shoeheaven
My favourite pair of shoes was a black pair of kitten-heeled flats, with two criss-crossing leather straps on the fronts held in place by a silver stud, that looked oh-so-badass (badarse?). My love affair with these shoes began sometime last year, at which point I was lucky enough to have purchased them on sale for less than half their original price.They literally went everywhere with me. To Toronto, to Rome, to Yellowstone National Park (very difficult to do hiking in). They accompanied me (with great trepidation) to my exams, to the law firm where I worked last summer, to Sainsbury's, to several smelly gigs at the Brixton Academy. Through thick and thin, they were on my feet, and even if they had been stepped on, kicked aside, or dirtied - I would lovingly give them a thorough polish when I got home at night.
By the end of the summer, they had developed into a pair of worn-in, slightly faded, soft black leather shoes that felt so right when I put them on. But they also showed signs of wear - the leather around the heels was peeling off and the plastic bit of the heel was completely worn down. This prompted a remedial visit to a shoe repair shop, which did the trick - temporarily. When my friends wanted to go to a slightly posher restaurant than normal, they'd say, 'Dress up. Wear something nice - and that doesn't mean jeans. And don't wear those shoes.'
A few weeks ago however, after a period of running feverishly between lectures/the library/my flat/Sainsbury's, I was tripping all over London's %£&!ing uneven pavement (if you live here you'll know what I'm talking about - bits of the pavement have a surface reminiscent of Lego blocks - try running on something like that. In kitten heels. Stilettos are another matter. You don't run - you hail a taxi). Then I noticed that I'd be slipping on tiled floors, and when it rained my feet would get completely wet.
Yesterday, after I nearly fell down (yet another) flight of stairs, a quick glance at the bottom of my shoes told me why. The heels were completely gone - essentially I was wearing a flat pair of shoes. Never mind peeling leather - the bottom of the shoes were so worn away that the white plastic making up the body of the shoes was clearly visible (that explained the slipping). Not only that, but the soles had been so heavily eroded away that there were holes in them - no wonder my feet were getting wet when it rained.
They were basically beyond repair. On Wednesday, my lovely black flats accompanied me one last time to Oxford Street, into a shoe shop, and watched me purchase another pair of shoes. And then they walked me back to my flat, at which point I took the new shoes out of their box, and put the old shoes into it. Then I closed my eyes and put the box into the rubbish bin. And then I took the rubbish outside and put it on the pavement, onto the spot where the rubbish is collected each day.
When I came upstairs, the new shoes were there to greet me in their new, glossy leathered splendor - not a scrape in sight. They too are black, and kitten heeled. But they are somehow not the same. I put them away and went to the window. My rubbish bag was still there. After making dinner, I peeked outside again. My rubbish bag was still there. But after taking a shower, I drew back my curtain, and discovered that the pavement had been cleared. My rubbish bag was no longer there.
Those who were tolerant enough to listen to me rattle on about a pair of shoes gently told me that the shoes have served their purpose, that they know how much I miss them, and that they have gone to shoeheaven. I believe them. And if there truly is a shoeheaven, I hope it is a lovely place. Those shoes deserve it.
L'Esthete @ 19:24
