By Jeff Hampton
(Note: This is an excerpt from Aransas Evening, a forthcoming sequel to Aransas Morning, a novel about friendship, love and redemption on the Texas coast. An excerpt from Aransas Morning, Allie and Bo, is also included among my Short Stories. Aransas Morning is available at the Books page on this website.)
Dave looked down at the black tassel loafers on the floor of his closet. They were clean and still had a good shine because he only wore them on Sunday mornings or to the occasional wedding or funeral. Otherwise he wore casual rough-out leather or canvas shoes that didn’t need any fuss. But the last time he went to Inge’s Barber Shop for a haircut he was scolded by Joe for not bringing him any shoes to work on. Dave said he would bring some next time, and he wanted to keep that promise because this might be the last time. Inge was closing the shop.
Now, looking at his shoes, Dave wasn’t sure what to do. He thought about scuffing them up but that seemed drastic. And then he remembered that he still had that pair of black leather shoes that his niece Carty had talked him into buying. It was when Debbie was ill and her sister and daughter Carty had come to Dallas for a weekend of shopping therapy. He decided to tag along in case Debbie got tired, and they all ended up at the shoe shop and that’s where Carty suggested he needed new shoes – something better than the old cross trainers she’d seen him in all weekend.
“I like these,” said Carty, and she handed him a pair of black leather shoes with square flat toes and prominent stitching.
“I don’t know – those aren’t really me,” Dave said, but Carty kept pushing and he tried them on. He stood up and walked around and she beamed. “Get’em, Uncle Dave. They’re cute.”
Dave bought the shoes and he grew to like them because they were comfortable and durable and, yes, they did sort of make him feel cool. He alternated them with the tassel loafers when he wore dress pants but he drew the line at wearing them with jeans as he had seen younger men do.
Dave knelt down on the closet floor and felt around under the low-hanging shirts and jackets until his fingers found the heels and he pulled the shoes out into the light. He looked them over and was surprised that they still looked wearable after several years, but he knew enough about fashion to see they were no longer in style. And more than that he had quit wearing them because they reminded him of that difficult journey with Debbie and now he was walking a more enjoyable path.
The shoes didn’t really need polishing – just a good dusting – but they would help him keep his promise to Joe, so he put them in a plastic grocery bag, put on his coat, and walked to the rail station. Twenty-four minutes later he stepped off the train in downtown Dallas and was making the four-block walk to Inge’s when he brushed past a man pushing a shopping cart full of junk.
“Good morning,” the man said in a warm, friendly voice, but Dave waved over his shoulder and kept moving. He wanted to make sure he got to the barbershop with enough time to say his goodbyes and still get to his first meeting at the office.
Dave pushed through the door at Inge’s and before Joe could ask “Did you bring me anything?” as was his habit, Dave handed him the bag of shoes, hung up his coat, and climbed into Lydia’s chair.
Two chairs down Inge was trimming the neck of a man who appeared to be sleeping.
“Good morning,” she said in her heavy German accent.
“Good morning Inge. So this is the big week. Are you ready?”
“You know I don’t want to close but I just can’t stand all day like I used to. I’m so sorry to put everyone out on the street.”
“It’s perfectly okay,” Dave said. “You’ve earned a rest, and me and Lydia will work something out.”
“What about me?” Joe asked from the corner where he was polishing Dave’s shoes.
“I’ll find you too,” said Dave.
As Lydia trimmed her way around Dave’s head they talked about their plans for the holiday and then they shared memories of the dozen years that he had come to see her.
“I’m going to miss you but I’ll be praying for God’s blessings on you,” said Lydia, who had been a sweet listener during his monthly visits and especially during the months after Debbie’s passing.
“Now remember,” he said, “I’m going to text you in a month and you let me know where you’re working and I’ll come see you. Doesn’t matter how far away it is.”
“It’s a deal,” she said as he climbed out of the chair.
