook me in from of Walter.
Walter sulked. Good ol’ mom. I’m beginning to love her.

----

The adrenalin was thick. I could smell it. The air was cold but I did not care. We were going to run the NEW YORK MARATHON. All round us, there were thousands of shoes. We were packed like sardines.

“Hey watch it!” a size 13 bumped into me.

“Are you talking to me? You better not be…” He snorted.


“Mr shoe?” I felt someone wiggle. It was sock. You may as well know, in shoe heirachy.. socks are like the waterboys of the team.

“Yes?”

“I… I wanted to tell you…”

He stopped.

“Well??”

“I wanted to say…uh..”

The race was about to start. I was getting edgy.

“It was nice of you supporting Mr. Walter like that. I know you’ll be great.”

“well.. thanks sock..”

and then the gun rang.

Walter Hale finished top 1000 in the marathon of 37,000 runners. Soon afterwards, he moved out of his mother’s house.

He is now dating someone he met while running.

She bought him new running shoes.

Shi (rock)

(My fourth assignent for my HUMOR WRITING class)




Lucy. That was her name. and I had lost her in China.

It was already late afternoon and the rain began to pour. On one hand, I had an unbrella, and on the other, a crying 3 year old. Smoke wafted through the air. There are 1.3 billion people in China and 99 % of them smoke. I guess they never heard about lung cancer.

“Mama! Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!” My daughter stomped her feet and wailed. Her face red from the effort and her long hair plastered to her face from the tears.

Panic raced through me as I flipped through options in my head. I could retrace our steps and try to see if we can find her, or try in my very minimal knowledge of Chinese, ask somebody if they have seen Lucy.

It would have been easy if Lucy was something easy to describe. But I had to have the daughter with a pet rock, - a pink, bejeweled pet rock. She picked up the rock one day while we were vacationing and decided it would be her pet rock. She brought it over to her art class and made a face complete with eyes and jeweled earrings. (with the help of glue and glitter). It went with her EVERYWHERE.


There was 7-11 type convenience store on the corner of the building where our hotel was. I remember we dropped by there on the way back to the hotel to buy my daughter some juice. I also remember the woman who mans this store who had the same thing on TWO days in a row.

“Wei?” I asked cautiously. The woman was busy looking at her text messages. “Ni yao can tao… (Have you seen…)” I mentally flipped through the English Chinese dictionary in my head, which for the moment, seemed to have pages missing. The 7-11 lady looked at me and then looked at my tear stricken child with puzzlement. I mentally slap myself as I bemoan the state on Chinese education. Why didn’t I pay attention when I was learning the language in school?


“A.. che ke…(a.. this…)” I gesture to indicate a small, round object. “hen siao de (a small…)” By this time, even my daughter was looking at me strangely. I was doing pantomime in a convenience store in China. Rock…rock.. How do you say rock??

I look outside and pick up a pebble. Point to it and excitedly say “ Che ke! Che ke! Ni yao can tao ma?” (like this, have you seen anything like this?) My daughter also gets into the action.

“Ta Ta Ta!” she makes a big round and makes her eyes wide. “jiao Lucy!” ~ “big, big, big… named Lucy” By this time, the woman’s teenage daughter, small son, old father and husband come over to see what all the fuss is about.

“Fun hong sze… (pink)” I say this time, I snatch some paper and draw a circle, with a face, point to the rock and gesture like it fell out of my pocket.

The son smiled and ran to his box, pulled out something and approached me. He took my hand and placed a round thing in it. My heart raced as I took a look.

It was a smiley button. The boy was looking at me. My daughter was looking at me. I hold up the smiley and shake my head.

“Bu.. je she bu. (no, this is not it)”

My daughter wailed. The boy wailed. The whole crowd looked at me like I’d run over them both.

“Hey, what”s going on?” all heads turned. It was my husband. In all the years of marriage, he never looked as good to me as that moment. “I’ve been lookng for you two everywhere!”

“Papa!” my daughter shouts and in between niffles tells him Lucy is missing.

My husband, dark, handsome man that he is, wipes my daughter’s face, rises up and announces “You mean, this Lucy??” In his hand was the most wonderful rock in the world. It seemed like I was looking at the HOPE Diamond as he held the pink glittery thing out. My daughter squealed in delight.

“The tour operator came over the hotel room earlier. It seemed she found it on the bus after we got off. It was only because Amy was showing her pet rock off that she remembered”

The boy looked at it, the 7-11 woman looked at it, the husband and teenage daughter looked at it. It was like show and tell. They ask my husband some questions. (He is more fluent than I am- thank goodness). My daughter was pointing details out (eyes, nose, ears)

The grandfather on the other hand, was looking at me as he sat on the corner of the store quietly puffing away at this cigarette. He rose up and walked to me. He took the smiley pin, pinned it on my shirt, pats me on the back and winked.

