Writing: November 2007 Archives

I don't know you, but I want you, all the more for that.  - The Frames, Falling Slowly

They walk awkwardly to the metro, the tension splits the air, cold breathes into them. His hands in his pockets, hers around her torso. Then his hand, warm from his pocket finds hers and they walk hand in hand. Nervously.

His accent, lilting and warm, wraps around her while they talk about nothing.

Up the stairs to the metro platform, and they wait ten minutes for the last tram. The cold causes everyone to huddle, but they stand apart, careful not to touch. Their ears ring with leftover music, his blue-grey eyes frankly open into hers.

'You enjoyed that, you think?' he asks. 'A little bit of chemistry there, maybe?'

She looks wordlessly into her bag for things that aren't there.

Ten minutes run by faster than they seem. The metro rushes in, the platform blurs with people.

He pulls her toward him for a breathless kiss. The smell of smoke from the club, the taste of beer, the warmth of his mouth on hers, the taste of his tongue. Magical.

'Go', she says, unsteadily, 'or you'll miss your train.'

The metro pulls away and she looks for him on the train but she can't see him, can't see his face in her memory, can't remember his body.

He's gone.

I would like you on a long black leash. You can bring me all the things I need. - Soft Cell, Sex Dwarf

When I was a girl I wore high heels.

Stilettos.

I had a boyfriend who loved me to wear heels, stockings and suspenders.

In bed.

There was a mirror...

OK, OK, enough.

Back to the heels.

Add 3 inches to 5 ft 11 and you get a whopping 6 ft 2. How many men do you know who are 6 ft 2 and up?

So I toned it down, and I stopped wearing heels.

I wore sensible shoes. I had my winter boots. Charmingly flat.

I had my summer shoes, sandals, very mommy. Ballerinas. Crocs. I even wore shoes from fucking Ecco. You know the ones? Flat, granny, cream coloured, lace-ups. Granted they were necessary because of the achilles tendonitis I had (and still have).

But, they jump-started me into a shoe revolution.

I talked to my physio and we agreed that I will never wear ugly shoes again. Never ever ever. Shake your head with me. Never never.

So the shoe shopping started. First I bought some boots from Duo. They're knee high but they're flat.

I thought, 'Oh, I won't manage heels every day so I'll just have them flat.' Oh woe. They're flat!

I started gently. I bought some of the new boot pumps. They have a sedate 2 inch heel. I bought some ankle boots. With a princess heel I think it's called. Still not really a heel - 2.5 inches. They were practice shoes.

I call them the 'Can I still walk in these after 15 years and kids?' shoes.  The 'oh my god, I'm not going to fall am I?' shoes.

My practice shoes are well-behaved.  They request tights, but the tights they ask for are black wool, brown wool, warm, comfortable, bound to sag in the crotch at the first wash.

Not sexy. Far from attractive. Practical. The kind of tights that say 'you'll wash me by hand on Wednesdays'.

I want sheer black, 10 denier holdups. The kind that tear if you roll them on wrong. I want purple with white polka dots, I want purple and black stripes, black fishnet, diamonds, patterns.

Tights that say, 'Rip me off, throw me away. There are no consequences.'  Tights that beg, ' Where are my 5 inch heels? Where are the mirrored heels, my naughty boots?'

The practice heels are retired. They've graduated me from their class. I'm ready for 5 inch spike heels.

These shoes are in the driver's seat. The rest of me is just along for the ride.