Ode to the Girl in the Red Shoes
She had wind-tousled hair and make-up applied with care.
Her skirt was freely moving in the gentle night air.
Six feet tall she seemed from her hips to her knees.
Only her true height those shoes did deceive.
Her ruby red platforms, with two inch thick soles
and their six inch heels first caught my eye,
but then those tight shoes made her squirm from side to side
and shift her weight from shoe to shoe.
The pain on her face and the slouch in her stance
seemed to document an exquisite pain,
for those shoes were made for sitting,
not even for walking and certainly not for a dance.
They made me think of that old saying that beauty is pain.
She’d paid six hundred dollars for those stylish red shoes,
but considering her empty pocketbook
and her cursing feet, just what did she gain?
Suffering and the Life I Know Now
Red hot, gut-searing pain, projectile vomiting, and diarrhea doubled me over into the fetal position. Sweat mingled with the tears that dripped off my chin.
When I arrived at the emergency room, the nurses started an IV, attached EKG leads to my chest and legs, and injected a heavy dose of morphine. STAT X-rays showed nothing, and the pain intensified in spite of the narcotic. A cardiac event had to be ruled out, so I was admitted to CICU (the cardiac intensive care unit).
To make sure I was getting the necessary treatment, a nitroglycerin patch was stuck just under the front of my left shoulder. This maneuver only added skull-busting agony that made death seem a welcome alternative to the agonies I was experiencing. Percocet, another pain killer, provided the welcome oblivion to all sensations.
I drifted in and out of fitful sleep, for every few minutes, it seemed someone came in to draw blood, to take my blood pressure, to ask how I was feeling. Machines beeped all around me as more and more uncomfortable tests seemed to be invented just for me.
What was the matter? Why couldn’t the cause of so much agony be found? An alphabet of tests followed; no cardiac event was found. The agonies abated until I returned home and ate a healthy meal. Then the previous scenario repeated itself with an even greater intensity, until an elderly doctor diagnosed my gall bladder inflammation, ordered STAT emergency surgery, and declared me but fifteen minutes away from a catastrophic event, one that probably would have proved fatal. It seemed a gallstone was hidden behind the bile duct and had not been discovered by any of the tests.
I woke to a different kind of pain, one which came after half of the front of my body had been opened for the emergency surgical procedure. It seemed I had cheated death, and would have to go through a healing period at home. I spent the next six weeks in the recovery mode, away from my job, at the mercy of the kindness of family, and welcoming the periodic doses of pain killer. After the first week, I was afraid of becoming addicted to the drugs, so I lengthened the time between doses. By the end of the second week, I was taking the prescription only every twelve hours, once in the morning and again at bedtime.
I slept, healed, worried not about anything, and learned that for the first time in a long time, I could not be everything to everyone else and nothing to myself. Considering past suffering and the life I know now, I do not feel selfish or guilty for taking time to care for myself. I realized I had always been the dutiful daughter of, student of, wife of, mother of, teacher of, and the family Ms Fix-it of everyone’s trauma drama that had multiplied until I was forced to learn that whether I was all things to everyone, the sun would still come up and lightning would not strike me if I dared to say NO.
From Dust to Diamond
Though it was not my business, I was intrigued by what I thought I had just heard. I did not want to seem to be eavesdropping, but I could not help but take a seat on a nearby bus stop bench. I did not know what had transpired between them before I happened upon the elderly man and the disheveled teenager, but I was struck by what the elderly man said. “You are not dust. You are diamonds,” was what I heard him say to the grime-covered, matted hair teen-ager who was sitting on a cast-off milk crate near the Metro stop. The skinny boy’s face was scarred, his clothes tattered, and his hands were trying to protect his eyes from the glare of the sun as he glanced up at the old man, who was perched on the edge of a wooden park bench. He was the color of dark chocolate and weighed maybe a buck twenty with all of his clothes. His cottony hair formed a halo around his head and curled in ringlets over and between his ears and glasses.
As I sat on my bench and tried not to appear too obvious, the lunch hour rush of pedestrians and traffic intensified. The frantic honk and screeching brakes of a camel-colored Mercedes were followed by a woman screaming at a jaywalker who had nearly provided her new Benz with an ugly human hood ornament before it even had permanent tags. The jaywalker smiled an “I’m sorry” and hurried on across the street against the red light. The old man’s, the boy’s, and my eyes followed her as she ducked into an office building.
