Shoe shopping
Mom and I were shopping at a desert outlet mall and wandered into one of the more expensive shoe stores. The place was empty, except for a salesman who coalesced out of the darkness. He didn't acknowledge us, and we didn't acknowledge him, but he seemed caught in our orbit as we moved from shoe to shoe down the right wall. We took a step; he took a step. We hurried our pace, and silently he hurried his pace. By the time we rounded the back corners, Mom and I were almost running. But he was right behind us, reaching out and tapping the odd display shoe as if it were some effeminate sport.
It was such a relief to get back out into the sunshine.
"Shall we go home now?" Mom asked. I nodded. It was the first we had spoken since entering the store.
"I didn't really like that store, did you?"
She shook her head. "Not at all."
posted by Unknown @ 1:57 pm
3 comments
3 Comments:
I think I've been to that shoe store. I'm pretty sure I've been trailed by the same salesman. Or maybe it wasn't the same man but another one so alike, it's eerie. Oooooh, what if they all come from the same mold and there are hundreds of them? Now that's a frightening thought!
I enjoy your blog and your writing. You do a great job of relating a story.
Thank you very much! Sometimes it's hard to tell whether a story is funny or just embarrassing, so I really appreciate feedback.
I'll never forget that shoe store experience, even though it hardly seems memorable. Maybe it's because my mom and I so obviously experienced it the same way -- it was like thinking in stereo. With some people, one can't communicate the simplest feeling no matter how many words one uses, and with others, all it takes is a look.
Anyhow, I'm going to try and update this blog more regularly. I've been thinking of murder too much -- my dad gave me a surprise b-day present: he signed me up for a mystery writers' workshop. I never once considered writing a mystery, but now I'm happily contemplating all sorts of gruesome things. My favorite writer right now is Margaret Millar, so I'm going to try and mimic her. I think in life, there's a time when everything is ahead of you, and then suddenly you take a step and everything is behind you...and she catches her characters just as they're looking back and realizing their everything was nothing.
OK, why can I not write anything serious without feeling like an idiot? Maybe it's because so many serious things are idiotic. I'll probably delete this entry soon, so read it quickly!
Go for it, Kellas! You relay marvelous imagery with your words. I could see the salesman dancing after you so clearly. As I learned in my writing class, "show don't tell" is the key to good writing and that isn't always easy to do. I'm still working on it. Sometimes I hit the mark and other times, well, let's just say that I "threw like a girl." :-)
Besides, what have you got to lose?
And, please, update your blog regularly. I do know how hard that can be but I figure the forced exercise is a good way to flex my creative muscles.
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