Shoes
llen Heston managed to open one eye, determine that the sun hadn't
made its daily visit over the window sill, listened to the silence,
realized the grandchildren hadn't wakened, and decided that he still had
at least twenty minutes more snooze time. Wrong! The pleasantly
pungent odors and titillating sounds of freshly perking coffee and
sizzling bacon gently nudged his senses into wakefulness. Another
assailant, eggs frying, joined the fray. Snooze lost the battle to the
assault on his senses and he threw back the comforter that was his
guardian from the chill morning air.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slid his feet into the warm, fur-lined slippers that waited on the floor, then donned the terrycloth robe that lay on the foot of the bed. He scuffed into the bathroom to perform his morning ablutions, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair. He decided to dress after breakfast. Allen made his way down the stairs from the bedroom floor and entered the kitchen where his wife of forty years was putting the breakfast on the table.
"Happy thanksgiving Jo," he said as he pecked her on the cheek.
She smiled her acknowledgment of the greeting. "Hungry?"
"Famished," he said as he sat at the table. "Aren't the kids up yet?"
"They'll be down soon, and starved if I know them. This morning air always makes them eat like bears." Allen nodded and said nothing as he wolfed down the delights Jo had placed before him.
"You think John may come this year?"
Jo turned her head away and stared through the kitchen window to the yard beyond. "It's possible," she whispered. He heard her pain in the answer.
Later, back in the bedroom, Allen showered, then dressed in his fine new grey slacks and freshly laundered sport shirt of pale blue. As he rummaged through his dresser drawers for socks, the two grandchildren staying for the holiday scrambled into the room, leaped onto the bed and began bouncing. They prattled on about the day's festivities, the upcoming feast, and things to be thankful for in the year so close to its end. As they yammered, Allen stepped into his closet and reached for a shoebox. He pulled it from the shelf, a frown on his face. He sat on the edge of the bed, a strange look in his eyes.
"What is it grandpa?" the younger of the children asked.
Allen wagged his head as if to say �nothing' but his hands began to shake ever so slightly. He pulled the lid from the shoebox and stared at the contents in silence, almost with reverence. After a few minutes, Allen shook his head to dispel the thoughts circling in his mind, then gingerly lifted a pair of shoes from the box. He handled each of them gently for a moment, then slid them onto his feet. The children watched the performance as it unfolded, then they, too, studied the shoes.
They were obviously very old, worn, and terribly scuffed, some of the scars almost through the leather to the inner lining. There was little color left but a careful examination would have revealed remnants of a light brown hue. The bottom was a paper thin layer of sole, so thin, in fact, a wearer could stand on a coin and tell if it were heads or tails. The heels, once bright, shiney leather were worn almost to the same thickness as were the soles. There were no laces.
"You're not going to wear those, are you?" his granddaughter asked, her nose wrinkled with distaste. "They're yuk!" Allen just smiled and took their hands, leading them out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
Macy's Thanksgiving day parade, a T.V. event as revered and enjoyed as the annual showing of the Wizard of OZ motion picture, was drawing to its inevitable conclusion. Santa Claus on his sleigh drawn by eight mechanical reindeer had rounded a corner seen on the television and was beginning its approach to the reviewing stand.
"They're here, they're here," the little boy shouted.
Allen peered through the picture window, strategically placed so one could look down the driveway to the tree-lined street. A caravan of cars had turned in and was making its way up the drive to the house. Jo came into the living room and stood by Allen. Her hand slipped into his. He squeezed it.
"No John," he whispered very softly. "Not yet, anyway."
Jo looked up into his face, smiled, nodded, then pulled him toward the front door. Everyone greeted everyone with handshakes, hugs, kisses and shouts of the joy of the holiday. Gifts were exchanged, Children, mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, cousins, all were speaking at the same time. Tears of happiness were shed.
"Quickly, everyone, inside so I can shut out the cold," Jo shouted above the happy din. "Everyone into the living room. Toss your coats on the couch in the den. I'll have tea and spiced punch shortly." Allen had started a fire in the fireplace and the warm glow thrown into the room swiftly took the chill from the guests. Outside, a light sprinkling of powdery snow began to drift and swirl, covering a "Fall" barren ground with a blanket of white.
