She sat alone on a weathered bench, just to the side of the storefront. As I exited the store, she raised her head and we made eye contact. I smiled at her, more from habit than from recognition, and she lowered her eyes toward her lap. Two worn, reusable grocery sacks sat on the seat just to her left and as I came closer, she pulled the bags against her side; an invitation to me to join her.
I noticed she was wearing a short, lavender and white cotton shift and her feet were clad in stained, flat heeled sneakers; the laces knotted and ragged. She wore no stockings other than nylon “footies” that rolled just over the top of her sneakers, lost in the folds of her swollen ankles. Tied around her shoulders was an off-white, pearl buttoned sweater and she wore a faded yellow kerchief on her head, iron grey curls slipping out in no particular order. Her face was pale and her eyes had no discernible color; the lids nearly shut.
I sat down beside her, commenting on the beautiful autumn day and the crowded parking lot. I asked her if she was waiting for a ride and she nodded her head yes. She was waiting for the Aroostook Regional Transportation bus and she hoped it would come soon, as she was exhausted from shopping. Pointing toward her shoes, she told me she had a tendency to retain fluid in her legs and all she really wanted to do was go home and put her feet up. I smiled at her, assuring her I knew exactly what she meant and we leaned toward each other then, our shoulders touching briefly, the groceries between us.
I couldn’t seem to draw my eyes away from her footwear, wondering just how old the shoes might be and if she had a more comfortable pair at home. We chatted for a while longer and in no time, the ARTS bus pulled into the parking lot and she stood up slowly, smoothing her short shift down over her knees before she gathered up her bags. She thanked me for the conversation and told me to have a great day.
Rising to my feet, I asked if she needed help carrying her purchases to the bus and she declined. “I’m all set, Honey. Now remember, don’t you be getting your ankles all swelled up like me today. God Bless you, dear.” With some difficulty, she climbed up the wide bus steps, sinking down with great relief in the seat just behind the bus driver. She waved at me one last time and then blew me a kiss, which I returned with great gusto.
I do not know her name but I think of her often, especially when I am frantically shopping for a specific pair of shoes or a jacket I absolutely cannot do without. The image of those old, tired sneakers reminds me of these words: “I cried because I had no shoes and then I met a man who had no feet.” That precious lady gave me many gifts that day under the September-blue sky: smooth conversation, a place to rest, a kiss in the wind and a priceless lesson in humility.
Editor’s Note: Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
