Picture This # 3 (#1 for me) - The Shoes

August 17, 2007 | Filed Under Fiction 

I cannot resist prompts, especially when I am overtired and moody. Write Stuff posted a photo to use as a prompt. I must be in a mood to have written this!

The Shoes

Garden art is all those shoes were anymore. Just sitting there, laying in wait for some dog to try and chew on them. Faded black canvas Converse they were, something of an oddity nowadays. Just something pulled from a box unearthed in a rather rigorous spring cleaning, a once every five years spring cleaning as it was. The basketball in the same box had been grabbed by the two boys next door.

~~~

“Please, Mr. Smithson, can we have the basketball? We won’t let it go in your flowers. Honest.”

“Pleaaaaseeee. Mr. Smithson, we will only play with it at Jason’s house. We don’t have a basketball hoop anyway, but Jason does.”

Mr.Smithson smiled to himself at their newfound bravery, actually speaking to him in whole sentences, not just a Good Morning, Mr. Smithson, as their mother had taught them. He had heard her one day.

~~~

“Now you two boys say good morning to Mr. Smithson when you walk by, don’t you go being in too much a hurry to not mind your manners.”

“But, he never says it back, Mother. He always just nods his head and turns away.”

Her youngest had piped up, “And he glares at us when he thinks we aren’t looking,too, he’s mean.”

“Hush, Joshua, he’s not mean, he’s just not got time to have you boys wasting it. He’s a busy man.”

“He’s not busy, Mother,” Joshua dared say back, “he never does anything but sit in his garden or sweep the leaves up every time one blows on the sidewalk.”

“Joshua, in the house, young man. We do not speak disrespectful of people in this house. Jacob, run in the house and get the garbage to the curb before your father gets home and has a go at you.”

Mr. Smithson kept sweeping, mustn’t let them know I heard. “Damn leaf, get out of my roses.”

~~~

Oh no, not outwardly, he never smiled outwardly. He had to keep up a front. He had done it for 54 years, he wasn’t about to stop just because two handsome young grade schoolers suddenly got brave and asked for something they wanted. He didn’t want those kids to think they could just come over and knock on his door and watch baseball with him or help him rake the leaves. No sirreee. He was no babysitter, no substitute teacher, they had their own father, such as he was.

His mind raced that morning, he was not expecting those two boys to talk to him, much less walk into his garage. He was appalled. “You boys don’t belong over here. I don’t have no use for this ball, so you can have it, but if one flower lays over, I’ll know it was you two that done it. Go on, you shouldn’t be over here.

“Wow, those are strange shoes, Mr. Smithson,” Joshua said. I’ve never seen shoes like that. Why do you have them? I thought only basketball players as old as my grandpa had those shoes. Did you play basketball, Mr. Smithson? Can you still dribble a ball, Mr. Smithson? You wanna see me dribble, Mr. Smithson? I’m real good, well I was last time I had a ball to play with…”

Jacob pulled his brothers shirt. “Let’s go, Joshua. Mr. Smithson said we needed to leave now. Thank you, Mr. Smithson for the ball. Those are real artifacts, those shoes you have.” (He was studying about archaeology in school that week and wanted to show off with that big word.) See ya, Mr. Smithson.”

“Go on home boys, and keep it out of my yard,” was all he said. He walked back to the shoes his son had worn in high school and put them in his back garden, mumbling as he put them down in the grass at the edge of his mulched rose bed. “Well, since you came out of hiding boy, you just plant yourself right there and keep those boys from trampling my roses, boy.”

MeeAugraphie

08/17/07

Please, do not copy my words. Thank you.

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