*WAVES*

Some say to walk a mile in a man’s shoes and consider things from another perspective before we make assumptions into another person’s life. Living in what I refer to as Bum F*n Egypt, I’ve came across quite a few narrow minded individuals who would no more attempt to consciously try and understand another’s points of view or why they made certain decisions then they would give a helping hand to say…a starving homeless man. These people would simply assume that that very man was evil and deserved what was obvious. I moved here totally unaware of this, shocked many years later and still reeling from its ramifications when it came time for judgment to be placed upon me when my very private life became public. I’ve learned to close my curtains even during the day and keep to myself.

But what sort of life is that?

It’s not. It’s as if they imposed a punishment of insecurity and I took it, hook, line and sinker and quite frankly, I’ve grown tired of the opinionated old biddies that have nothing better to do then to cast doubt and speculate the reason why I did what I did (and please do me a huge favor, if you do not know my situation, don’t assume I’ve done something unspeakable). I decided enough was enough and that I was going to come out of my little prison and be a part of society, even though they didn’t want me to. What did I do?

I placed an old pair of sneakers on and took a walk. Thought the fresh air might actually do me some good with the sun on my face even though my feet were sore inside shoes that were not meant for walking. I started out slow and sluggish as my steps fell one after the other in a direction I had no idea of. Why? I was scared to death…I was afraid of crossing paths with another and have them look down on the torn scuffed shoes I wore upon my feet. I could have taken the less scenic path and endlessly walked the same monotonous path near the park over and over again but that day, I chose to walk down the narrow streets that came to life as the sun peaked through trees. That day, I was greeted by people whose lives have never touched mine other than to wave hello in this little town I’ve lived in for 12 years.

Being who I am, I walked with my head slightly down, arms crossed over my chest or hands fiddling between the pockets in my sweatshirt to my shorts. It was almost like I wanted to hide even though I had thrust myself in to the public eye by stepping outside my home. I felt exposed…but I forced myself to walk down streets I hadn’t known the name of since moving here so many years before. Oh I knew a few, but sad to say, they were the ones that led me out of a place I’ve learned to resent.

As my pace steadied, I became aware of the town folk watching as quite a few waved to me in passing. Why? I don’t rightly know. I had no idea who they were but they looked at me as if they had knew who I was or at least knew someone’s version of what my life was about. Little houses would pass on by while I wondered about the people who lived inside as I saw many pairs of shoes carefully paired and resting on stoops just out side closed doors, ironic really, as I had strived to keep private the very life that they viewed as they waved and said “Hello” at no fail while passing my little blue house on the road headed out of town. That was a part of my resentment. Living in such a small area, one’s business is everyone’s business. It seemed, even though I tried my damnedest to keep my life privy to the least number of prying eyes as I could, everyone knew what went on behind closed doors and curtains drawn shut.

I walked on, I saw the fingers pointed, I heard the loud whispers…Hey isn’t that Richie’s wife who…WHATEVER people get a life other than mine to pick a part. I was so very tired of the constant blame that continually fell into my shame. After so many, that steady pace quickened as I began to hold my head higher…I was better than they gave me credit for, I wasn’t about to let my silence justify their ignorance.

I came upon this one particular house that teamed with activity. It was nice and refreshing to see people working in the yard or doing the little things that needed to be done after the winter we had here. The couple was young and obviously new to area since the plates on their vehicle were not of Illinois and it was comical to see them bicker over the placement of garden gnome as I came within earshot of their conversation. The husband spat out argumentative rubbish towards a woman who was very laden with life. The wife, holding her own against his barrage of opinionated spittle, saw that her belittlement was public as I came closer, shot me a dirty look and walked inside the house, but instead of finding a place out of sight to break down, she chose the front window of the little yellow house. Open and for all to see…everyone watched this woman throw things at nothing, a tissue box, a book and last but not least were his shoes out the door. What I perceived to have been a carefree couple enjoying the morning became something totally different as she closed the curtains slowly and began to sob and curse quite loudly. The man merely hung his head in shame and tried to ignore the onlookers. Those shoes she threw out the door, I’m sure, had quite a bit to say. Did I attempt to try them on and see for myself? No, they were way too large for me and so kept my pace.

The next block looked much like the last. I could hear lawn mowers and children laughing as I walked on by busy people working in their yards or just sitting on the porch drinking coffee while reading the morning’s newspaper with their feet up on the railing. No matter how rushed one was, they waved and asked how I was. Unfortunately, I had to actually lift my head to reply and when I did, I saw once again, lives that were meant to be private being exposed by my own trespassing.

An old woman chiding her husband for his dirty feet making marks on her fancy rugs was met with a disgusted “Yes dear”. There were a few kids getting rambunctious on a trampoline but were then scolded as to why there weren’t in their stocking feet. Even a dog cowered in his house as his owner place but one shoe back onto his foot, had that shoe had been a means of torture? I saw a beautiful young girl trying to pull away from an overly amorous boy but overcome by control. She looked straight at me and said “Hello!” and I wasn’t quite sure the reason but it at least afforded her an escape as the boy turned to look at who she was talking to. She pulled away and ran inside, quickly shutting the door behind her. The boy looked at me almost pleadingly as to why and all I could think of was to lower my head for it was none of my business. The last thing I saw was the boy rushing to put on his sandals near the car before he slammed the door and sped away.

So many shoes, so many paths traveled, so many paths crossed in the few moments I had afforded my self to be exposed. The way I saw it, it still wasn’t actually walking in their shoes. Many assumptions could have been made but they would all have been nothing but bold interferences on my part that held no truth because I didn’t know any of these people or basis of circumstance for none of their shoes would have prolly fit my own tired and achy feet nor was I brave enough to even try any on for size. I’ve let this insecurity keep me from being a part in a place I call my home.

It’s so easy to assume we understand how people feel, their trials and tribulations, when we most certainly know nothing of a stranger’s life. We believe that once we shut the door, our lives are once again private and secure but no matter where we live, there’s someone who chose to take a walk down the road as I had and in doing so, we open ourselves up to the mistruths and speculation we all fear. I refuse to be that way anymore. I can’t live like this.

After I got home, I sat on the front porch, and took off my shoes. Everyone that passed by while I relaxed was waved at and met with a smile. I said “Hello” to anyone that happened to look my way and afterwards I went back inside and closed the door behind me, as usual. But this time, I left my shoes out on the porch.

It’s taken all of thought lately to come to my own conclusions. Why do I hang my head in shame when I’ve done nothing wrong? And if I had, was it anyone’s business but my own? Why do I let whispers continue when I have a voice? I have nothing to hide, so why do I? There were my shoes, please help yourself.

The only way that anyone is going to make the correct assumptions about the woman in the blue house is to open up the curtains, door, my life and let people in to trip over the bevy of sneakers and sandals in the hallway and if they so chose, to walk that mile in any one of them. I’m tired of being shut in, hiding when honestly, there’s no reason to. I may lead a private life but that doesn’t mean I have to be recluse and a source of misconception. I’m going to continue to walk a mile in my own shoes, regardless of the many who are afraid to and remember what my own life is all about and how I came to rest on the porch of that little blue house. If that so happens to be down the narrow minded streets of this little town, then so be it. And one more thing, I won’t be looking at my feet on the ground. My head will be raised in assurance of myself. If anyone wants something to gossip over, let them try on my confident new shoes.

*WAVES*