Allie & Her Shoes
A cut scene from Tough Going…
Spring was right around the corner and Allison couldn’t wait. An excellent cup of coffee beside her, the window next to the ancient Formica kitchen table open, letting in the mid-morning breeze and her day planner on the table, she doodled on the page, thinking about where else she could try to sell her services. It was a good morning. Elbow on the table, chin in her hand, she gave up on the exercise and gazed out the window instead. All she could see was the brick wall of the building next door but that was fine. The sun was slipping down between the buildings, glazing the window sills in gold, and birds hopped from sill to sill, looking for scraps to build nests or eat or whatever songbirds did in the city in March. Their chirping danced into the kitchen along with the clean smelling breeze. Horns sounded in the street, and the whole city was ready to slip over into the new season. Soon the pear trees would be blooming along the avenues and Manhattan would shake off the dirty robe she wore all winter and put on her Easter dress.
Mommy, this dress is scratchy. Allison remembered it like it was yesterday. Standing in the living room in Sheepshead bay, putting on a pink lace dress with a wide ivory sash made of satin. She’d had little patent leather mary janes on her feet and they had a bit of a heel to them. She must have been just five or six at the time. Allison remembered being so happy with the heels, and tap tap tapping around the wooden floors of the living room, listening to them click as she walked. She’d been thrilled with the grown-up shoes but the dress, so pretty, had been a disappointing surprise. The lovely dress was uncomfortable, scratchy against her arms and chest. She’d plucked at the front but nothing seemed to relieve it.
Young ladies don’t fiddle with their clothes, Allison. Her Mother had that smell today, the one that meant this was all very special. Her mother also looked super pretty, with her makeup on and lipstick, something she didn’t normally wear. Allison normally would expect a babysitter to show up, maybe Mrs. Petrov from downstairs but since Allison herself was all dressed up too, this meant they were going somewhere, as a family. She plucked at her bodice again.
Mommy, I can’t wear this scratchy thing.
Light, happy laughter came from her mom. Allison, if we want to be pretty, sometimes we have to be uncomfortable.
In her Manhattan kitchen, all grown up, Allison snorted. She’d like to show her mother what uncomfortable really meant. How about having the soles of your feet ache and burn every day of your life, Mom? How’s that for discomfort?
On the other hand, her mother’s early defection from their lives had given Allison something more than tough feet. It had given Allison strength. When she’d told Dorothy the story of how her feet had come to be damaged, Dorothy had looked at her sympathy for a minute, and then she’d smiled. I’ll tell you one thing, Allison, that day gave you something most people don’t have.
What’s that, Dot?
You know what you’re capable of.
To find out more, check out the prologue of Tough Going …you can read it free in the Look Inside section on Amazon. Just click here.