MY RED SNEAKERS

This has been the summer of my red sneakers.

I got my first pair when I was a kid. They were fire-engine-red Keds with white laces.  From the moment I put them on I absolutely adored them.  I wore them every day until they were dirty and stinky and full of holes.  When I could no longer wear them they lived at the bottom of my closet.  I couldn't bear to part with them.

One morning early this spring, a good forty years later, I woke up and thought, "I want a new pair of red Keds."  I'd just started my treatments for breast cancer and needed a little pick-me-up after a difficult week.  Red Keds seemed like the perfect thing to make me happy.

I went to every shoe shop in my Brooklyn neighborhood looking for them. There were aisles of Nikes, Vans, Sketchers, Adidas, Converse, and even some Keds, but not red ones. I started to think that, like the mythical unicorn, the Keds of my youth would never be found. Yes, yes, I know I could have done the on-line thing, but I wanted to feel those sneakers on my feet and see if they gave me the same kind of rush I'd had as a kid.

After two days of searching I struck gold at a discount store.  There, sitting on a shelf amidst the flip-flops and cork-wedged sandals, were a knock-off pair of red sneakers.  They might have not been the Keds of my dreams, but when I slipped them on they fit me as perfectly as Cinderella's lost shoe.

From then on I wore them every chance I got.  My chemotherapy kept me housebound a lot of the time, but on my good days those flashy red kicks went with me everywhere -- to the park, to the beach, even on bike rides.  As I pedaled on the boardwalk I'd look down and admire them on my feet, and I was sure everyone else was admiring them too.  Was it wrong to love a pair of shoes that much?

Only a couple of months later my red sneaks started to wear out.  What was I gonna do without them?  I needed to find a new pair and I needed them quick.  So I headed back to the mother ship.  On the shelves were lace up shoes, knock-off Uggs, all-weather boots, closed-toe high heels, slip-on flats ... but no sneakers.  Not one itty-bitty pair.  What'd happened?  Had summer passed by that fast?  It was only the middle of August and already fall and winter merchandise was on the shelves. 

I was bereft, not only of my beloved red sneakers, but also of the summer that had slipped by because of my cancer treatments.  In truth, it was a summer I'd kind of wished away.  Believe me, I didn't want to. Time is so precious, especially when you're faced with an illness that puts you smack dab in front of your own mortality, but if I could've clicked the heels of my ruby slippers and been anywhere else at any other time I'd have done it.  All I wanted was for the cancer and everything that went with it to be a distant memory.

So there I was, sitting on a vinyl-covered stool in the middle of Payless, and I started to weep. A salesgirl came by and asked me if I was okay. I choked back a tear and told her I'd just gotten a little bad news, but that I was fine. How could I confess that I'd been crying over a worn-out pair of red sneakers? "Buck up, girlie," I told myself, "you can't fall apart in the middle of a discount store." I reached into my handbag and pulled out a Kleenex. As I wiped my eyes, I spied a lovely pair of burnished silver loafers across the aisle. They winked in my direction as if to say, "Hey, don't be sad, you could wear me with straight-leg jeans when the cool weather comes around and be seriously styling."

With a bit of guilt, I unlaced my beloved sneakers and reassured them that I'd get back to them just as soon as I'd tried this one little pair of loafers, but the minute I slipped them on I knew they were mine.  They were comfortable and chic, a winning combination.  The red sneakers sneered up at me as I put them back on.  "Oh, don't be that way," I told them, "you're still my favorites."  Then I carried the new shoes to the register and handed the salesgirl my credit card.

Now it seems odd to say it, but those silver loafers turned out to be my silver lining.  As I strolled home I started to think about all the swell outfits I could wear with them once the weather got cooler.  That's when I realized I was looking toward the future and that it was okay that the summer was about to end.  Yes, sometimes it takes something ridiculously small to aid in understanding what's going on inside of you.  Those new shoes helped me see that there are so many good things to look forward to, like walking through Central Park when it's ablaze with the colors of autumn or making footprints in the first snowfall of the season.  There are holidays to celebrate, like Thanksgiving, when my sister will lovingly cook her special feast for the family, or Christmas, when I will gather with friends in Washington Square Park and sing the "Hallelujah Chorus."  I've never been a big one for New Year's Eve, but this year I'll be the first to pop the cork on the best bottle of Champagne I can find.  All these things will mark the end of my treatment.  I realize I haven't wished away my summer as much as I've wished ahead to the beginning of my healing period. 

And what of my red sneakers? Well, they'll stay with me until they're unfit for wearing.  Sure, I'll mourn their demise, but I'll go in search of a new pair next spring and maybe this time I'll even find some honest-to-goodness fire-engine-red Keds.  I certainly am hopeful.