While the family members took off their heavy winter clothing, they filled each other in on what happened to them since the last time they spoke. Laughter and excitement buzzed round the house like �bees round the honey pot'. Happy feelings were everywhere. They all stood or sat in the living room, watching the snow spiral along the ground, painting its white on white sculptures, while sipping hot tea or cider with cinnamon sticks for stirrers.
"Heard from John?" Allen's cousin asked.
Allen shook his head, sadness flashing across his face. "Not for a while now." Jo stood by Allen, her hand on his shoulder, the light pressure reassuring. The pair squinted as they looked down the driveway to the now snow covered tree-lined street. "One of these days his light blue Ford Escort is going to turn in that drive out there." He snorted, shuddered slightly.
"He'll be home some day," Jo added. "It was something he had to do - to get out of his system."
"How can you be so understanding?" Allen's cousin pressed the issue. "Me, I'd have put him out of my head by now. Ungrateful I say. And after all you did for him"
Allen sat, a wistful smile on his face, stretched out and crossed his legs, a move that suddenly brought attention to the shoes that he wore.
"Good heavens, Al," another cousin groaned. "Wherever did you get those shoes? The Salvation Army?" Every eye turned to the offending footwear. Allen glanced around at his family, then at the shoes.
"These? They were a gift from one of the best friends I ever had."
"Oh? Do we know him?" the cousin asked.
"No. Truth be told, I barely knew him myself. Nevertheless, if it weren't for him I probably wouldn't have all that I cherish today." He glanced at the faces around him. "My home, my family, everything."
"Tell us the story," the grandchildren squealed.
"Yes Al, do tell," his cousin said.
Allen smiled, more to himself than to those around him. Memories flooded back.
"I was about fifteen at the time, a rather old fifteen I might add. It was the time of the great depression and things were mighty hard for us at home what with dad working day and night and, even with that, barely able to make ends meet. Mom wasn't doing too well healthwise and since she was trying to hold down a job, there wasn't much time for me. I was working twelve hours a day, six days a week for eighteen bucks and I turned over everything to mom and dad. Trouble was I probably ate more than that each week. Began to feel like a burden.
"I told dad I was off to make my fortune and wouldn't come home till I was a success; that I wasn't going to become one of those �hanger's on" living on the edge of society. No sir, not me, not Allen Heston. I wouldn't be a drifter who scrounged around taking any job that came along. There was adventure and fortunes to be made out there and I intended to see it all; get my share. Then I vowed not to return till I had done what I had promised, so I left. Everything I had went with me, which wasn't much. But that was in the middle of summer.
"Well, there I was, a year and a half later, literally riding the rails, one of thousands of young and old derelicts in rickety boxcars criss crossing the country. The train I was on was rumbling through the Rocky Mountains in Colorado, and my clothing, all I had left was on my body, shabby and woefully inadequate. I was so weary I didn't even have the strength to shiver. I was four cents short to a nickel and hadn't the faintest idea where I would get, or when I would eat my next meal. I wasn't alone on that car though. It was full of men with empty eyes and broken dreams, all lulled into a stupor by the intense cold and the monotonous serenade of the rails.
"I pulled my threadbare jacket tight around my body and tried to sleep, but the cold evening air held other plans for me. At that moment, if I had one spare drop of fluid in my body, I believe I would have cried. One of the occupants of the car came over and sat down beside me."
"In the next town there's a guy who leaves his barn unlocked so guys like us can sneak in and get a night's rest. I'm headed there. You can follow along if you like."
"Thanks, I said, then leaned back and watched as the stars floated by. Guess I fell to sleep cause the next thing I know this guy's shaking me awake."
"Time to go," he told me.
"When the train slowed for a curve we jumped clear. It had just snowed and when I landed in a snowbank, I realized how thin my shoes had become. My feet were all but frozen before we cleared the train, but the real hell began after the jump. Snow found its way inside my shoes through several openings and within minutes my socks were soaked. The pain in my feet was unrelenting and by the time we reached the barn I could barely walk. My benefactor found himself a spot in the loft and left me alone on the bare ground floor.
"I found an unoccupied stall, heaped a bunch of hay into a corner and tried to make myself comfortable. The attempt failed. I tried massaging my feet to get the circulation restarted and ease the pain, but that didn't work either. I resolved to sleep in spite of the circumstances, then noticed there was a shadow over me."