Then the old one said something I did not hear, but the boy shook his head “no.” This time, I clearly heard the man say that he was hungry and wondered if the boy would like to share his lunch. It was the same negative head shake reply, but I saw the wishful look on the boy’s face as he eyed the older man’s lunch—a hunk of chocolate cake, a fat ham, lettuce, and tomato sandwich wrapped in tinfoil, apple slices in a fast food restaurant’s still unopened plastic bag, and a peppermint patty. Once he had spread everything out on a napkin, at the end of his bench, he again asked, then beckoned to, the boy, who was obviously hungry. Like a street-wise cur, the boy inched closer, still shaking his head no, as his hand tentatively reached out. Again, “You are not dust. You are diamonds,” was what I heard him say to the boy. By now, the boy was eyeing the candy, but the man held out half his sandwich and the peppermint.
Finally, the boy dared to speak. “Mister, I can’t take your food. What do you mean about my being diamonds? I can’t even afford dust, not to mention diamonds! If I could afford diamonds, do you think I’d be living out here on the streets?”
By now, I had named the man Grandfather. He was obviously concerned about this castaway child, but it was also apparent he seemed but one step away from being a castaway himself.
“Son, I see the potential for greatness in you. You are polite, your posture is erect, and you are not a nuisance beggar. What would you want to do with your life if money were no object?”
The teenager’s eyes filled with tears as he said he would like to be a doctor who ran a free clinic for the homeless, a clinic that would provide a place to bathe and to launder their clothes, a place where they would not be regarded as though they were invisible, a place where people like him could feel human. Grandfather nodded in assent, a small smile playing with the corners of his mouth. He slid toward the opposite side of his bench, pulled the napkin toward the center, and patted the opposite end as he invited the boy to have a seat. The teenager shuffled closer, eyeing Grandfather cautiously, ready to run if he sensed danger.
“Son, let me tell you a story that someone long ago shared with me. She said I was diamonds and not dust, but I did not believe her. She was my mother. We were so poor that when I returned home from school one day, I saw all of our things on the sidewalk, being picked through by human vultures. Imagine my shame at our being evicted! I began to ball my fists, ready to fight anyone meddling with our belongings, but my mother repeated her quote about dust and diamonds. I thought she was crazy, but she said there were blessings hiding behind our temporary challenges. I couldn’t see any blessings through my frustration. We lost all of our material possessions that day. Between the human vultures and the fierce thunderstorm’s winds and rain that evening, there was nothing of any value left. I let anger rule my behavior for more years than I’d like to remember, but one day, after I had reached the bottom of the ditch I’d dug my life into, I remembered my mother’s words. It was almost as a revelation when the thought occurred that only through extreme pressure or hardship, could dust become a diamond. I had been dust long enough. I needed to polish my diamond—just as you will surely polish yours. You see, you already have a dream. It took me much longer to realize mine, but when I did decide to forge ahead, my life took a positive turn. Now, I’m not by any means wealthy, but I have enough to spare and to share. My church is a couple of blocks from here. We serve the homeless, the hungry, and the spiritually adrift. I’m the sexton there, and if you are in need of anything, please don’t feel ashamed to avail yourself of our help. Who knows where you or I will end up? We’re only passengers on life’s boat. We don’t hold the tiller, but we can make the most of where we are and what we have. Do you…?”
Before I could hear the rest of what Grandfather was saying, an emergency vehicle’s Claxton air horn and a nearby jackhammer simultaneously shattered the crystalline silence. When I looked again, the old man and the teenager were quietly eating a shared lunch.
My bus came, and as I boarded it, I wondered how that little vignette of lives ended. Did the teenager ever go to the church? How had the Grandfather acquired “enough to spare and to share?” What had he finally realized his dream to be? Would the teenager ever polish his dusts into diamonds? “You are not dust. You are diamonds” was what I took away with me that day. I also started to wonder how I could turn my dusts in diamonds. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what Grandfather said to the street urchin. He saw beneath the grime and encouraged the diamonds to emerge.
It was not until my curiosity pricked at my consciousness about his church that I made the time to visit Grandfather’s church near the bus stop on my way home. It was only then that I learned that he had been a lottery winner of five million dollars. He was a volunteer sexton now, had seen to it that his church had gotten a new roof to replace the old one that cried whenever the earth received a facial of rain or snow, and was a tither. He had also funded an education scholarship to help any person with a dream but no means. It was only then that I remembered the small smile when he had when he told the teenager he had “enough to share and to spare.”
When I left the church, I still did not know if the teenager had accepted the old man’s offer, but I would like to believe that he did. I certainly hope he polished his dust, that his diamond will help someone else to pay it forward.