They hugged and he paid her and added a Christmas tip on top of that, and then he walked to where Joe was reading the newspaper and gave him a ten, which was almost double the cost of a shine. As usual Joe pocketed the bill without offering change, and Dave couldn’t suppress a laugh.
“What?” Joe asked.
“Nothing,” Dave laughed again and winked at Inge and Lydia. “Merry Christmas everyone.”
Back on the sidewalk, Dave walked briskly toward his office and came up behind the man with the shopping cart again. Dave looked at his watch; his first meeting was in ten minutes. He stepped off the curb to get around the cart but a fast-approaching bus forced him back onto the sidewalk. So he tried a quick dash around the cart on the left but the man weaved left too and pushed Dave to the ground, his bag tumbling across the sidewalk.
“I’m so sorry,” the man said, and he reached down to help Dave up. Dave winced as he took the man’s hand, partly because of the pain in his lower back but also because of the grimy, oily feel of the man’s hand.
“I’m so sorry,” the man said again. “Are you hurt?”
Dave brushed the dirt off his knees and elbows. “No, but I’ve got a presentation in ten minutes and I’m not going to make a very good impression.”
“Well then I’m sorry about that too. I need a rearview mirror on my cart.”
The man laughed at his own joke, and Dave noticed for the first time from the graying hair and crinkly eyes that this man might be in his late sixties. What’s more, his warm voice took the edge off Dave’s irritation.
“I shouldn’t have been in such a rush,” Dave said.
“No, a man like you has important places to be I’m sure.”
Dave lowered his head, embarrassed, and that’s when he noticed that the man wasn’t wearing shoes but instead had on a pair of battered sandals. Seeing Dave’s stare, the man wiggled his toes inside of his dirty socks and laughed again. “A little drafty but they get me around.”
Dave remembered that his bag had gone flying. He reached down to pick it up and the bottom split open and out tumbled one of his freshly polished shoes. The cart man picked up the shoe, brushed it off on his sleeve, and handed it to Dave. “Here ya go, good as new.”
As he took the shoe Dave’s face flushed and he knew what he should do: He took the second shoe out of the bag and paired it with the first and handed them to the man. “I think you can use these more than me.”
And then Dave watched as the man sat on the curb, took off the sandals, put on the shoes and laced them up. He stood up and walked in a circle.
“A perfect fit like I’d bought’em myself.” He held out a hand and Dave took it this time without hesitation. “Thank you Mr. . . . uh . . .”
“It’s Dave.”
“Thank you Mr. Dave. And you can call me Carl.”
While Dave was late to his meeting and he got razzed for his mussed up appearance, he knew his load had been lightened as he rode the train home at the end of the day. He no longer had the heavy bag in his hands, but more than that, some of the weight of the past had been lifted from his heart.
A few days later Dave was walking to lunch downtown and turned a corner and came face-to-face with Carl.
“Well there’s my good friend,” Carl said. He stuck out his hand again and Dave was obliged to take it.
“Hey there, Carl, how’ve you been?”
“I’ve been OK. Had a couple of rough days but I’ve learned to roll with it.”
Dave looked down at Carl’s feet? “And the shoes are working out okay?”
“Oh yes, they’re great. I’m going in style now. Hey, while you’re here, want to tell you they’re having a Christmas lunch at the shelter next Tuesday noon and I’d be honored if you’d be my guest.”
Dave hesitated. “I don’t know about that. Isn’t that supposed to be for . . .” He stopped himself from saying more but Carl filled in the blank.
“You mean for down and outers like me? Well, yes, but not strictly so. Just because we don’t have a nice house and car and all of that don’t mean we don’t have joy to share. We’re real people you know. I once had a job and responsibilities same as you. Just had some bad breaks and ended up walking a different path.” He turned and began pushing his cart away.
“Wait a minute,” Dave said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I just . . . I wasn’t sure if there was room at the table. But if you’re saying there is, then, well, sure, I’d be pleased to come.”
