A Mile - Give or Take - Down the Road

What’s on my mind? A shoe. And then another shoe, a mile - give or take - down the road. Sneakers, to be precise. Sneakers sneaking around in plain sight, on the road.

“Why?” I wondered. 

There’s no telling. My first guess was that these shoes belonged to some reckless teenager who threw them onto the road as he raced around by car or on foot. 

A dare, perhaps? Why throw away one shoe at a time when perfectly good utility wires span the road? Tie them together and throw them up and over the power lines or telephone wires until they catch and hang there? Isn’t that the usual way young people abandon their sneakers? 

Ha-ha, very funny. Ha-ha. Not funny at all. And not a casual gesture, as it turns out.

I recently read that looped shoes on a wire can signal a drug dealer’s nearby, or that a gang hit took place in the area. And here I thought these were just shoes, dangling in the sun and the rain and the wind until someone, sometime, climbs into a bucket lift to take them down. Who knew? 

Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar, as Freud so famously said. Shoes looped over a wire mean the expected - that some idiot did this to another idiot drunker than the first.  

The laces of these shoes weren’t tied and looped. They were just shoes, left in different places along the road. There was nothing fancy about these shoes - no recognizable swoop or color pairing or elevated sole to signify some upscale brand. If I were going to abandon a pair of sneakers, or fling them over a wire, that’s the kind I’d throw. The nondescript kind. 

I wouldn’t be tossing any leather sneakers with custom insoles, no-siree! First, they’d be too expensive to replace. Second (especially if I suddenly took to wearing stilettos, and wore a guilty smirk), everyone would know I’d done it. Third, I don’t know any drug dealers, unless you count “Mmff-mmff” in the neighboring village who bakes and sells dope-laced brownies “for medical purposes.” I’m sure “Mmff-mmff” isn’t about to fling her shoes over the power lines to broadcast each fresh batch. 

But these particular shoes … These! Shoes thrown on a road. Not fancy shoes. Just everyday sneakers. A signal, perhaps? (“Da guy’s stashed in da freezer. Make it snappy, Guido.”) A kidnapping? A heist? A worn-out pair? A pair that didn’t fit? A way to make a statement? 

Wartime drawings once said “Kilroy was here.” With nothing that dramatic happening in these parts, flung shoes say “I was here.” (Everyone’s on to you, Guido!) 

But these shoes were separated - not flung. A shoe. And then another shoe, a mile - give or take - down the road.

© Nicole Parton, 2019