That shoe. That red shoe. She had to have that red shoe. And the left one, too, but that was beyond the point. She’d have to have them.
But how much? She had gotten in trouble last time when she spent money “unreasonably.” Was that the word he had used to describe it? Yep. Unreasonably. He always used words similar to that when he discussed her. Maybe she was unreasonable and liked to spend money unreasonably.
Whatever.
That shoe. Its color stood on the precipice of cherry red. It was slightly darker, though. Classier. Cherry red could be seen as slutty or trampy. That was the color her band director used to curse if he saw it on fingernails.
No, that shoe was a more sophisticated red. Marilyn Monroe would have worn that color on her lips, and every man in her path would have swooned at her smile.
She had to have it. But he would be so mad.
She checked her own reflection in the window. Her eyes, hair, and skin would look incredible with that red shoe. She could hear everyone now.
“Where did you find them?”
“So stylish.”
She’d be the talk of the office in that shoe. Of course, she would have both shoes, but that was beyond the point.
But how much?
She pushed open the door and walked inside.
That shoe. That red shoe.
It was a mantra chanted by her heart, speeding up with her heartbeat up when she finally, finally, got her hands on that shoe.
She flipped it over.
Oh! The price! He would never like the price.
“What size?” a sales associate asked, knowing she had made a decision.
Oh! The price! How angry he would be if she bought that shoe!
Whatever would she do?
That shoe. That red shoe. She’d have to have that shoe.
“An 8, please,” she said.
Men come and go. Shoes are forever.
And she was going to have that shoe.
Mackenzie Hicks is a senior journalism major from Athens, Alabama.