A week later Dave stood in the doorway of the dining hall, scanning the faces of the hundreds of people sitting at tables and milling around waiting for the food line to open. Feeling lost, he was thinking about leaving when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Carl looking more washed and tidy than before.
“There you are,” Dave said, but before he could say anything else Carl lead him to a table.
“I want you to meet some of my folk,” and Carl introduced Dave to a half dozen people of varying ages and genders. As he did Dave glanced down and noticed Carl wasn’t wearing his shoes but was back in the worn-out sandals.
Dave took Carl by the arm and pulled him away from the table and out of earshot of the others. “What happened . . . where are the shoes I gave you?”
Carl stroked his whiskery chin a moment. “Well, there’s a story to that and that’s part of why I asked you to come here. You see . . . there’s others.”
“Others?”
“Yes, others who need shoes more than me.” And then Carl waved a man over who Dave noted couldn’t have been more than forty-five, roughly his own age, and who was wearing a suit and, as he noticed, his shoes.
“This is Toby,” Carl said, and then he spoke to Toby: “This is the good man I was telling you about, the one who gave us his shoes.”
“They’re fine shoes, best I’ve had in years,” Toby said. “They’re warm, and solid. Don’t have to worry about my toes in traffic.”
And then Carl turned back to Dave. “You see, Toby was down to his socks so he really needed the shoes more than me. But we got it worked out where we trade’m off depending on if one of us has some business to attend to. And Toby had an interview for a job this morning and the shoes are just what he needed to . . . put his best foot forward.” Carl laughed at his own joke.
Dave shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Carl, I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“That’s alright,” said Carl. “It’s different down here on the streets. We all have to pull together.”
And then the dinner bell rang and everyone became quiet and a man in a clerical collar stood on a folding chair. And the people removed their hats if they hadn’t already and bowed their heads while the preacher blessed the meal and all those who had prepared it and all those who had gathered in fellowship to receive it.
And as Dave listened his mind wandered and he thought about the shoes that Carty had talked him into buying and how they had walked him down a hard road and had been set aside and now were seeing new life with Carl and Toby. And he wondered if there weren’t more shoes lost and forgotten in the backs of closets that might help a man or woman get back out on the good path.
The meal was as wonderful as Carl had described and not just because the food was hot and tasty. Sitting around the table with Carl and his “folk” Dave saw that, just as Carl had said, these were real people with real dreams, joys and sorrows. They shared with him pieces of their stories, including Toby who told how his last employer had gone out of business, leaving him with bills he couldn’t pay. That began his tumble into homelessness, but now with Dave’s shoes and a borrowed suit he had interviewed for an office job and was set to start the Monday after Christmas.
When the meal was over and it was time to leave, Dave pulled Carl aside again and stretched out his right foot so Carl could see the brown rough-out loafers he was wearing. “I want you to have these.”
“You sure? What will you . . .” Carl began, but Dave pointed down at Carl’s toes and said, “If sandals are good enough for you – and good enough for the Christ of Christmas – then they’re good enough for me.”
As the room emptied, Dave and Carl sat side-by-side and traded shoes. They stood and shook hands, and then Carl grinned and Dave gave in to a hug. “See you on the street.”
Dave scuffed and clomped his way to the train and if anybody was staring at him on the ride home, he didn’t notice. His mind was on all the stuff that he had and all that he didn’t need any longer and how there were so many people like Carl and Toby who could benefit from it. And as he catalogued in his mind what he didn’t need he thought about those few hangers of Debbie’s clothes and a box of jewelry that he had kept in the back of another closet – as if she might come back some day and ask for them. He knew better, of course.
And more importantly, Dave knew there was still time to deliver them to the thrift shop where another man who didn’t have much money but had a heart full of love could buy them for his wife to unwrap on Christmas morning.
THE END
Copyright © 2015 by Jeff Hampton