Burning Soles

My feet are killing me! I really just want to go home! I thought, but I dared not say anything. I wanted my visiting friend, Jen, to have fun. I did not want to be a fun hater, the party pooper, The Debbie Downer.

We maneuvered through the crowd to get to the dance floor. People pulsed and bounced to the popular, local band all around me. I tried not to wince in pain with every move. I tried to look like I was having fun, but I uncharacteristically could not wait for the song to end.

The balls of my feet pressed down into the unforgiving, hard soles of the cheap high heels. I looked down at my burning feet as though I would see smoke coming from my toes. Instead, I saw freshly manicured pink toenails. The turquoise and brown sandal heels with delicate straps still looked perfectly cute with my jeans.

The damned shoes had betrayed me. I had worn them many times before, dancing the night away. I had just always been too drunk to feel the pain. Tonight, I was sober, very sober.

As the song ended, I shouted over the noise to Jen, “Let’s go outside for a minute!”

“WHAT?!”

“Outside!” I practically shrieked and motioned her with me toward the door.

As we pushed in between people, I actually felt scared. A bar was usually a playground for me! Tonight, I looked at the wasted faces constantly passing by and thought, These people are capable of anything! Look at them. They are operating on the lizard part of their brains! They have no good sense. No good sense at all, and god knows what could set them off!

We got to a patio table and sat down. “I’m sorry! I just need to get some air for a couple minutes. My feet are killing me!”

“That’s ok!” said my good, dear friend.

“Hey, what’re you ladies up to?” a boy stupidly asked while taking a seat at our table.

I decided to be amused by this boy (well, I guess he could be called a “guy,” but certainly not a man). I looked at him with a small smile on my face and just shrugged my shoulders a bit.

“Well, I gotta say, you’re lookin’ good t‘night!” he slurred at me.

A loud, guffaw of a laugh burst out of my mouth. I couldn’t help myself. It all seemed so absurd. Jen sat back in her chair, watching with a smile on her face.

“Wha?” the boy said.

“I’m pregnant,” I said.

There was a moment, just a moment, of silence.

“So?” he decided to say.

“Listen, thank you for the compliment, that’s very nice. I’m just out with my friend, I’m married, I’m pregnant, I’m sober, my feet hurt, and I’m not in the mood for any shenanigans,” I said. Pregnancy is like truth serum! I thought.

Without another word, the boy pushed back the chair and walked away. I looked at Jen.

“You want to go home?” she asked.

Oh thank god! I thought. “Yes. I’m so sorry, but I really do just want to go home,” I said.

I have never worn those shoes again.


This post was in response to the Red Writing Hood prompt: Shoes.