Whose Shoe?

Hour after hour, parts march down the conveyor belt under my glazed stare.  I look at them with all the enthusiasm of a gardener watching weeds grow.  I work for Walter’s Precision Parts.  My job consists of watching an automated machine suck raw steel in one end and spit shiny finished products out the other.  I have no idea how the machine works, nor what all those little things are that it churns out.  My job is to watch it work and if anything goes wrong, to press the big red button in front of me which would simultaneously stop the machine and summon a technician, who would figure out what went wrong and fix it.1

At 11:00 AM, the designated floater replaced me while I went to lunch.  The machine never rested; schedules must be kept; quotas had to be made.  In the lunchroom, I found an empty table.  My only friend at work was Gordon Fanch and he had taken the day off.  I sat down and cracked open my lunchbox.  There was a piece of paper wedged between the bologna sandwich and a Twinkie.  I took it out and read it, expecting a note from my wife Sue.  She loved to leave me notes.  They were either mushy little ditties or list of chores which eagerly awaited my arrival.  This one was a flyer from yesterday’s newspaper.  Happy Hal’s Tool Shack was having its semi-annual tool sale on Saturday. That was tomorrow.  I knew it was coming up, but had no idea it was so soon.  I loved Hal’s semi-annual sales and made a mental note to thank Sue.2

After lunch, I resumed my vigil over the parade of finished pieces.  Twice the bologna tried to escape.  Once it climbed up my throat, but lost its grip and fell back into the swirling mix of bread, Twinkie and coffee.  The second time it rode up on a gas bubble, but freedom was thwarted when the bubble burst.  The gas escaped in a rather satisfying burp and the bologna was returned to its fate.3

Once again, I fell under their spell and was mesmerized by the steady stream of moving parts.  My mind began to wander and I had flashbacks of old Jetson cartoons with their Spacely Sprockets and Cogswell Cogs, but this machine was making Wally’s Widgets.  I imagined the ultimate fate of anyone forced to watch these moving parts for excessive periods of time.  I could see the headlines in the newspaper:  Hank Coleman dies at work due to an extreme overdose of boredom.  He was a faithful employee of Wally’s Widgets where he watched moving parts, millions of moving parts, day after day after day.  There would be a long funeral procession led by police with sirens blaring, and more sirens . . . SIRENS!4

I snapped back to reality as sirens screeched over my head.  My machine had stopped.  It no longer produced widgets, but the raw steel was still going in.  I hit the red button, but it was too late.  Smoke poured out of the machine which triggered the fire alarm and sparks shot out in short bursts like a Roman Candle.5

Mr. McNeal, my boss, came flying out of his office and arrived right behind the technician who was already smothering the machine with a fire extinguisher.6

“Why didn’t you press the red button?”  McNeal barked at me.7

“I did.”  I wasn’t about to confess that I pressed it after I heard the fire alarm.8

“It’s a simple task,” he fumed, “all you have to do is push the red button if anything goes wrong.”9

“I did.  I did push the button.”10

After the white cloud settled, the technician opened the machine and looked inside.11

“Well?”  my boss asked him.12

“It looks like a war zone in there,”  the tech said. “It’ll take at least one day to fix and that’s if I don’t have to order any parts.”13

Oops, I thought, there goes the quota.14

McNeal turned and glared at me.  His face was turning an interesting shade of purple.  “Get out of here.”15

“What?”  I asked.16

“You heard me, get out of here.  I’m sending you home.”17

“Why?”18

“Your machine is down.  I have no place to put you.”19

“Why can’t I work on Gordie’s machine?”  20

“It’s too complicated.  On that machine you have to press two buttons,” he replied.  “Go home.  Now!”21

Just great.  The boss is ticked off at me and I’m losing a couple hours of pay.22

While driving home, I reassessed my future at work.  I had a sneaking suspicion that McNeal was doing the same thing.  Well, there was no sense worrying about something that was out of my control.  I wasn’t going to let it ruin my weekend.23

Sue's car was in the driveway, so I parked in front of our house.  She’ll be surprised to see me home this early.  I debated whether to tell her what happened at work or to give her a diluted version of the truth.  Frankly, I was surprised she was even home.   I half expected her to be out shopping.  Once I told her I was going to get her a bumper sticker that said ‘I closed Wal-Mart’.  I was just kidding, but she failed to see the humor.24

