The Red Shoes

 

                                             

The Red Shoes

This is an interview with a pair of my red shoes or rather sandals, a very intimate item of mine. My feet never leave them when they are on.

How can they talk, you ask. Well, shoes have tongues, don’t they? And sound percolates through my body, down through my legs and my feet.

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 Interviewer: Hello, shoes. Which shoe should I address? Left, or right?

Left shoe: Oh, we swing both to the left and right.

Right shoe: She’s right.

Left:   No, I’m Left.

Right: That’s right.

Left:   No, I’m Left.

Interviewer: Okay, Okay.  I’ve got it. You’re both swingers, right?

Left and Right in unison: That’s right.

Interviewer: How do you find your owner?

Right: She finds us. In her wardrobe.

Left: She puts us under a lot of pressure, doesn’t she, Right?

Right: Sure does. We’re always underfoot.

Left: You seem to like red shoes. You sure like us. Can you tell us why?

Interviewer: Why? I never knew till I saw a replay of The Red Shoes film made in 1948. At five or six years of age, I certainly would not have appreciated the intricacies of the film, either romantic or moral-wise. However, those beautiful, sequined and brilliantly shiny ballet shoes were forever imprinted on my mind. They were the main non-speaking characters in the film, albeit on the feet of the star, Moira Shearer, who played the part of a dancer. This film would have been followed by my viewing The Wizard of Oz, made in 1939, and Dorothy’s magical red shoes.

Just as modern visual advertising gives subliminal messages, I was quite unknowingly subliminally impressed by The Red Shoes, and their unknown power has remained fixed in my brain ever since. They have been a necessity in my wardrobe from the time I have been free to choose my own shoes.

Left shoe: Did you follow all of that, Right?

Right: I stopped listening at Red Shoes,

 Left. She sure does like to write.

Right: Yes. I know I’m Right. And you’re Left, right?

Left: Right, Right. That’s all we do all day, isn’t it? Left, right, left, right, all day long. Eh, Right?

Right: And I’ll always follow you, Left, or we’d get nowhere.

Interviewer: Okay, okay. I love my red shoes and it’s appropriate that I get to know you better. So, how has your life been. How are you today?

Left shoe: A little downtrodden. But that’s our job. Come on, Right. Don’t be backwards in coming forward.

Red: Yes. A little downtrodden. Down at heel, so to speak.

 Interviewer: So, what would have been your most harrowing experience?

Left: What do you think, Right?

Right: Going to the cobblers, Left.

Interviewer: That’s the shoe repairer?

Left: That’s right. Like a shoe doctor.

Interviewer: What was wrong?

Right: We were alright.

Left. And a little bit left. But our soles were going south.

Interviewer: Your souls?

Left: Yes, Our soles. They’d started to wear through. We were worn out. Not our inner soles,        

But our outer.

Interviewer: You have two souls?

Right: Soles, not souls. We don’t have a soul. But we have two soles. The bottom sole was worn out, but the upper sole had been mutilated.

Interviewer: Mutilated? How?

Right: You should know. You had it done when you bought us. To fit your author something or

other. You fancy yourself as a writer, don’t you?

Interviewer: I enjoy writing, but I don’t fancy myself. I presume you are talking about my orthotics. Orthotics have nothing to do with being an author. Or-thot-ics. Orthotics. They’re for my poor feet. They give me support. And what would you know about my writing? You’re so removed from the subject.

Left:  I thought we were the subject. Red shoes, you say.

Interviewer: So, let’s get back to the subject, shall we? I took you to the cobbler’s, you say. And why was this so harrowing?

Left: He ripped off our soles. God knows where they have flown to.

Right: And then stuck on new ones. We wear them still.

Left: And then he examined our vamps.

Interviewer: What on earth are you talking about? Surely not vampires or attractive women?

Left: What on earth are YOU talking about? Our top part. It’s called a vamp.

Interviewer: So, what was wrong with your vamps?

Left: Nothing. Perfectly okay. Quite attractive vamps. Red, you know.

Right: Red for love.

Left: Red for danger.

Right: Red for stop.

Left: Red for passion.

Interviewer: That’s enough. No one is going to be looking at my feet for love, danger or stopping, let alone passion.

Right: They will look if you stop them by kicking them in their r’s.

Left:  Right! Watch your tongue.

Right: We don’t have a tongue. We’re sandals, remember?

Left: Hey!  If we don’t have a tongue, how on earth are we talking?

Right: I don’t know. It’s a mystery to all of us. We don’t have many things. Legs, feet…no eyelets. No laces even. Just straps. We’re sandals, remember. But no tongues.

Left: You’ve become philosophical all of a sudden.

Right: Well, if I must explain, if you kicked somebody, you’d give them a red bum, tiddley-dum. And they’d surely look at the culprit to see what done it. With passion, may I add. That is, we red shoes.

Left: We do have heels, but I wouldn’t like to feel like a heel.

Right: But we can feel our heels, Left.

Left: Right.

Right: Right, Left.

Interviewer: I wouldn’t dream of kicking anyone.

Left: You might someday, eh? But you haven’t mentioned our most distinctive feature.

Interviewer: And what would that be?

Left: Our smell.

Interviewer: You’re presuming my feet smell?

Left: No. of course not. They don’t have a nose, do they?

Right: Of course not.

Interviewer: Are you both sneering?

Left: Of course, we’se nearing. We’re on your feet, aren’t we?

Right: On your feet.

Interviewer: Forget it. Well, thank you for your time. A delight to get to know you both better. I’ll see you both later when I put you on.

Left and Right in unison: Oh, no. Not back to the closet.