I Took My Converse for a Walk

My poor shoes. They’ve been neglected. Getting dusty, sitting on my closet floor. How do they get dusty in a closet? Maybe I don’t know how dust works. Ever since the lockdown, shutdown, quarantine world I barely have an occasion for shoes. Walks around the block require Nikes, the extra comfortable ones for old, achy feet. As I reach for the athletic shoes, my Chuck Taylors stare back at me. They’ve seen a lot, but not lately. Concerts in the park, concerts in the dark, film festivals and drive-ins (back when they existed, but maybe they’ll make a comeback). But never around the block.

“I guess we can give it a try,” I tell the pair of purple high tops. I’m not being dramatic when I say it felt like when you have to button jeans over a huge burrito lunch gut. I moaned and groaned getting my feet into the shoes. Am I having too much soup that my feet are swelling from the sodium? (For some reason during this pandemic I’m eating a lot of soup. And cheese. Lots of cheese.) This can’t be a good sign, not able to get in the shoe, let alone walk around in them. The first steps felt awkward, Converse are not known for arch support.

I put on my mask and head out the door, confident I could stroll around for at least 20 minutes.

“Coow swwwoo” a neighbor says to me through his mask as he walks by me in the driveway.

“What?” I say back.

“Coow swwwooo” he repeats.

Now, I know that it’s wear a mask and be 6 feet away (from people not in your “bubble”) so I’m not getting any closer to this guy to try and make out what he’s saying. I can’t even remember his name, he’s definitely in the “don’t know him” category. I throw my hands up in a “I don’t know what you’re saying because we’re all muffled now” gesture. He comes towards me. I put my palm out. Stop in the name of this thing will never go away if we play fast and dirty with the rules. He points to my feet, then gives me two thumbs up.

“Ohhhhhh, cool shoes.” I say.

He nods, and then says what I think is “Chucks.”

“Thank you,” I say, now having flashes of all the times guys have complimented these shoes. We stand in awkward one-way compliment silence. I am not seeing anything about him or his clothing that I want to compliment, I’m sorry, I’m just not.

He gives a neighborly goodbye wave and starts a light jog down the sidewalk.

And with that positive comment I do a 180 and shuffle back into the house. Guys love Chuck Taylors. I can’t be walking around the neighborhood with “cool shoes,” a magnet for sports nerds desperate for some between the masks chit chat. I don’t want anyone, particularly strangers, approaching me while I’m strolling around the block. They think because I’m wearing these shoes I know anything about their history and want to talk about it? These sneakers were on sale at DSW, that’s all I know.

“Sorry Chucks,” I say as I set them down in the closet and pick up the Nikes, “we’ll try again some other time. Hopefully sooner than later.”