The Fate of the Other Shoe

It lay on its side, just on the outer edge of the passing lane, forlorn and misbegotten, muddy soled and abandoned, its yellow laces blowing in the breezes of the passing cars - a sad and solitary workboot, discarded and defenseless, alone and at the mercy of the traffic. Had it been a suicide, I wondered - the final tragic act of a desperate shoe - or perhaps an accident, caught in a gust of wind and blown out of the back of a pickup, not missed until it was too late. Had it tumbled out of an overfilled trash bag or been the victim of a would be shoe thief. And where was its mate, its companion on the road of life, its partner for all the miles - did it grieve in some dark closet or lay buried in some odiferous landfill? Would I perhaps drive by it a little further down the road, passing it like some ragtag hitchhiker and ignoring its pleas for a ride? Would I even notice it?

Deciding that this was a little grim, I considered other explanations. My daddy had often quoted me his theory that for that every single shoe at the side of the road, there was a one shoed man, searching and anxious to be reunited. He also thought it was possible that these orphan shoes at the side of the road might be the innocent victims of a one footed man, who, hating to be reminded of his handicap, had ordered the unnecessary shoe out, much like Lady Macbeth - Out! damned spot, Out I say! - he would cry in his best Shakespearean voice, only substituting shoe for spot while he fiercely rubbed the soles of his dress shoes together. When he asked my opinion of this latest theory, I had told him I thought it was unlikely but theatrical and he was so pleased he immediately launched into the remainder of Lady Macbeth's lines, finishing with a cackling, Yet who would have known the old man to have had so much blood in him! His last theory was my favorite - Alien abduction! he declared, So swift and efficient that only one shoe was left behind!

It fell off during the struggle, no doubt, my grandmother remarked with a small smile.
Exactly! he cried and with a sweeping gesture he removed an imaginary hat and bowed to her. She laughed and threw a ball of yarn at him, Oh, go on with you, you fool, act your age! but I could see she was pleased to be included in the game.

The discarded workboot faded in my rearview mirror and passed out of sight, just another silly shoe at the side of the road. Whether it had come to be there by happenstance or deliberate act, I would never know. It would hang on for a few days and then one morning I might or might not notice that it was gone. Single or otherwise, I'm glad not to be a shoe.