I know grandpa. I KNOW.

Road

(this is my first assignment for my humor writing class)



My friend once said, “Life is like a tire… sometimes your up, sometimes your down…but when your down, that’s when they run you over.”



It is this premise that I begin my tire story. Well, actually, it’s the story of my friend and his freeway flat tire. To start, I have to tell you that this friend of mine is a native Chinese Filipino.(this meaning he was chinese by descent but was born and raised in the Philippines) He migrated to Canada and now he is a Canadian-Chinese-Filipino migrant. (that is something to think about) My friend, let’s call him David, is a lanky fellow with no airs of masculinity in him. He has glasses and likes computers and any physical activity is far beyond his capabilities. Although he was thin, he was also suave with a boy-next door kind of appeal.



One day, David was driving down the freeway going to Washington from Vancouver. His family was loaded and he was driving a fancy sportscar. By freeway, I mean cars in full overdrive and barreling down the hard pavement of the continental US. (You might as well know, we don’t have any such freeways here in the Philippines~ with the amount of cars and traffic hindering any idea of speeding you might swirl around your head) Suddenly, he felt a jerk and knew his tire blew. There he was with miles of freeway ahead of him and a flat. He slowly drove to the side of the road, got out, inspected the damage and checked if he had a spare. (I have to note that this was a few years back when cellphones were at it’s infancy so it was not possible for him to call anybody- he had no cellphone)



Opening the trunk, he stared at open space. NO SPARE TIRE. He leaned back on his car and whipped out a cigarette.



Might as well have a cigarette..he thought. He sat back on the hood of his car, the stick of cigarette hanging on the edges of his lips as one by one, cars zoomed past him. He was wearing a sportshirt, washout jeans and sunglasses.. At some point, he might have imagined himself as James Dean with a cool car stuck by the side of the road. (the coolness of all of this not escaping his vivid imagination). He flicked the starter of his lighter..once, twice, three times with no signs of a light. His brows furrowed. He shook the lighter and tried again. Still, nothing. He held up the lighter and through the light of the sun, he realized that he ran out of lighter fluid.



Sh*T. No ride, no tire and no relief. As I said, when your down, that’s when you get run over by life. He got run over… twice!



In the end, he walked a few hours and a few miles to find a gasoline station and get some help. James Dean is laughing in heaven.

Cement

This is one of the earlier works I did for a writing class. Its like a crime thriller

Missing sister of a former actress was found after being missing for 2 years. An informant led the police to the area where she was said to have been encased in cement and dumped at sea


Inspector Alicia Santos looked over the area where the informant said the body was dumped. A team of frogmen took hours scouring the murky waters of Navotas, a small fishing suburb of Manila before they finally found what they indicated as a large, metal box. On the barge, the inspector felt queasy. The sea was rough and the waves rolled the old barge to and fro. She looked over the rail and she could see the brown green water and looked away quickly, her stomach starting to turn. Damned barge! She said to herself as she noted the rusty body and slimy walkway. She motioned the crane operator to proceed. It was already noon and she could feel the heat of the tropical sun bearing on the nape of her neck, burning her skin. The crane cranked its arms ever so slowly over the murky water, creaking noisily so. A few moments later, a large metal box was churning out of the sea. Its body covered with moss and algae. The air smelled of rotten fish. Beyond the area, she could see fishing boats, filled with men- their skin browned by the sea and sun- stopping and staring at the sight.

“Watch out, this looks heavy!” shouted the captain as the barge lurched forward with the heavy weight. Inspector Santos instinctively held the rails, its crusty exterior peeling under her hand.

On dry land, they examined the box.

“Looks to me like this was welded shut.” Lt. Martinez commented as he looked over the 8x8 feet lump of metal “ It is as if there was something horrible inside that someone didn’t want to escape- don’t you think so Inspector?”

Inspector Alicia scowled and nodded. It was taking hours and Inspector Alicia’s shirt was soaked with sweat. Her skin felt sticky. Inside the box was an oil drum encased in cement and what looked like a body of a girl. Peering inside, the body was twisted that you could hardly tell the features. A surreal horrible statue of the last minutes of death. Inspector thought. It would take DNA testing but the inspector knew in her gut it was her.

The inspector looked at the picture of the missing girl. The paper crumpled from too much handling. A beautiful girl of 25 was smiling, oblivious as to the future she was about to face. On the far side of the pier, the actress, - wearing large, dark shades was standing with her family, her hands crossed and holding a tissue trembling. Her features was similar to girl but altered by grief.
Who IS this girl? Inspector Alicia thought to herself. Why did she deserve such a death

Inflight

(this is my submission to the Independent Writer Union site)- reposting here.

