I'd Walk a Mile in Her Outdated Shoes

I was out on an extra long walk this morning when, just as Stephen King promised, an idea came from the sky. The maize and blue helicopter that whizzed by was a quick, stinging reminder that the few pounds I gained on vacation was small potatoes compared to a helicopter ride to U of M Hospital. I was selfishly thankful that I was not in that family’s shoes.

I just spent a long weekend in Saugatuck with three friends. We go every August and stay at the Ship-N-Shore motel/boatel. It’s a motel with boat slips. We rent a tiny room, sit dockside and watch the yachts come and go- mostly from Chicago. We like to make up stories about the people who get off the yachts. One older man with a British accent disembarked with 4 preadolescent kids and a young tiny blonde in a tiny bikini. In unison we whispered, “must be the nanny.”  Then one of the kids yelled, “mom!”…..   “Damn it! not one stretch mark.” I’d love to be in her shoes, minus the 4 preadolescent kids.

Another yacht parked for the weekend. After chatting with the couple we learned that they were the co-captains of the boat. The owner didn’t want to waste time cruising across Lake Michigan so he sent the captains ahead.  He was flying in later on his jet.  I was thinking that if Mr. Big Shot wanted a yacht but didn’t want to ride in the yacht, he was missing the boat, in more ways than one.  

The four of us sit by the pool, drink rum punch, laugh, swim, read, nap & repeat all four days in a row.  It’s delightful.  We get as far as we possibly can from our daily stresses and worries.  On  going-home day, we stopped in a small south western college town. School was starting soon so the sidewalks were filled with moms and kids, stocking up on Keen boots and Columbia jackets. What happened to the poor college student? In my day kids got by on Ramen noodles and peanut butter. But then again, I got out of college without six figures in student loan debt.

Two of us were shopped out before the others so we sat at a patio table outside Kilwin’s Ice Cream Parlor and had lemonade. Walking amongst the lily white moms and daughters was an old, thin black woman. It reminded me of Ruby Bridges, without the escort of the United States Marshals, because it was clear that no one wanted her there, nor was she a cute six year old in a crisp white dress. She was wearing a lavender wool cap that was dirty and pilled up. Her acid washed jeans must have been at least 25 years old and hung on her bony frame. She wore a thread barren green and white checked flannel shirt. As she got nearer my anxiety rose. I figured she would ask for money. What would I do?! She leaned closely into my friend and said in a raspy voice, “Just to let you know, those shoes have been out of date for some time now.”

The woman continued walking down 9^th Avenue, spat on the sidewalk and started yelling indecipherably. I worked with mentally ill clients years ago. I should have kept a journal, because they come up with some funny shit.  Once she was long gone, we laughed out loud.  Who knew the fashion police would show up that day, disguised as a homeless woman. Many times last weekend all four of us laughed ‘til we cried. It was just what the doctor ordered.  You see, my friend is currently being treated for ovarian cancer. We are trying like hell to have as many normal days as possible. Laughing is a necessary, temporary distraction. If there were any way to magically give her a break from her worries and pain, any one of us would gladly walk a mile in her shoes.