The Scuttlebutt on How an Ex-Trophy Wife’s Ship Came In
Delphine sits, rifle across her lap to dispatch errant rattlesnakes. She rubs her face, where her wrinkled skin shows evidences of the sun’s ravages over the last twenty years of her self-imposed isolation. She twirls wispy strands of her long gray hair that escaped the single, mid-waist length, disheveled braid. After her nasty divorce, she just wanted to be alone, away from the scandal, and in a place where she did not have to be or to do anything for anyone other than herself.
For too many years, she’d been the obedient daughter and dutiful wife, but now, she felt the freedom offered by her stretch of desolate dry land, where tumble weed disturbed nothing except an occasional dust devil or a rattler trying to escape the broiling sun. “After nearly twenty years of traveling the world with him and the military, that news of his affairs nearly drove me to suicide. How could he leave me after all our years together? Why did he have to drag me through the muck and mire of a nasty divorce?”
The bitterness and anger had stayed fresh in her mind ever since the divorce. At fifty-nine, she didn’t bother to go to the beauty parlor to get the upswept hairdo he said he liked—even though its upkeep had been a nightmare of rollers, pin curls, and holding spray. She didn’t worry about her once red hair now streaked with few red strands but mostly gray. “No more do I have to endure having to look for the Clairol shade to cover my gray roots.” As she looked down at her hands, she noticed her nails, which no longer wore the manicured lipstick red polish he bought; they had nicks and ridges and the cuticles were ragged. The last manicure was a long ago memory.
Since no farmhand or another person lived within fifteen miles, Delphine did all of the chopping of wood, the mending of fences, the hunting for meat to augment her vegetable garden. She could not release the recurring thoughts that were never far from her mind. “How many of our friends had known about his affairs, his other life, and laughed behind my back? Did the Navy have any inkling of his impending divorce intentions? Why hadn’t I been aware of what was going on instead of trying to be the perfect and dutiful military spouse? Once the affairs became public knowledge, I heard the titters every time I entered a room of our so-called friends.”
She imagined everyone talking about her naiveté to what had been a well-kept secret for so many years. No one had bothered to voice their suspicions, and she never thought to question their “perfect” marriage.
A jack rabbit cast a long shadow as it sought the shade of her front porch. She fingered her rifle, rubbed its stock, and let it rest. It would have made perfect sense to kill it, but its presence somehow provided companionship, if only for a brief moment. Besides, there was plenty of meat already in her small freezer, and she didn’t want to be wasteful if the power died and the generator failed to kick in. The last bad storm had left her without power for a week, and the generator had quit after the second day, leaving her with a freezer of spoiled food. She rocked back and forth, enjoying the movement and the silence. “Critter, today is your lucky day. I’m not in a shooting mood. You get to go back to your family, or wherever your home is.”
Suddenly, she felt uneasy. Was that dust on the far horizon, or was it smoke? There was not much to burn around her, but she knew of dry woods a ways away. She watched and waited. Finally, she could see dust coming as the result of some vehicle stirring it up and coming fast toward her.
“Who in the world could be coming here?” came to mind, but she felt both uneasy and anxious for company. As the dust grew closer, she recognized the silhouette of a Jeep with its top down. Her husband, Vernon, had always favored Jeeps, but why would he be coming to see her? A lump began to form in her throat, and her stomach felt the presence of butterflies out of control. The drone of the car’s engine competed with the silence, but still Delphine didn’t, couldn’t, move.
It was evident now that two people were in the car, but she couldn’t see who they were. “Oh, well, just wait and see. They’ll be here soon enough.” The Jeep was almost close enough to yell a greeting, but Delphine still remained silent, seated, and wary. She didn’t recognize the people. “Who are these people? Are they lost? What could they possibly want with me?”
The car pulled up close to the porch, and a short, bald man dressed all in black was the first one out of the passenger side. She noticed his expensive, fancy boots. The metal-covered, extremely pointy toes made her wince as she sympathized with his cramped and probably painful toes. The gold crosses outlined on each instep had a suede insert, but the rest of the boots were made of ostrich. Delphine thought of someone religious as she continued to scrutinize the boots.
“Are you Ms Delphine Atkinson who used to be married to Admiral Vernon Atkinson?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m John Schwartz, an independent arbitrator trying to settle the late Admiral’s estate, and you are still listed as his next of kin, which is causing quite a stir with his latest liaison. You see, your name was never removed from his insurance papers, and there is quite a sum on the insurance policy. His long-term love is upset that there is nothing covering their new family. I’ve been retained to ask your cooperation in relinquishing claim to the insurance since you have been divorced for so long and since he had been cared for through his series of illnesses and disabilities by his common-law spouse.”
“I have had no contact with Vernon or his doings since I left him, and I thought he had married, now that the laws have changed.”
