shoe

You were barefoot then with your feet on the handlebars, and I lost control, crashing into the gravel ditch of the prairie field next door. You laughed instead of crying at the gravel embedded in my knee, but I’d hear you wailing from the end of the driveway as your father whipped you in your bedroom after witnessing the forbidden bike ride.

Knowing the crime was truly mine and the punishment was meant for me, your crying echoed although my hands covered my ears. It seemed he was always hitting you. Even when you’d invite me over for Cheerios and chocolate milk as we watched our favorite cartoon, Jonny Quest. Remember once I asked how hard he'd beat you and you said you thought at least it was making your freckles disappear? So, we decided to run away and get married although we were a bit too young at eight years. We’d sealed it when you kissed my lips at our hideaway tree back in the shade of the orchard, and we took your father’s canoe, castaways down the narrow Eel River. But our adventure was brief wasn’t it? when I fell overboard to retrieve your wayward wedding loafer, waking up on shore nose to nose with an EMT.

Pulling up your blue silk graduation gown, you laughingly showed off the rebellious mismatched shoes - a blue tennis shoe with pink stars on the left, a barefooted sandal on the right. Remember though how people thought you looked funny walking crookedly across the raised platform to swipe your diploma? And I hushed them, defending you, explaining to the pinheads the uneven walk was because you were in the early stages of the phony Juergen’s Myasthenia Disease, and how lucky we all were to witness the poor girl lasting to get a diploma. Remember how you laughed when I told you, and you kissed my lips for the last time?

I do.