Shoes

Short Story based on prompt "All the little boy wanted was a pair of shoes"

  The cold temperatures of the night gave a surface where the snow could land and appreciate her beauty before she disappeared. The light from the moon was blocked only by the light coming from homes and trees, strung with joy in the hope that this year would be white like postcards. Late night workers locked up and left, not to be back for days. Citizens would have to rely on each other if there was something that they forget to buy ahead of time.

It was in one of these shops, one kept open longer that the rest, where I met the little boy. I was stocking up on cigarettes so I wouldn’t run out before the stores opened again. I was just leaving, lighting one up as I did, when something tugged at my pant leg. I looked down expecting Spencer, my foxhound, who I had left outside. Instead I saw a mop of hair and two big eyes looking up at me. A little boy. Seeing that he had my attention, he started speaking:

“Sir-” he stopped, seeming to consider what he was about to say.

It’s fair to say I was concerned for this child. He was outside a corner store alone in the middle of the night. He didn’t have a coat either, and the lack of shivering got me thinking. How long was he out here for? It didn’t seem cold enough out to have hypothermia, but I was no expert.

“Where do you live?” I asked. “Do you have somewhere you can go?”

        He looked at me blankly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. That’s when I realized that he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Barefoot, he agreed to follow me home. I took Spencer, and we started our journey. I tried to understand more about him, asking questions the whole way. He answered most with non-committal answers, instead talking enthusiastically about how Spencer reminded him of a book he read when he was younger.

“He wasn’t really the bad guy, you see,” the little boy assured me many times, “he just wasn’t strong enough to go against his instincts. Being weak does not make him bad.”  

        I was confused, but agreed with him when he asked me “do you think he was the bad guy?” The little boy did not explain the plot of this book, instead focusing on what he thought of the characters, which made it difficult for me to follow as I did not recognize them. About halfway there a raccoon ran across the street in front of us.

“What is that?” He asked me.

I told him.

“Well isn’t that strange.”

        He didn’t clarify what about the animal was strange and wouldn’t tell me when I asked. Instead he looked up at the stars and stayed silent for the first time since he had begun speaking.

        When we turned into my driveway, he looked at me and asked me if this is where I lived. I said him that yes; I had lived here for three years.

“Three years?” He said. “Is that a long time?”

        I thought about it for a second while unlocking and entering my home. As I took off my shoes and coat the little boy watched me, awaiting an answer.

“I suppose,” I supposed, “that it depends. For someone who has spent more than three years in other places, it would not be a long time. However, for someone who has never spent three years in one place it would be a long time.”

“And for someone who has never spent time anywhere?”

“Then it would feel like an eternity, three years.”

        He seemed satisfied with my answer and welcomed himself into the house. He sat at the kitchen table, observing his surroundings as I made myself a cup of coffee.

“And for you; is three years a long time?”

        I replied that it was the first time since my childhood that I had spent this long in one place.

“You traveled?”

“Not in as many words.”

        I explained that I had a job that could move me wherever they wanted, but now I had a new job that didn’t do that. When he asked if I was happier staying in one place, I didn’t know how to respond. He seemed to accept my silence as answer enough. The little boy then hopped off the chair and continued exploring my house.

“I travel,” he said. I asked if that was how he ended up here, but was ignored. “I have traveled very far. I am looking for something.” He paused. “I suppose three years is eternity for me.”

        I asked him what he was looking for, and if he would find it here. He seemed surprised at the possibility, and rushed to my front closet. I wondered what he could possibly be looking for in my closet that he has not found elsewhere. He started throwing thing out of it in his search and disappeared into its depths. When he finally came out it was with a look of forlornness on his face and a scarf tangled around his legs. I wanted him to tell me everything, but that look reminded me that he was just a child. A strange child, yes, but still a child.

“I had hoped-” the little boy started- “well, I don’t know.”

“You are looking for something.”

“Yes. But I am not sure that I want to find it.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know a lot about the stars?”

