It’s time to say goodbye. After countless cobbled streets, overgrown trails and crumbling ruins, we’re parting ways. It seems like yesterday and at the same time centuries ago when we met on a chilly mid-afternoon. The shop was cozy, if a bit dusty. We’d been dreaming of going on adventures when someone sauntered down our aisle, swiped us off the rack and tried us on. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. We set off, testing out asphalt, cutting our teeth on rolling staircases, getting our first soak. What a start to the partnership! There was no waiting patiently in dim closets for unboxing, no delicate trials on plush carpet. We were all in from the beginning. Rain and shine and gravel and tangled undergrowth. Miles and miles of exploring. We were proud to be the choice whatever the conditions or fashions. Some of our acquaintances are trendy, built for only a season. We were never fair-weather friends but trusties all along.
We weren’t fussy. A little spot cleaning with the brush, a loving buff was all we required to look healthy. Even after grimy hikes and disheveled camping excursions, we quite enjoyed how our rumpled tongue and muddied heels gave us a rakish appearance. We’ve visited sixty-four cities so far. Paced thousands of yards of airport moving pavements. Scrambled up cliffs we really had no business tackling. Make no mistake, though. We’ve also had our share of cocktail parties, clubs, and fancy lounges. So many memories. We’ve grown accustomed to how our counter molds to their heel. The slight indentation along their instep for which our vamp makes room. We’re continuously adjusting our throat line to the aberration of their knobby hallux. At all times ensuring they feel nothing but silken smoothness with each step. We’ve marked time and body fluctuations, economic variations and climate metamorphoses. There are deep grooves across our tongue, cracked wrinkles are embedded along our toe cap, nails and broken glass have abraded our treads. But, if we were meant for one another at the onset, as soul mates often are, then a decade of use has perfected our mutual suitability.
We’ve got as many travel tales to tell as the feet we encase. Once in Helsinki we survived a near drowning. Too preoccupied with capturing the chiaroscuro off a domed cathedral, one of us got plunged ankle-deep into a puddled pothole. A plonk, a splash, and a squeal later our other half was shivering. But, we’re constructed out of sturdy material. We grit our metaphorical teeth, shook off the excess water, and squelched our way through the rest of the day.
We almost fell off the slippery slopes of Angel’s Landing while on a national park tour. Our soles skidded against the glassy sandstone as we clambered up a slender footpath. We could sense the toes desperately gripping, struggling to advance. A few loose pebbles scattered under us and next thing we knew we were sliding pell-mell towards the too-close edge! Thankfully, the ankles performed some necessary gymnastics and we were able to skid to a stop. It was a heart-thumping moment for us though. Even as the human was admiring the view we could feel their adrenaline right down to our bottoms.
In a walled Delhi garden we narrowly escaped a tenacious monkey ferociously guarding the parapet. The human was admiring ancient Mughal terrace architecture, oblivious to the presence of a vigilant simian on the lookout for snacks. Closer and closer we moved, until a rustle and low growl warranted a quick glance. Luckily, we dashed across the courtyard as the animal leapt from its perch and gave chase. We zigged, we zagged, we tumbled down the stairs, rounded a corner, and darted through a gap in the hedges. The primate charged past us, fording miniature fences, its teeth bared in menace. As we waited patiently in the shrubbery we applauded ourselves on our stealthy rubber platforms. If not for our furtiveness and a favorable wind we dread to think what would have become of us and the human.
All relationships come to an end. Today as we were pulled off the shelf our quarter peeled at the feather. The inevitability of it had been looming for quite awhile. The human, knowing this, has been avoiding donning us, shrinking from this moment. No more future escapades. Our joint remembrances stored inside this gnarled body will live on only in photographs and memories. Maybe neither. Who knows what new reality we will enter? Perhaps in the future a road patch might dimly recall slogging through a bog or a playground pitch may wonder why the texture of sweat tastes so familiar. Loss is the fundamental essence of our universe. There will be no closure and no acceptance to our farewell, because there is no returning to how things were. Instead, we’ll be there and not there, a part of each other’s lives for always.
Bespoke Traveler Note:
Brianna Holt dissects stereotypes and preconceived notions about young Black women through the lens of American pop culture and her lived experience in her book “In Our Shoes.”
Thank you for listening. “Sole Mates” was written and narrated by Atreyee Gupta. For more details, head to the website at www.bespoketraveler.com.
