The Slippers
by Diane Payne
With a boyish-grin, Joe handed Lucy the gift. "What's the occasion?" she asked.
"I got a fifteen cent raise at work today," he said, proud of his new carpentry job. "Come on, just open it."
Lucy's five-year-old daughter watched this transaction with an evil eye. Most people brought her a gift, not her mother.
"Ah, slippers," Lucy remarked.
Joe laughed, thrilled with his gift. "Try them on, Lucy. Your floors are so cold, these'll keep you warm."
Lucy gave a stern look to her daughter, silently warning her to remain quiet. She had a closet filled with new, unworn slippers, but Joe didn't need to know this. Joe's slippers were without question the most unique. They looked like gigantic foam thongs.
"One size fits all, so they'll be just right," Joe beamed.
"Good thing they don't say that about pre-cut lumber, Joe." Lucy figured they'd fit better if she used a bungee cord to hold them down, but decided to keep this information to herself.
Foolishly, she paraded over the concrete floor while Joe watched with that ridiculous grin. He was hoping she'd slip those boats off and invite him into her room tonight. It was bound to happen eventually, and these slippers should do the trick. As she modeled, struggling to keep the slippers on, Lucy recognized the similarities between the effort involved in affixing the slippers to her feet and the effort their friendship required. Brooding, she continued parading around the room.
After an entire week passed without a dinner invitation, which Joe blamed on the unusual slippers, he came up with a new plan and brought lumber scraps from the construction site for Lucy to burn. "This'll make good firewood," he announced.
Lucy helped unload his car and thanked him. Backing out of the yard, Joe noticed slippers hanging from the tree branches. Then he saw the dogs chewing on other slippers.
Unable to get those slippers out of his mind, he called Lucy. "Our relationship isn't getting anywhere," he moaned. Lucy said nothing. "I'm thinking about lying on the railroad tracks!" he shouted.
"The ones behind the river?"
"I've already walked over there a few times and I know when the train comes."
"It comes every night. Why don't you just find a new girlfriend?"
"Because I want you. I've prayed about this and God said he wants me to marry you."
"You shouldn't believe everything you hear."
"I paid a lot of money for those slippers!"
"They're not worth killing yourself over."
Winter moved on and it was finally barefoot season. Lucy listened to the trains pass at night. Sometimes they reminded her of a foghorn, and she dreamed about Lake Michigan, temporarily freeing Lucy from the desert and the cacti wearing slippers in the front yard. As far as she knew, Joe's head never made it to the tracks, but still there'd be nights when she'd wonder if the train would slow down, or if Joe would move in a nick of time. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember Joe ever wearing slippers. Maybe that's what upset him the most. Everyone else had slippers. The trees, cacti, even the dogs.
Diane Payne is a writer from Tumacacori, AZ.
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