I walked up to the front door, turned the knob and pushed as I walked in; or so I tried.  I bashed into the door and bounced back.  I stumbled over the welcome mat, lost my balance and landed on my backside in the bushes.  The door was locked.  Sue never locks the front door.  I’ve told her to lock it a thousand times for her own safety.  Someone could walk into the house, I had told her, while she was in the basement doing the laundry.  She just laughed and said that if I was that worried, I should move the washer and dryer into the spare room upstairs.  Well, I wasn’t that worried.25

I quickly got up and looked around to see if anyone had seen me make a fool out of myself.  There was no one outside and there were no cars driving by.  I looked across the street at Al’s house.  I didn’t see him in the window, but his curtains were moving ever so slightly.  It could have been his cat.  It didn’t matter, it was just Al, after all.26

Al Crawford was an odd guy; there was no other way to put it politely.  I was the only neighbor that made any effort to talk to him.  I called him the captain of our neighborhood watch program.  Of course, we didn’t have a neighborhood watch program.  Al was always looking out the window.  He watched everybody do everything.  Sue called him an old, peeping pervert.  That was a little extreme in my opinion.  He was just a lonely guy with a lot of time on his hands.27

I brushed the dirt off the seat of my pants, dug my keys out of my pocket, fished my lunchbox out of the bushes and unlocked the door.28

Once inside, I called out, “Sue, I’m . . .”29

She zipped around the corner from the hallway and nearly knocked me over.  I asked her why the door was locked as she was asking me why I was home early.  She looked nervous and cast a fleeting glance toward the hall.  Her face was flushed and a few of the curls on her bangs were matted to her forehead by tiny drops of perspiration.30

“You first,” I said.31

“Why are you home early?”32

“No, no, I heard the question.  Why was the door locked?”33

“What do you mean why?”  She seemed a little testy.   “You’ve nagged me for months on end to lock the door.  I finally do it and you ask why?”34

“Why’d you start today?”35

“I’ve been locking it for weeks now.  I always unlock it just before you come home from work, and why are you home early?”36

“My machine broke down.”  I didn’t feel like explaining, but wanted to know, “why is your face so red and sweaty?”  37

She hesitated for a moment, then said, “I was cleaning your scum out of the bathtub.  You should try it some time, then I could ask you why your face was red and sweaty.”38

Apparently, I had opened a wound with that question.  I wanted to know how she had determined that it was exclusively my scum, but decided to staunch it before it got too bloody and dropped the subject.  I put my lunchbox on the kitchen counter and said, “I’m going to clean up.”39

She said, “Fine, I guess I’ll start supper early.”  Then she added, “don’t you dare get that tub dirty.”40

Go figure, I let her have the final word and she still has to take one last dig at me.41

I went into the bathroom and as I reached for the shower faucet, I looked at the tub and it wasn’t very clean; not even by my standards, yet alone Sue’s.  Was she hoping I wouldn’t notice?  Maybe she thought that she had succeeded in scaring me into not using it.  I reached in and felt it.  It was dry.  For some reason Susan had lied to me, and had made quite a production out of it in the process.  I decided not to take a shower.  If she tried to blame that scum on me, I’d just tell her I hadn’t used it since she scrubbed it out.  Ha!  She’s not going to catch me on this one.42

I turned on the hot water in the sink.  While waiting for it to find its way up from the basement, I felt a great rumbling in my bowels.  I guessed the bologna was trying to find another way out.  I dropped my pants and assumed the ’thinker’ pose on the porcelain throne of knowledge.  As I contemplated the great unsolved mysteries of the world, the latest of which was why Sue had lied, I looked across the hall into our bedroom and noticed that the bed was not made.  I seldom close the bathroom door while ’taking care of business’ as Sue so delicately puts it.  She hates when I leave the door open.  It’s a habit I acquired as a bachelor that I can’t seem to shake.  What’s the big deal anyway?  We’ve been married for five years now.  We have nothing to hide, well, at least I didn’t.43

While mulling over how compulsive Sue usually is about making the bed, I saw something under it.  I had studied the scenery from this vantage point countless times and dust bunnies were the only things I had ever seen under the bed before.  Most days there were just a couple, but sometimes there was a small herd of them.  When the air stirred, they would drift aimlessly across the floor as though grazing on the dust.  They would race across the floor in a miniature stampede whenever the furnace kicked in.  Their private domain had been invaded.  It was a shoe.  Some of the herd had moved along side it just like Lilliputians checking out a sleeping Gulliver.44