“No. ma’m. He never got married or changed the beneficiary on his life insurance. In all fairness, don’t you think it only right to agree to sign off on his estate?”
“Look, I don’t know about any policy or anything about his estate, but I do know anything with my name on it is mine. I’m not signing anything. Whatever is left to me is rightfully mine, but it could never be enough to compensate me for the pain and shame his affairs caused me.”
The driver exited the car, and approached the porch. Delphine noticed the facial skin lesions, the halting walk and bony frame, and held her rifle even tighter. Still, she did not stand, but her back straightened and she leaned forward to be able to look more closely at the driver.
“As hot as this sun is today, why y’all riding with that top down? Sunburn is going to be a painful thing once y’all get home tonight. Did you both know Vernon?”
“Only I knew Vernon closely and for a long time. Mr. Schwartz learned of him only after his death and the reading of his will. Didn’t you receive the notification of his death? He died three months ago.”
“No one notified me of anything. How did you know Vernon? Were you friends or his latest conquest?”
“Ms Delphine, I know you are still angry about how things happened, but you need to release the past. It won’t do you, or anyone else, any good to keep on replaying old hurts and disappointments. Right now, the only reason we came all this way was to ask you to do the right thing and sign off on the insurance. Vernon just overlooked changing the beneficiary, and no one realized it until his will was read. Won’t you please consider…?”
“I don’t know who you are, and right now, I don’t really care. What I do know is I’m not signing anything, not today, tomorrow, or ever. Vernon owed me whatever he left. When we divorced, he took everything. He said since I had never worked, the assets were his, that I needed to move on and get a job and stop depending on him for everything. So, you see, if there is anything with my name on it, it is mine, and mine alone. Let his trick get a job and move on with life.”
“Ms Delphine, you don’t understand. Yes, Vernon could be hard, but he was fair. To leave the last person caring for him with nothing is just not fair. He died calling out for a person; it was not you, but me. There is no way I can get a job and move on. Yes, Vernon was my long-time, common-law spouse, but we could never legally marry.”
“Why couldn’t you marry? The laws have changed. Even out here, I know that. Why should I care one little bit about you? I gave Vernon the best years of my life. I pulled up and moved whenever his orders changed. I didn’t have children because he said he didn’t want them. I smiled and made nice-nice and pretty-pretty in our homes and with those I thought were our friends. As you can see, I’m living here, isolated, in an efficiency house, with only a cell phone and shaky life conveniences. I do everything to survive here. I’m the cook, the plumber, the gardener, the handy person, the exterminator, and the woman scorned and cast away. Why should I care if you cannot get a job and move on? You took my husband. You ruined a perfect marriage, and now, you want me to do the right thing?! I suggest you might want to leave now. Leave before I start to shoot the both of you! If you see one tear, you had better start to run, because right now, I’m mad enough to cry, and when I get this mad, I start to want to shoot something or someone.” She stood and leveled her rifle in her visitors’ direction.
The arbitrator rubbed the sweat dripping into his eyes. “M’am, could you spare a drink of water? It’s so hot out here. I know you’re upset right now, but people who knew you when you and the Admiral were married said you had a good heart and a loving disposition. Could you have pity on someone about to collapse in this heat? All I want is a cold drink. We can leave shortly so you can have time to think about our request. We might even be willing to try to agree to your splitting the inheritance once you understand the gravity of this situation.”
“Mr. Schwartz, I’m not heartless. Excuse my lack of manners, but I have not interacted with another person in a long, long time. I will get you both something cold to drink, but you must leave as soon as you get it. I’m not willing to share anything from the will with anyone.”
Just as she turned to go inside, she glimpsed Schwartz try to keep his companion from falling. It seemed the heat had taken its toll on the driver, who sank to the ground in a rumpled heap. She noticed that the breathing seemed labored and shallow, and Delphine went to help the arbitrator get his companion into the shade on the floor of her porch.
“Ms Delphine, you can see how sick my client is. There is no way gainful employment is a possibility, and since no marriage ever took place, no military spousal health care is available.”
“Mr. Schwartz, I’m sorry your client is so ill and uninsured, but that is not my concern. What’s the nature of this illness that prevents gainful employment? Y’all drove all the way over here, in the heat and with the top down, like two complete fools. And now, you want my sympathy? What kind of fool do you think I am?”
Before Schwartz could answer, his companion stirred, moaned, and feebly tried to sit up. Delphine bent down, offered her hand-held fan, and retreated to her well to draw water. Schwartz and his client sat in silence, wiping sweat, trying to come up with another approach to convince Delphine to relinquish her claim.