        The sudden change in subject threw me off, but I humbly explained that I thought I knew about as much as the average man. At his request, I started telling him everything I knew about stars. I explained that they were gigantic balls of fiery gas that were spread all across space. I explained what I knew about space as well, limited as it was.

“The stars are not big, they are very small.” He said when I had finished.

“That’s only because they are very far away, if they were closer they would be huge.”

“Like how home seems so small when you are far away?”

“A bit like that, I guess.”

        The little boy looked as though he had had a revelation. He told me that he is very far away from home. He said that it seemed so small, his home. I said that maybe when he went back it would look huge, like the stars. 

In another sudden change, he asked me to tell him everything I knew about flowers. Once I had done just that, there was a long pause until he started speaking.

“I don’t know a lot,” he confessed, “but I know some things. Like how flowers don’t wear clothes.”

“Neither do animals.” I pointed out to him.

“Do they not?” He looked surprised, as if he had never considered the possibility.

“Some animals have fur or feathers, but others don’t. Like elephants, for example.”

“Tell me what you know about elephants.”

        And so I did. Then I went on to explain basic geography, then weather, then how to make pancakes. As we were eating said pancakes, he said that Spencer- who was sitting by the kitchen table, hoping to get some of our meal- reminded him of a book he had back home. I told him that he had already spoken about the book. He assured me that it was a different book, and then began talking about it. Again, I was lost. But it was nice to hear the little boy so enthusiastic about something. Once we were finished, we went outside so I could smoke.

“I’m looking for something.” He said again.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if I want to find it.”

“Why?”

        For once he answered my question.

“If I find it, I will have to go home. Home seems so small from here.”

“But you will have found what you are looking for. Is a life with whatever it is better?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are you looking for it?”

“I was told too, by someone back home. They said that I had to have it in order to have a good life.”

“Do you believe them?”

“I believe that to have their definition of a good life, they are true.”

“And what kind of life is that?”

“Do you like being an adult, sir?”

        The question stumped me. I had an enjoyable life; I was doing what I liked doing and making enough money to live comfortably. But I didn’t think that was what he meant. After all, he was just a little boy. When I was a little boy, I hadn’t wanted to be an adult. They seemed boring, never playing, never searching for new and exciting things. As an adult, I saw that I was wrong. Getting older may not be a choice, but becoming boring is one. I told the little boy this. Adults can play, search for new things just like little boys can. He contemplated the new information.

“So even when I’m older I can go looking for things?”

        I answered that yes he could. The sun was starting to rise over the other houses. Families gathering to open gifts, snow falling once again. The little boy should be with his family, not sitting next to a lonely, smoking man.

“You should be getting home, kid.” I said.

“I suppose you’re right.” He didn’t move. “If I find what I’m looking for-” he cut himself off. “How can I search for something I’ve already found?”

“You’ll have to find something else to search for.”

“I can do that?”

        This seemed to open a whole new line of possibilities for the little boy. We went inside, missing the end of the sunrise. I washed the last of the dishes while he pondered at the table. At last he turned to me, looking determined.

“Do you have a pair of shoes I can have?”

        That’s all he was looking for. All that the little boy wanted was a pair of shoes. I gave him a pair that I had kept from my childhood for no reason other than sentiment. He put them on, thanked me, and left.

        It took me all the way until spring to understand the little boy. I saw another, littler, boy running around barefoot, his mother chasing after him. The little boy’s shoes, I realized then, were a sign that he was growing up. That he would have to act mature and be an adult someday. It’s a terrifying thought for a little boy; being unable to play and search for new things. Some days I watch the sunrise and think of him. I hope that he is still out searching for something. Searching for the knowledge he loves so much. I hope that he still asks questions out of the blue, that he is still reminded of books he has read whenever he sees a dog, that he still spends time barefoot in abandoned parking lots on Christmas Eve, that he is still found by lonely men with big hearts and dogs, that he lights up someone’s life for just a moment. That’s all it takes. I miss that little boy so very, very much. I hope he is happy.