I didn’t recognize the shoe.  It wasn’t mine and it was obviously too large to fit Sue.  It was white with a narrow red stripe running diagonally down the side from back to front.  It looked like it had a leather upper.  All my shoes were cloth or plastic.  I decided to get the shoe and ask Susan where it came from, just as soon as I finished . . .45

"Hank."  Sue called from the kitchen.46

"Jeez," I mumbled, "can't even take a  . . ."47

"Hank!"  when her voice hit that certain pitch, it was like talons tearing at my eardrums.48

"Just a sec, I'm taking a d . . . "  I cut myself off remembering how much she hates when I say that.  "I'm taking care of business,"  that should make her happy.49

"HANK!"50

Oh, oh, a third call.  It must be serious.  Usually, I show up or she gives up after two.  I had to get in there before she blew a vein.  I would retrieve the shoe and quiz her after I dodged whatever it was she wanted me to do this time.  I finished and flushed.  The hot water had been running all this time and I poached my hands.  I pulled them out as fast as they went in; called it good and wiped them on my pants as I jogged down the hall.  When I got to the kitchen, Sue was stirring a pot of noodles.51

"Bring up the clothes from the dryer,"  she commanded.52

"What?"  I asked.  "The way you were carrying on, I thought it was an emergency.  It sounded like you were having a coronary."53

"Very funny Hank.  Is it asking too much for you to pitch in and help with the chores around here?"54

"Come on, you know that I do.  It's just . . . you know, I hate doing the laundry."55

"I'm not asking you to do it.  It's done.  Just bring it up.  For the life of me, I don't understand why you have such an aversion to washing clothes.  56

"It's just so complicated,"  I said, "figuring out if it should be gentle cycle or normal, when to add softener, if I should add bleach, hot or cold water . . . remember that time I mistook ammonia for bleach?  It reacted with the detergent and I almost passed out."57

"Hank, I was doing laundry for my mom since I was twelve.  If I could . . ."58

"Yeah, but it seems like such a waste of time and money.  When I was single, I never washed my clothes.  I hung them on the line to air out for a couple days and they were fine.  It didn't cost me anything."59

"It probably cost you a few friends," she laughed. "If I had know this five years ago. . ."60

The she got serious again.  "It's not like I'm asking you to donate a pint of blood.  I climb those stairs to put the clothes in the washer.  I climb those stairs to put them in the dryer, then I climb them yet again to get them from the dryer.  If I had a first floor laundry, I wouldn’t mind doing it at all.”61

“Sue, I told you I would do it as . . .”62

“As soon as you can find the time.  How many times have I heard that story?  Until that eventful day arrives, you can pitch in.”63

“Yes dear.”  That did not go well.  My batting average at winning arguments was dropping dramatically.64

Dutifully, I went down to retrieve the clothes.  There were a ton of clothes in the dryer.  As I pulled them out and filled the basket, I noticed that most of the clothes were hers.  The basket was overflowing.  I could hardly see around it as I climbed the stairs.  Every couple of steps, I had to stop and pick up something that fell off.  I finally reached the top step and plopped the basket on the kitchen floor and said, “Here ya go.”  I was tempted to suggest that if she did the laundry a little more often, the loads wouldn’t be so stinkin’ huge, but considering how the day was going so far, I refrained.65

A pair of socks on top of the basket triggered my memory.  “Whose shoe is under the bed?”  I asked.66

She gave me a blank look as she peeled a carrot and said, “What shoe?”67

“There is a really nice looking white shoe under the bed.  I saw it under there while I was sitting on the pot.”68

On hearing this, she got angry again.  "If you would close the door and concentrate on ‘taking care of business’, you wouldn’t need to worry about what was under the bed.”69

“Yeah, whatever,”  I didn’t feel like doing the door discussion again,  “what about the shoe?”70

“What about it?”71

“Whose shoe is it?”  I asked once again.72

“How should I know.  You’re the one who saw it, not me.”73

This conversation was going nowhere fast, so I said, “Just a minute,” and went to get the shoe.74

I reached under the bed right where I figured it would be and felt nothing.  I got down on one knee and looked.  Nothing.  I went back to the kitchen and asked Sue, “What’d you do with the shoe?”75

“What shoe?”  she asked while opening a can of peas.76

“Come on Sue, stop playing games.”  I was definitely not in the mood.77

“Hank, what on Earth is wrong with you today?  Why are you so grouchy?”78

“Me?  I . . . you . . .  Aw, jeez, Sue, I had a really bad day at work today.”79

“Well, don’t take it out on me.”80

I grabbed the flashlight and went back to the bedroom.  I laid flat on my belly and searched every inch of the dust bunny domain.  Lots of them; no shoe.81