"�Trouble in paradise?' a young, gentle voice asked. I peered into the gloom and there he stood. The only thing I could really tell the first time my eyes beheld him was that he was very tall; and thin.
"�Can't sleep,' I told him. �Feet hurt. Snow and cold probably froze them.' The last thing on earth I wanted to do was get into a conversation with anyone. Besides, I'd been riding the rails far too long and seen what man could do to his fellow man. I trusted no one. There were jobs promised that never materialized, paychecks that mysteriously disappeared after the few jobs available were finished, and all the while there was never enough food to eat. Everyone was usually hungry. It all tended to erode one's emotions.
"The Hobo's, a name given to rail-riders and drifters, often fought over a shirt, a scrap of food, or a few pennies, winner take all. Sharing was unheard of. If fighting couldn't solve the question of ownership, theft often substituted. Sometimes death settled a quarrel, a situation that wasn't as rare as one might imagine. Many drifters died from lack of warm clothing or malnutrition, and their remains were scavenged of everything utile, then left, nude and devoid of dignity.
"What went on between members of the legion of the damned was nothing like the treatment given to us by those who were more fortunate. The "Tramps", as we were referred to, became the targets of horrible abuses. Personally, I was the recipient of many a beating, one of which almost cost me my life. Only the intercession of some local police saved me from being a statistic. Two weeks in the charity ward of the local hospital and my youth combined to give me back enough of my health to get me on my way, as they put it, out of their town.
"�Names Rob,' the shadow over me said and offered his hand.
"�Allen,' I said. I was hesitant about taking his hand but finally I did. �From Philadelphia,' I added.
"�Missouri,' he told me. �Had a little farm there with my folks. They've worked it for as long as I can recollect, but I took off to find a better way. Got too restless, I guess.' He was quiet for a bit, then he went on. �Life seemed too pat back then. I couldn't see myself working the land from dawn to dusk, getting married to some local sweetheart, raising a passel of kids, then dying too young and being laid into the ground I tilled so's to feed the local worms.'"
"On and on he droned till I fell into a very deep, restful sleep. It was the first really good rest I got in months and for that reason alone I would have called him friend. Came morning, Rob and I hopped another freight. It was headed toward the central states and we understood from some of the other hobo's it would be passing through Missouri. Late that afternoon the train left the mountains and was leisurely rolling through Nebraska. It was even colder than in the mountains and the pain in my feet was getting worse. I began stamping in an attempt to restart the circulation.
"�Hurting real bad?' Rob's gentle voice startled me from my trance like preoccupation with the task."
"�Like nothing I ever felt before. I can't seem to do anything to stop the pain,' I told him. �Wish I could talk to my dad about it. Bet he'd tell me what to do.'"
"�Why don't you?' Rob asked me."
"�Why don't I what?'"
"�Ask him?'"
"I looked into his weathered, innocent face. �Can't. After all I told him before I left, how could I go home to him like this, a failure with frozen feet? Hell, I haven't even got a decent pair of shoes to go home in.'"
"We rode on through the day, each of us caught up in our own thoughts, neither speaking but both acutely aware of the other's presence. Along toward evening, as I was drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, I heard an alien thump and felt a light pressure on my hip. I opened my eyes and glanced down at the point of pressure. There was one of Rob's shoes resting against it.
"�Try it on,' he told me."
"I shook my head no. �I can't,' I said. �How can I take the shoes from your feet and leave yours to freeze like mine?'"
"He waved me to silence. �Listen to me, Al,' he said. �I've come to a decision I never figured I'd find myself making. Sometime tomorrow this old train is going to pass into Missouri. It's scheduled to make a stopover in Springfield. That's only about thirty miles from home for me. I intend to hop off this rolling prison and get my old life back. Going to call my folks and have them drive up and get me.' There was a light in his eyes the likes of which I hadn't seen since the pride in dad's eyes at my tenth birthday party."
"�I'm going home!' he said. "See, near as I can figure, them things I told you about, like marrying a local sweetheart and raising a passel of kids and crops, well, after what I seen on the road, they don't seem half bad no more.'"