This was my  Nth airplane ride. Nothing new, nothing spectacular. I am not one of those people who wants the window seat to look at the scenery (I have an aisle seat by the way). I sit back as I wait for the airplane to taxi down the runway. The heat outside is palpable and I could see the blast of air from the airconditioning coming out like mists from the sides of the windows. The pilot introduces  his crew and I ignore them.  By this time, I would have normally grabbed the inflight magazine provided but there was none. I sighed, cheap domestic flight. I try to settle into the seat as best I could. Beside me, a young mestiza girl crosses her legs indian style and begins playing with her ipod touch.  I restrain myself from looking over her shoulder. On the other side of her, an older woman whips out a book and begins to read. Lucky her.

I resign myself to boredom and stare at the seat in front of me.  Written in bold were these words: FASTEN SEATBELT WHILE SEATED and  LIFE VEST UNDER YOUR SEAT -

It suddenly dawned on me how these two declarations have such a profound meaning.

"Always keep your seatbelt fastened even when the no seatbelt sign is on" is what the captain of the plane reminds us. It's for safety. Life is like a plane. Our parents, in their own capacity, try to prepare us for our own journey. I wish there was a better way they can train us. Like watching an inflight video- you learn everything at one sitting. At one point in our lives, we do really need to "fasten our seatbelts". There are times though, when in the  flight that is our lives, we, as the pilot, lose control of the plane. That is when we need the..........

LIFE VEST UNDER YOUR SEAT 

Whoa. You try not to get into these situations, but you never know. Who are the life vests in your life? The ones that keep you afloat in times when you feel yourself sinking? It maybe your friends, your family or even GOD. 

When faced with situations that we cannot imagine handling, we either sink, swim or hold on to our life vests. Maybe that's how they coined the term "you are a lifesaver". 

I spent the rest of the flight musing about seatbelts and life vests. I got peanuts as a snack. (you get peanuts in life too-- as in, mina mani mani ka).  As I eat my peanuts, I realized, you can always see things, but it is not often you get something out of them.

Shadow and Light

Emily looked at the faint glow of the bathroom light as she sat down on her bed. The 12 year old glanced at image of baby Jesus, the Santo Nino, on her bedside and kneeled in prayer, her shoulder length hair falling slowly down her face.

Baby Jesus, please keep me safe..I don’t want to dream those dreams anymore. Angel of God, my guardian dear to whom is love commits me here. Ever this day be at my side..

It was the prayer her mother taught her. A prayer for protection that she felt she needed. Tomorrow is another school day and she needed her rest, the whirl of the old air-conditioning in her room lulling her slowly to sleep as she pulled up the covers.

Emily was in her house. She was standing in the middle of her living room. Outside, the light was fading. It was the time between day and night. Everything was casting such a dark shadow all around her. The winding staircase in the middle of the house, the old sofa covered in flowery covers, the shadows on the hallway to the kitchen. She looked up and saw her younger brother standing near the door. From the corner of her eye, she saw a wide dark shadow flying across the room, moving past the grandfather clock and straight for him. Emily ran towards her brother just as the shadow snatched him and moved quickly toward the kitchen.

No! she shouted in her head as she dashed towards where the shadow went. Her heart was beating frantically. I need to save him! She told herself as she ran down the hall. She saw it going into the spare bedroom and she quickly followed. She stared in horror at the shadow, a figure of a man, which filled the room from one end to the other. If it had eyes, Emily was sure it was staring at her. “Where is my brother?” Emily shouted. The figure put its hands on its waist and laughed. Emily didn’t hear a sound but it was as if it was laughing in her head. Emily was angry and moved forward clutching her fist. The shadow quickly moved again. Emily felt desperation. If she didn’t find her brother soon, she was sure he would be gone forever and so she ran. Anger was building inside her and she could feel it cursing to her fingers. A ball of light was slowly forming in her hand and she quickly threw this at the shadow. It burst into pieces as if she threw a stone on a puddle.

This is not over—it whispered in her head.

Emily opened her eyes. Outside, she could hear the neighbor’s rooster.

 “Cock-a doodle-do!” It shouted.

 She could see the faint light of the early morning sun. She glanced at the clock- 5:13am. Her hands were clutching the covers and they were shaking. She was exhausted. She quickly went to check on her brother and saw him sleeping soundly in his bed. Relief flushed over her- he is safe.- she smiled wearily as her fingers tingled. From her palms, a faint light was showing.