Sole Companion

The verge of flipping my calendar to the last sheet was a national holiday. I grabbed the chance to go somewhere without needing to use another leave credit; I commuted to SM City Pampanga. Surprisingly, that was my first time to go to a mall with a set purpose other than roaming about for hours and honing my skills in impulsive buying. I’m getting myself a new pair of brown shoes. My old pair, although still looks good when you glance down on it, is already worn out even if its surface haven’t flaked despite the few scratches and the typical creases.

I bought my old pair from the same store the last time I was there more than a year ago. I loved its elongated toe cap although it still is square-toed. Its top vamp that runs from the tongue to the toe is slightly slimmer than the actual width of the shoe and is emphasized by bold stitches therefore created an illusion of being pointed. A tiny stud is fastened on a narrow strap that runs across near the tongue. Sleek – that’s how dress shoes must be. Many were mistaken by thinking it costs at least a thousand pesos.

Several months since I first used it, I lost a stud; a couple more after, I lost the other. Nevertheless it still looked good. When I’ve been using it long enough, the spacious and rocky parking lots I always pass by going to my school punctured the top lift of its heel. Sometimes, stones get stuck in the compartments of the heel which, fortunately don’t hurt me through the insole but nonetheless causes quite a noise when I walk on smooth surfaces.

One particular rainy day on my way to work, I was surprised to feel rainwater soaking my socks. I discovered that the outsoles of both shoes had thinned hence a cut runs across it and each have holes the size of my little finger. Then I knew it – my sole companion has to retire.

A similar pair of black lace-up bought with those brown shoes depreciated first but the browns are dearer to me. Foremost, they were my first brown dress shoes. My desire to acquire brown shoes started after imaginary fashion police sirens blared in my consciousness: black shoes never go with brown pants. Since two of our office uniforms prescribe brown pants, I decided to invest on a nice pair.

My brown shoes were with me during several memorable moments. I wore them for the pictorials and during the finals night of a pageant in 2006 where I finished as a runner-up. They were with me when I first gauged my skills in extemporaneous speech first in the city level and later in the regional. They complemented my all-brown ensemble when I was invited to judge a contest. More frequently, as I’ve mentioned previously, I used to wear them twice a week to work and since Monday is brown pants-day, they’re what I’m wearing when I was asked impromptu to lead the national anthem in our company flag ceremony. Once I also lent them to a friend who was in a pageant and I was amused to learn that another friend who’s in the same event preferred to wear it too than the one he brought along hence in one segment of the show they took turns wearing it depending who needs to be onstage.

My first brown shoes served me more than how much I paid for them. They may have been worn out but the fond memories associated with them remain intact.