(super-duper rough draft)
When I was fifteen, I walked everywhere. The town I lived in was one and a half miles wide and three miles long. The buses only went clockwise; the counterclockwise route was killed by budget cuts. School was counterclockwise. Downtown was counterclockwise. I walked. I walked to school, I walked to the library, I walked downtown to hang out in casual restaurants with my friends. This was before there were coffeehouses on each block. There was a coffeehouse two years later, the first one. It put flavored syrup and ice into a glass of milk and called it French. But when I was fourteen, there was only broccoli and cheddar soup and roast beef sandwiches and cafeteria style, which meant the waiters would never kick you out.
There were still smoking sections in those days.
When I was fifteen, I had lived through nearly ten years of twisted ankles, and I was on the other side, walking. The last time I twisted my ankle was sliding into second base during softball. I made it past the tag. I wasn't out. I was the slowest kid in the class and I wasn't out. I had hustle. I made it.
When I was fifteen I wore cute little brown wedges. Why not? I was fifteen, maybe there was still time for me to turn into a girl, maybe if I bought the right shoes people would see me as a girl. I still owned make-up, though I didn't wear it. I hadn't cut my hair. I still never wore skirts.
Brown wedges and blue jeans and walking everywhere and there came the day when the bottom of my feet burned, every day. It hurt to walk but I was too young to drive so what else was I going to do? I walked my best friend home from downtown to the farthest corner of my town, past the library, past the grocery store. Later I would pierce his ears with a sewing needle dipped in peroxide, but not this night. We never kissed. Then I walked home. It took an hour and a half. I walked.
I never got my driver's license.
These were the debut days of the Walkman, and I had one. I used to make my own tapes, never mixed, only whole albums. My friend complained that New Order's tempos were all the same, every song, and I confessed that's why I liked them -- I could walk, step step step, they kept my pace. Song after song.
This friend, he's different than the other friend. He lived a block away. I never pierced his ears. But neither of them liked New Order.
When I was fifteen I went to the doctor to ask about the pain in my feet. He pulled out a thick book on sports medicine and pointed to a diagram of tendons, bundled together, inflamed. He told me a name that I didn't remember. He told me that the next step was bone spurs. He told me that usually only athletes suffered from my condition. This was a lie, but I believed it with glee. I was kind of like an athlete. I walked. I was in shape. I was fat but I had powerful legs. I could walk to the next town if I wanted. Except that my feet hurt.
He told me to buy new shoes.
When I was fifteen my parents took me to an orthopedist's shop and bought me new brown shoes with a round toe. Sensible shoes. Brown shoes. These shoes came in one color. These shoes came in one style. These shoes had no frills, no fun, no lightness to them. They were my future. No frills. No fun. No lightness. Humorless shoes. Practical shoes.
I know what everyone thought of me already. Now they could see it in my shoes.
It's a long time since fifteen. I still don't drive. My feet still hurt when I wear wedges or heels. You can still see me in my shoes.
What do you see?