"Rob was getting all warmed up just from the fire of his excitement. �Tell you what,' he said to me. "You wear them till I'm ready to take them back. When I jump the train is when. Meantime, I'll wear yours. Let's face it, buddy boy, my feet are in much better shape than yours right now. I figure I can take the cold for a few hours.'"
"I just nodded and pulled the first one on. It fit like a glove. Shortly after I pulled the mate on I began to feel a tingle as warmth started to spread throughout my feet."
"�You know, Al,' I heard Rob say as my eyes began to close, �Maybe it's time for you to re-think your attitude about home, too. I got it figured all's our folks want is for us to be home again. Just our presence is all, and nothing more said about the past.' I don't remember any more after that. The drone of his bass voice and warm feet were all I needed to fall into another deep slumber."
"When I woke in the morning he was gone. Another Hobo rested in his place."
"�Where's the guy was there last night?' I demanded, my voice near hysteria."
"�Gone,' the Hobo told me. �He jumped off in Springfield where I got on. Said for me I should say to you, keep the shoes for your trip home. Said every once in a while you should slip them on and think of him.' Suddenly I found those extra drops of water in my body. I think I cried all the way to Chicago. I jumped the train and caught another freighter to Philly."
"A few days later I was standing in front of our apartment door. I found my courage and knocked rather gently. The door opened and there, framed in the light from inside was mom. All at once her face was wet and she gathered me into her arms. I never realized how warm and comfortable it was there until that moment. Then I opened my eyes and there was dad standing behind her, his face all kind of scrinched up like he was fixing to bawl.
"I don't know what I was expecting to hear him say. Maybe something like I told you so or some such else. All he did was throw his arms around me in a full of love bear hug, mutter �thank you, God,' then say in my ear, �welcome home son. We've missed you.'"
Allen Heston was finished with his story. A long silence followed as if no one could find anything to say. Everyone in the room looked at each other, then at Allen.
"Whatever happened to Rob?" his granddaughter asked.
Allen Heston swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat. He shook his head. "I don't know, darling. I never even asked his last name."
"Well I like him all the same," she decided, as children will.
"I think I understand now why you treated John's leaving as you have," Allen's cousin said.
Allen nodded. "He wanted to find something. I don't know what, maybe just himself. Could I do any less for John than my dad did for me? All I said to him was that wherever he went, whatever he did, as long as it was done with honor and dignity, I would back his choices one hundred percent. I also told him that this is his home and when the time came that he needed to return, the door would always be open."
Allen's Grandson reached over to touch the shoes that were the subject of such a wonderful story.
"They are so old and beat up, grandpa," he said. Allen nodded. "That's right son. These aren't the best shoes I own, just the best pair I ever wore. They brought me home." He looked pensive for a moment. "No," he said, "more than that. This pair of shoes made me realize that often, when you are at what seems your lowest point and you've absolutely no hope left, along will come someone or something to uplift you and renew your faith. When a man who has so very little gives the last of his possessions to someone less fortunate, he has given the ultimate gift."
Josephine, who was sitting on the arm of the chair Allen occupied, stood suddenly, gasped, and put her hands to her mouth. Allen, alarmed by her move, jumped to his feet. "What?" he said, alarm in his voice. Jo didn't speak, but pointed to the picture window and the street. A light blue Ford Escort was turning in.
"John?" she managed. Everyone turned, saw the Escort and began heading toward the front door, but the car halted, backed into the street facing the opposite direction and drove off. Disappointment filled the room. Everyone sat. Allen gave Jo's hand a squeeze that said �maybe next time, but till then we have each other.'
Allen smiled at his family and opened his mouth to speak. The doorbell rang, so he went to the door and opened it. In the doorway stood a young man in his mid twenties, bundled up, snow caked on his hat and the shoulders of his coat.
"I'd have been here sooner, but my car broke down and I had to walk the last two miles." Allen and the young man looked at each other for what seemed an eternity, then, tears streaming down his face, he clutched the young man to him.
"Welcome home, John," he managed before the lump in his throat choked off all further speech. Jo materialized and the three just stood in each other's embrace for a time, the other family members milling about them, chattering.
When he tore himself from his son's arms he turned to the family.
"Hey," he shouted, "today is Thanksgiving, a time for counting blessings. I've just counted mine. Who's next?"
