A pair of worn-out
shoes was on a stool. Some keys, a few oil paint tubes, and a bible accompanied
them and somehow made the scene have a bit of hope. To me they were a highly
unusual set of models for painting a still life. But the would-be artist had
chosen well, at least for this watercolor class. I was impressed by the realism
of his painting and wanted to be able to paint like him very soon; for some
reason I wanted to believe I could accomplish that objective within a few
months. It was my first day in the watercolor class offered at the art school
of Trujillo and was very excited and extremely enthusiastic to learn several
techniques.
Those memories came
flooding back while I was watching my brown shoes on the floor of my bedroom,
which caused a ray of melancholy to cross and stab my chest, recalling that
almost the time I have had them is the time I have been jobless. But a few
seconds later I realized that not all has been bad news since I got them,
though the main characteristic of all this time has been precisely the fact
that a three-month hiatus has extended for more than I first imagined.
It was in 2012–I
don’t remember the exact month–when I bought them. I had been working for a
laboratory and on one of my days off I decided I needed new shoes. After
searching and visiting several stores I eventually resolved I would by them at
the same store I had purchased my last pair of shoes some years earlier. After
all, those shoes were very good and had lasted for years, so the fact that I
had no complaints about them favoured the store. I was
looking for some walking boots–my original intention was to buy a top-brand
pair but because of them being so expensive to me I made up my mind to buy some
locally-made boots–and when I saw this brown leather pair I knew I had to have
them.
When I tried them on
I discovered they were comfortable and I thought they really suited me. They
were casual and the sales clerk assured me that I would be able to walk on any
ground with them since the sole was made of rubber and so I would never slip if
the ground were muddy or the sidewalk were wet, feature of the shoes that made
them more appealing to me.
The next day or a
few days later I went back to the store to buy other shoes. Not that I wasn't
pleased with the pair I had recently acquired, but I did want another pair. I
ended up buying a grey pair of walking boots, but with the uppers
being of a material softer than leather, resembling that of sports shoes.
However, I have not had as many experiences with these shoes as with the first
pair. As a matter of fact, I have used the brown ones much more times than the
others.
I have loved my
brown shoes since I bought them. It is understandable, then, that I was raging
inside when, having gone to the main university in my city to buy a book just
after three or four days since I had purchased my boots, I tripped up on the kerb of the
sidewalk at the entrance to it. Even though I didn't fall, three small
scratches were left on the toe of my right shoe. Despite some people told me
they were minor marks, I swore they looked nasty and thought my shoe was not
going to be the same afterwards. Could this dreadful event signify that
something wrong was going to happen if I wore those shoes from then on?
Nonsense! Had it presaged the upcoming jobless period of time? Maybe.
I couldn't believe
it, definitely not. I had that feeling every time I visualized my shoe having
scratches, while I was turning the leaves of a book trying to brush the
disturbing thought aside. Eventually, I didn't buy any book and on my way home
I strove to protect not only my right shoe but the other one too lest it might
suffer the same or a worse fate. When I got home I strode towards my room and
sat down on my bed. I desperately wished I had not stumbled on that curb and,
staring at both of my brown shoes intently, was consumed with intense grief at
the thought of not putting them on anymore.
The next day I was
showing off my grey pair of walking boots. They felt more comfortable, although
not being as elegant as the brown pair. The next days I used them almost
exclusively, changing to my old shoes when necessary. Until one day.
I had returned to
the institute where I used to study English, was far a lot content because my
teacher was a native speaker and I would practice writing and speaking once
again. Obviously, there was a need for me to attend classes appropriately
dressed. Fortunately, I had worked for some months and had bought some clothes,
which allowed me to be well-groomed. Of course, one's clothing wouldn't be
complete without a nice pair of shoes. Luckily, I had two new ones.
Wait a minute! My
right brown walking boot had scratches on it! Even worse, the marks were
noticeable because they were on the toe. Still, they were new and I truly
needed them. So, there was I, showing up in my classroom wearing my brown
shoes, feeling my feet very comfortable, forgetting the horrible marks were
there, just relishing the sensation of safety and stylishness.
