A Sad, Sad Day

Once upon a time*, I bought a pair of shoes. They were not the flashiest of shoes (though they definitely bright), nor the most expensive (if memory serves I paid $7 for them). They were not the most fashionable shoes, and god know they weren’t the most subtle. But they were my shoes and I loved them.

I wore these shoes near every day - at home (“oh Bec, they’re dorky even for you”), and at work (“We’ve got a sub.” “Which one?” “The one with the crazy shoes”). They were my go-to shoes. Need to run to the shops? I got them. Going to Melbourne to meet your favourite actor? I got ‘em!** Need to go to a wedding? I... got em? Yeah I did... Like I said, I wore then nearly every day. Which meant they went on nearly every one of my 365 photo travels. They were even photographed themselves.

They got dampened in innumerable rivers, meandered through orchards, gleefully skipped through the zoo, and jumped the fence to, uh, soon-to-be-demolished houses. They came with me to buy my first DSLR, on my first trip to a skate park, and my first after-hours school function. They carried me through several trips to Sydney, to learn piano, and see Shakespeare in the Park.

I’ll admit, I became complacent in our relationship. As the shoes moulded to my feet, I flagrantly ignored the splitting of their sides. I refused to see the tearing away of their fabrics. I chose to ignore the feel of pebbled sidewalks under my theoretically not bare feet. When puddles emerged I avoided them – not because it was what my mother taught me, but because I knew it would force me to acknowledge the simple truth that my shoes let in more water than a boat made of swiss cheese.

But then it happened.

I made one step too far. One step too heavy on an already unstable surface. It was a choice poorly made, a choose that could not be undone. I stepped... in the mud.

(photo by an unnecessarily cheerful Bethany)

Was this it? Did this mark the end of my shoe’s longevity? Was this to be their unremarkable fate? To die in service of my photographic roving, sure, but to die like this? Immersed in mud and murky water? Surely they could saved?

But, alas, they could not. Despite a methodical rinse in a car park puddle, followed by a frantic exposure to our front yard hose (knowing full well my mother’s keen eyes would not allow them to cross the threshold), the brightness of their canvas could not be restored.

I knew in my heart they were gone. It was a hard weight to carry, but worse yet was the knowledge that they must one day be replaced. A time would have to come when a new pair of shoes would rise to the station of ‘every day shoes’. It would be they that would accompany me on adventures both big and small, mundane and unique, sunny and hopefully not muddy.

Hoping that a hastening in this inevitable day would lessen the pain of my heart, I stalwartly moved forward to collect these new shoes. And it is this new shoes that I give up for offering to you today.

They are not as noble nor as experienced as their predecessor, but they are youthful and enthusiastic. It is my hope that these traits will prevail in the forthcoming days.