Schwartz finally said, “Your only hope is to appeal to her sympathy, but as angry as she is still, you’re going to have to level with her about why you’re sick and unable to work. She might take pity on you if you level with her. Anything is worth a try to soften her heart. You can’t afford to keep secrets now.”
Delphine came back with the water and offered to get glasses, but the driver asked if she would just refill their thermoses. They did not want glasses.
“Ms Delphine, my client has something to tell you that might influence your final decision. We’re willing to give you ample time within the next week or so to let us know your final decision. Please listen and then do the right thing.”
“Delphine, Vernon and I were lovers for the last fifteen years. I did not take him from you, but I did love and honor him. When he had his first stroke, I never left his side for three months. He recovered, but we learned that he had a peculiar kind of pneumonia, one that left him weak and debilitated. Then he developed Kaposi’s sarcoma. Tests showed his T-cell count was abnormally low, and the diagnosis was that Vernon was HIV positive. We had lived together, worked together, had unprotected sex, and as a result, I contracted the virus from Vernon. It seems he had had other affairs on the side, lovers I knew nothing about, so I can sympathize with how you must have felt when you found out about his adulterous affairs. Vernon died from complications of AIDS, and now I also have it. I cannot work. I have no health insurance. The house we shared is in foreclosure, and the only thing I have is Vernon’s vintage Jeep. Its top does not work. That’s why we drove out here with the top down. I beg of you to have mercy on me. If you ever loved Vernon, know he did not hate you. He simply said that your marriage had been a big mistake and that he regretted ruining a good woman’s life and reputation. Delphine, Vernon was trying to do what was expected of him. He loved the Navy, but he knew he could never advance in rank if anyone found out his secrets. Marriage was what was expected of a ‘normal’ man. He said he loved you as a companion, but his heart knew he really had no romantic interests in you. He kept you on a pedestal because you were his trophy wife. He admitted he had been with many partners, even before he married you. He did you a favor by ending your marriage when he did. At least you got out before he made you sick. You lost material possessions, but you are the lucky one. You’re healthy.”
“Look. What is your name? I’m sorry you’re sick and that you were infected by Vernon. I’m sorry that he had to disguise what an adulterer he really was. I’m sorry that you are in such dire straits, but mine is the name listed as his beneficiary. Mr. Schwartz, how much is the estate worth anyway? You never gave any amounts.”
“Ms Delphine, Admiral Vernon Atchinson’s estate is worth approximately a million dollars, but all of his assets, like the palatial house and his insurance policy, are tied up until we can settle his estate with your help.”
Delphine’s voice did not reveal her astonishment. As she looked at Vernon’s latest and last liaison, whose name was Chris Wellborn-Atchinson, all she could say was, “I’ll think about your request, but I can’t give you an answer right now. I’m sorry you are so sick, but Vernon should have made provisions for you. Come back after I have had a chance to consult with a good lawyer. It may take me a few days.”
Mr. Schwartz and Chris left, and Delphine sat and rocked and cried. Finally, everyone knew Vernon’s secret. She had kept it all these years, and now, she had to make a hard decision. She had always stayed to herself after she found out that Vernon was only using her, that the reason for their divorce had nothing to do with her, but rather with Vernon’s wanting a relationship with another naval officer. Now, she had the opportunity to profit from all the years she had been his cover, his convenience. Yet, Chris was sick, deserved something, had been as deceived as she had been, and was maybe dying.
Two weeks later, Delphine had decided to let Chris have the house and to split the insurance policy. She called Mr. Schwartz to share her decision, only to learn that Chris had taken a turn for the worse once they returned home and had died exactly nine hours before Delphine called with her offer to share. Delphine would be the sole beneficiary, and the assets were hers. Schwartz told her the estate’s lawyers would be contacting her to make the final arrangements. She felt bad about Chris and offered to provide for the funeral. She told Schwartz to put the house up for sale, for she would never live there. Chris had left no family survivors.
“Imagine, after all these years, Vernon’s secret was his disgrace and not mine. He lived his life as he wanted, and now, he’s dead. I’m going to use some of his inheritance to fix up my house, get some indoor plumbing, and maybe take a trip around the world. This time, however, I’ll not be the dutiful military wife, but rather the independently wealthy woman who can finally let go of her anger at being dumped. I may even go back to getting a weekly manicure, cut my hair, and buy some lady-like clothes. I’ll consider hiring someone to do the heavy chores around here. Dear Vernon, may your soul finally rest in peace. And by the way, dear, thank you for being so occupied with being an adulterer that you neglected to change your beneficiary or to notice that I was so unhappy or hurt when you dumped me…for another man.”
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