To my surprise,
sooner than later I was finally being able to put up with the scratches on my
shoe. Even nobody in my class ever mentioned a word about it. It was good. Now
I could use them besides the grey pair.
Soon my pair of
brown shoes became a particular favourite of mine. I've used these shoes on
many occasions, from just walking downtown and attending English classes to
visiting the ancient pagan temple Huaca de La Luna, and from going to
the beach and traveling to Lima to attending a few Protestant religious
services and going to Mass many times.
It was before I went
to visit a colleague this year when I decided to buy a tin of shoe polish.
However, the tone of brown didn't match my shoes': it was darker and reddish.
Even though I liked the shining surface of my boots, it was gained to the
detriment of its original lighter tone of brown. Nonetheless, I had finally
covered the scratches on the toe of my right shoe. “I will find the correct
tone,” I said to myself, hoping it to happen very soon. At least, the main
purpose of applying polish to my shoes had been achieved since both toes were
the areas mostly covered with it. When I took a look at the shoe, I saw no sign
of the scratches. I felt quite satisfied with the result, and if it weren't for
the tone of the polish, I would say they looked terrific.
I've been called for
a job interview four times since December 2012. I attended the first three of
them wearing a dark-blue suit and a pair of black leather lace-up shoes, which
is appropriate for such an important occasion. Two of such interviews were
carried out in Lima and, as I mentioned before, I travelled to that city
wearing my brown shoes. Even though I didn't slip on these boots for any of the
job interviews, in a way the fact that they were on a floor somewhere in the
same city made their significant presence seem pervasive, which I noticed at
once while sitting in front of the interviewer, sensing them still wrapping my
feet.
These events were
but an inevitable prelude to two objects reclaiming unlimited sovereignty over
the decision on when to be used. How could such inanimate things dare to
challenge the hierarchy of entities in nature? What's more appalling is that
they were manufactured by men, they are artificial! Ergo they should never
count.
I had been slouching
in one of the armchairs in my house for an hour, taking a nap, when my cell phone rang. I
awakened completely to the voice of a young woman requesting a job interview.
Another chance of getting a job! I didn't matter they offered to pay less than
what I would accept: I needed a job above all. I had to travel to a town near
Trujillo where sugar cane is cultivated and sugar is obtained from it. It was
likely that I would be required to step into the plant in order to see the
machinery and gain an overall impression of the sugar production process. Under
these conditions, lace-ups were the least recommended option (because of safety
precautions). Therefore, I couldn't attend the interview being in a suit.
On Monday, two weeks
ago, I was polishing my brown walking boots as dawn broke, wondering if any of
the other interviewees would also be wearing casual shoes, and if my using them
may lose me the chance of getting the job. That anxious thought made me
seriously consider the possibility of wearing my blue suit, but shortly
afterwards I was standing, hands on hips, in front of my fitted wardrobe
looking at the clothes hanging from the rail. I ended up picking a smart
blue-and-white striped shirt and a pair of dark-blue jeans. To my relief, once
in the caller's office, I realized there were other people in casual clothes
too, although their shoes were not as casual as mine. I was surprised when my
prospective chief was summoned to conduct the interview right there. There was
no need for me to be guided around the plant. In the end I should have been
wearing my lace-up shoes.
I don't know if the
post has been taken yet, but from the number of interviewees they have to
assess, I surmise that they plan to come to a decision by October. Anyway,
regardless of whether or not I am offered the job, eventually my brown shoes
established their presence at the final stage of a job application process, as
though they were attempting to connect the two limits of a long and hard road,
one that began when I hadn't got a job anymore, a road that extends far away as
time passes by, branching off to another city as I look around for the job that
eludes me, a road that appears not to have reached its end yet despite the
special effort my brown shoes made to hasten its arrival.
I know for certain I
will keep these shoes for a long time. They will continue being my constant and
faithful companions every time I embark on a new adventure, protecting my feet
from stones and pieces of broken glass while I roam the streets of the cities
and bumpy tracks where life might lead me to; they will be by my side as I
struggle to find the end of the winding road that began two years ago, and will
be there when at last I step into a new road, no matter if I am wearing them or
they are resting on the floor of my room. But what is most important, they will
never be just another pair of brown leather shoes.
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