Shoes
Sharon Daraphonhdeth

Allen pulled himself onto the bed stool. The bars of the bed were cold on his fingers. The red stilettos dangled hopelessly on his tiny feet. He wiggled his toes in them. The hollowness of the shoe made him feel small. He tugged at the straps. He liked the straps and he liked to tug them. The smooth red leather covered the whiteness of his toes. His ankles were skinnier than the shoe itself. He kicked both stilettos off and slid back down to the floor. His bare and sweaty toes slid on the cool wooden floor as he made his way to the closet. The light through the window, bright and crisp, illuminated his rosy cheeks.
The collection of shoes overwhelmed him with excitement. Red, purple, black, white, fuchsia, pink. Eager to slip them on, he picked up the black satin heels and cupped his hands in the hole, wearing them as if they were oven mitts. As he made his way to the bed, he set the heels down, smiling and panting.
He slipped his petite, pale, feet into the shoe. His skin was like a ghost in the frame of the dark heels. The heels felt loose and he struggled to keep his balance. He took a step. Straightening and pointing his arms out perpendicular to his body to keep balance, his shadow created a cross behind him. He took another step slowly towards the mirror and imagined himself as steady as a tightrope walker. The first time walking in heels he felt accomplished. No falls, no trips. He was a superstar.
The reflection before him made him blush. He felt the locket of the gold necklace heavy on his heart, moving with each beat. He puckered his lips, smoothing the lipstick evenly. Sweet nectar floated on his tongue.
He examined his face, his bright brown eyes and his rosy cheeks. The figure before him, stood confident. I am beautiful.
The garage door creaked open, the smell of oil and grease seeping in.
The footsteps of the steel-toed work boots were loud among the floor. He heard the footsteps grow near as they got closer to the bedroom. A deep voice escaped,
“Allen? Where are you, boy?” said his father.
Allen glanced over at the figure in the doorway and saw his father standing tall, covered in oil. His father hesitantly walked closer, as he searched his son’s eyes.
His father had plans for him. He thought Allen should watch and learn about the car. But now, his father said nothing.
The wooden floor was hard and stiff as his father sat down. Allen’s father always said he was fragile. He said he was delicate.
Allen looked at his father and smiled. He walked towards his father, careful not to fall, for he wanted to show his father how good his balance was. He sat down on his father’s lap. Allen could smell the sweat and grease from his father’s shirt. His body hurt as his father pulled him in tight. Allen rested his head on his father shoulder. I am beautiful, he is proud of me, he thought. The heartbeat of his father was loud and slow. He looked up at him and the slow blink of the stern face above.