Sarah was the one who found The Shoe. We all called it, "The Shoe." No other adjective was necessary. Everybody knew what The Shoe referred to.
That was two months ago. Now, most of us are ready. At least, we think we are.
My problem had been windows. Especially the picture window. How would I barricade that? I started with plywood, 3/4 inch thick. I brought a pickup load. Not in our town. There was no plywood left in our town. Not a scrap. Not since The Shoe was found.
We had agreed to keep The Shoe a secret. If word got out, panic would spread. People would hoard supplies. Gangs might form to steal essentials. No, it was best to keep The Shoe to ourselves. Just our little town.
Sarah, who had found The Shoe, didn't hang around. She said she didn't care. She was terrified. Many followed her. I can understand that. It terrified all of us.
You didn't need to see The Shoe. All you needed to see was the look of horror in Sarah's eyes.
Everybody in the neighborhood had seen that look. Nobody was taking chances. So our hardware store was cleaned out and I had had to drive 50 miles to get my plywood.
Because of the size of the window, I had to put up cross beams to hold the plywood. And to be safe, a layer of stucco on the outside to make it look like there was no window. just a solid wall.
There was little discussion except for the occasional phone call to borrow a hammer or ask for extra screws. There was no time for chit chat. We felt time was of the essence.
Occasionally, an outsider would drive through our town. I'm sure it looked strange. Once the postman asked me what was going on. I looked distracted, and said, "Oh, we're just preparing for winter. They say it's going to be a bad one." He looked at me funny, but dropped it. I wanted to tell him about The Shoe. He was a good man and deserved to know. But we had made a pact.
When we did cross paths, there was only one topic of conversation. The Shoe. Who's could it be? How big was it? What kind of monster could wear something like that?
All of us remembered some detail Sarah had described. But the details had become fuzzy. Was the shoe three feet tall or six feet tall? Was it made of leather or chain mail? We couldn't agree. It was red. Blood red. That was the only detail we could agree on.
The last two months have been insane, but now we are ready.
As I check the strength of the plywood, I hear a voice shouting in the distance. "It's Sarah! Sarah is coming back!"
I leave the house. Others are gathering, watching the distant figure getting closer. It is Sarah! And she is crying. She looks terrified. We brace ourselves for the worst. She doesn't speak. "Sarah," we ask, "what have you seen?"
Sarah is too frightened to answer. A murmur goes up from the crowd. "Take us to The Shoe. We want to see The Shoe."
Sarah looks at us bewildered. "What shoe?" she asks.
"The Shoe you told us about."
"Oh that," Sarah says, "that's nothing. I need to tell you about the dog collar I just found. It is horrible!"
Spiritual questions:
- What fears drive you?
- Where did they come from?
- Are they real?
This is one of the Parables for the Spiritual but not Religious Series.
June 28, 2019 - This was written with the Roundhouse Writing Group in Santa Cruz, Guatemala, remotely from Guanajuato, Mexico. The writing prompt for the session was: A shoe was found by the side of the road.
The photograph of the shoe is made available through https://www.maxpixel.net, some rights reserved.
Did you know you can receive these blogs directly in your email? Signup with MailChimp here.
No comments:
Post a Comment