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.