Grandfather Shoes

I was inspired to write this story when I used my dads shoes to help my mom bring in the groceries. Being too big for my feet, they were a lot easier to slip into in a hurry. Then I thought of the phrase "filling my father's shoes". I didn't actually get to the part about the shoes and I even ended mid-sentence, but this was the best draft I could find.

The shuttle looked empty, especially in the dark of the evening, but when the urban lights streaked by in a dim, yellow illumination, the outline of a single passenger could be made out in the very back seat. She sat, still and quiet, looking out the window without focus. The side of her head rested on the polyester cushion, her suitcase in the seat beside her. She had not spoken at all throughout the long journey home, partly because there was no one to speak to and nothing to say and also because what energy left to her from sitting all day was all used in attentive contemplation.

From the street, Rachel could see gray blue light dancing through her apartment window. She opened her door on the 5th floor and locked it behind her, rolling her suitcase along like a lost dog on wheels. She waited to hear the forced enthusiasm of voices from the infomercials her insomniac ex-husband usually resorted to in the late night. But the only sounds were the metal keys, the plastic wheels rolling on the wood, and the clicks of her heels. She took her shoes off and tip-toed toward the living room and the light. The television was on mute with the subtitles on and asleep on the couch was her son, David.

Rachel felt a tap on her shoulder. That’s what Guy used to do when they were married to get her attention. It took her a whole year not to jump every time he lightly tapped her in a way that was not supposed to startle. She remembered how much it drove her crazy as she turned to face him.

“I didn’t want to wake him. He’s been having trouble sleeping,” he whispered.

They both moved to the kitchen, Guy sat down at the table, while Rachel turned on a small light that was just bright enough to show one side of his face. Then she walked past the counter to get a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

“Thank you for doing this,” she said, her voice horse and crackled. The light from the fridge lit up her face, which he still couldn’t see, as she scanned the shelves.

“No problem. I’m just sad you had to go all the way to Missouri on your own,” he said. He had made such a fuss when she called him to ask if he could watch David for a few days. He offered to buy the tickets for her, but she couldn’t stop picturing the stupid grin he made whenever he would snatch the check away from her in a restaurant.

“I didn’t want David there,” she shifted her head toward him, still holding the door open, “ Even if I had enough for two tickets, I wouldn’t want him to see that.”

“He was his grandfather,” the statement came out like an accusation, “Don’t you think he wanted to say goodbye?”

“He did, at the funeral, but I don’t think he could have handled the burial.” Rachel shut the refrigerator door absent-mindedly as she remembered the box that held her father being lowered into the ground next to her mother. The headstone had been there for years, only now there was a date on it. Rachel felt her knees begin to weaken so she spun around and grabbed the counter to remind herself not to kneel down, curl up into a little ball on the floor, and cry as loud as she wanted. This was not an empty hotel room and she was no longer alone.

Guy looked on in concern, but did not get up from his seat. Rachel shut her eyes and folded her arms tightly to her chest. For a moment she forgot Guy and listened to her own breathing.

“I got an earlier flight for my conference,” Guy said uncomfortably, “it leaves at 6”

Rachel looked up, “Did you want to wake David before you go?”

“No. I think it’s best just to let him sleep,” he stood, “It’s late. Since David’s got the couch I’ll take his room.”

“No I’ll take it. You go ahead and keep my room,” Rachel lifted her weight off the counter top and went to stand by the kitchen table, “There’s no sense kicking you in the middle of the night.”

“You sure?” he took a backwards step toward the hall.

“Then you can pack without waking anybody,” she stepped back into a chair.

“Alright. Goodnight,” he walked down the hall and went into the room.

“Night,” Rachel said before he closed the door, though he was too far to hear. Then she sighed and rose from her chair. She picked up her bag and rolled it to the bedroom further down the hall, the wheels muffled by carpet.

David’s room was painted blue; it had a greenish tint in the lamplight. It contained a brown wooden desk, a black bookcase filled with