Finestral Opening

My basement apartment allows me to be one of the people in this world that has to look up to see down. As I watch out my window, I see a different aspect of life than most people. I see shoes.

During the very early part of the morning, near or just past sunrise, running shoes and walkers, start arriving. The well worn, beaten up shoes, of the masochistic, high impact, aerobicist makes me cringe every time I see them. These are solitary shoes, with extremely wiry legs rising out of them, attached to knees that scream in pain, barely lifting the feet in the shoes off the ground. These shoes shuffle along pushing themselves to the detriment of their life, spirit, physical, and mental health. To me they are a sad type of shoe. They seem lonely in the early morning light, as they shuffle-jog their way home.

Another type of shoe spotted around this time of day is the well used walker. Most of the time these come in pairs, four shoes in all, with sweatpants crimped around the legs right at the ankle, or legs wrapped in jogging pants, the cuffs swishing back and forth like a bell over the top of them. To me these are happy, communal, shoes. They have learned to live well, provide comfort, and appear healthy. They seem to laugh, giggle, and point to other shoes that don't get the joke. Especially the wingtips and pumps. These shoes barely understand anything except pushing the suit pants and skirts on their legs onward to their duty. Downtown in the morning, homeward bound in the evening. Always serious, never playful, and always with purpose.


Watching throughout the day, many other types of shoes go by. Tiny sneakers, on chubby legs, with skinned knees. These are usually being walked by other sneakers, sometimes in skirts or jeans, with an occasional baby carriage being pushed along. These are happy looking sets of shoes, but sometimes a little harried or angry at the exuberance of the smaller sets. Sometimes stopping to correct the little guys, but generally, having a nice time on sunny days. These shoes get scarce on rainy days.


One of my favorite times to watch out the window is on Friday nights. The shoes get really interesting then. After the wingtips and pumps go home, the fancier, more expensive shoes come out and play. Highly shined, patent leather spikes and Bass loafers make their presence known. On their way to an opera, movie, or play at the theatre, these shoes are similar to the wingtips and pumps, not noticing others around them, but much more relaxed and wanting to veer off the path at times.


The most interesting shoes I see occasionally, are the ones that are very old, dirty, and attached to beat up greasy pant legs. These move slowly past, stopping, turning, looking lost and wondering. Sometimes they stop and try to attract the attention of some of the fancier shoes, which almost always give them a wide berth, but occasionally one notices them and steps closer. Most often, these shoes just stand alone in the crowd.

Generally, I feel most in touch with these last shoes, wanting to join the hustle and bustle of life, but being stopped by the reactions of others. I see these long used pieces of leather, rubber, and string and think about how hard they work to eke out their survival, as I turn from the window and return to my keyboard and dream about my next story.