Burgundy Boots

They were the first pair I saw in the window, the first pair to catch my attention.

What they were not, however, was the first pair I tried on. No, I had to go through my normal ritual first. That age-old ritual where I stick to what's comfortable and familiar.

Never mind that the burgundy made my heart leap and I knew the soft leather would fit like a dream. They are not quiet shoes. And I can't have that.

They are bold and confident and daringly different, and -- dare I say it? -- beautiful. I am not those things. That is not my identity.

Or is it?

I peruse the endless row of I've-been-here-before boots. The functional, soft-heeled, fade-into-the-background kind. But something about them doesn't quite do it; the burgundy promises something more and then I realise: I want something more.

I glance over at the window.

They're still there.

I walk over, slowly, and bend down to pick one up.

36. Exactly my size. In an outlet store, what are the odds? A Sign?

I pull down the zip, slide it over my foot. I may as well be Cinderella; it's made for me. Soft, form-fitting, beautiful to look at.

But then I take a step.

And I hear it: a clack.

Suddenly all thoughts of Cinderella and Signs are gone. Made for me? What was I thinking?

Girls like me do not wear shoes like those; shoes that make people take notice.

My brow furrows as I go to take them off, muttering something about the tan boots I saw before.

"I like them" he says. He holds the other boot in his hand, turning it over and furrowing his own brow as he does his quality check.

"They're good quality and different - why stick to the same old thing?"

Why stick to the same old thing? 

What kind of question is that? Don't you know that same is safe? Sure it may not gleam with promise, but I've gotten used to life without that particular gleam.

They look at me expectantly.

The questions roll around in my mind. Same or different? Safe or brave?

I take the shoe out of his hand, turn it over in mine.

It's awfully pretty.

"I'll take them", I hear myself say.

The cheerful shop assistant hears and takes them from me. She chatters on about sale prices and shoe polish specials, but I only vaguely hear her.

I have just bought a pair of burgundy boots, I think to myself. They won't go with everything, I've never had a pair like them before and I'm pretty sure they're not in fashion at the moment -- but I bought them anyway. 

She hands me the bag and I take the shoes.

And as I walk out of the store I feel it: a little wisp of bravery settling in my chest.