I went back into the bathroom and sat on the toilet.  It’s not like I expected the shoe to magically reappear if I looked from here, I just needed to think.  I resumed my ‘thinker’ pose.  The first thing that came to my mind was how weird it felt to sit on the toilet with my pants still on.  As I sat there staring into the bedroom, it suddenly dawned on me that the bed was now made.82

Susan was in the bedroom while I was fetching her laundry.  She must have moved the shoe, but why?  What was going on?  She was either hiding something from me or I was having a serious lack of communication between my eyes and my brain.  Considering that my eye-brain connection had been working fine up 'til now, well, except maybe for the fact that I didn’t notice that my machine was on fire, I was left with the option that Sue was up to something and she didn’t want me to know about it, but what?  I needed to do some serious thinking.  I had to get out of the house for a while to clear my mind.83

I went back into the kitchen.  Sue was browning some hamburger in a skillet.84

“I’m going to the store for some cigarettes.”  I said.85

“You know those things are bad for you,”  she said without taking her eyes from the sizzling meat.86

Well, it’s official now, everything is fair game for debate today.  87

“Look, Sue,”  I said calmly, “you know I’ve been cutting back.  It’s just that . . .”88

“Quitting is harder that you think,”  she chimed in,  “I’ve heard that one a thousand times too.”89

I lowered my eyes in resignation.  I wasn’t going to win this one either.90

“Be back in a few.”  I sighed.91

I drove to the cigarette outlet store which was in a strip mall three blocks from home.  I knew I should quit, it’s just that it’s so . . .92

Before I could finish the thought, a hoarse, abrasive voice burst out of the dark abyss in the back of my mind and shouted, “Stop whining!  You can’t convince anyone with that lame excuse.  You’re weak, spineless, pathetic . . .”93

Alright already.  Stop!  Jeez, I can’t even win an argument with myself.94

Having proved its point, the voice snickered and faded back into the blackness of my brain.95

I pulled into the parking lot and saw a very conspicuous red Mercury Cougar parked in front of the shoe store.  I read the license plate; 2COOL4U.  Yup, that was Gordie.  I wondered why he wasn't at work today and what he was doing over here.  He lived way on the other side of town and the only time he came into my neck of the woods was to drop by for a visit and mooch a beer.  Just then, Gordie came out of the shoe store.  I hopped out of my car and flagged him down.96

"Hey ,Gordie."  He stopped dead in his tracks and looked surprised.97

"Why aren't you at work?"  he asked.98

"Hey, I was going to ask you that."  I said.99

"Well, I beat ya to it, so?"100

"Oh, that stupid machine broke down,"  there was no sense going into details, I thought to myself, he would get an earful of gossip at work on Monday, "and our cranky Irish potato farmer sent me home.  Now, what about you?"101

He nodded towards his car and said, "Kitty was dead this morning.  I had her towed to the dealer.  They performed CPR on her and now she's purring like a pussycat."102

"Man, you need to get a girlfriend."  The way he talked about his car always made me laugh. "So, what are you doing on my side of town?  You weren't planning on stopping for a beer were you?  Because today would not be a good day.  Don't ask, just trust me."103

"No,"  he said, "I joined the basketball team at work and . . ."104

"Wait a minute.  Wally's Widgets has a basketball team?"  It seemed so odd to me.105

"Are you going to let me finish?"  I nodded yes.106

"We just formed a team and joined the inner city industrial league.  Our first practice is tonight and some of the guys recommended these shoes as being the best,"  he said, looking down at his feet.107

"Wait a minute," I said,  "you bought those shoes and put them on in the store?"108

"Yeah, I wanted to start breaking them in."109

"Where are you're old shoes?"110

"What are you a lawyer?"111

"No man, don't get uptight, I was just wondering, is all."112

"They were gettin' kinda ratty, so I tossed 'em into their trash can."  He nodded towards the shoe store.113

"They let you do that?"  I asked.114

"Hey, for what they charge for these shoes, they'd better not complain."115

"There aren't any shoe stores on the north side?"116

"Well, you see, it happened this way Mr. Mason, on the night of . . ."117

"OK, lighten up Gordie, no more questions.  I was just curious."118

"Apparently this is a popular shoe, or I have a popular sized foot because this was the only store that had my size in stock."  He bounced up and down a few times, then said, "Hey man, I gotta get goin' I have a few more errands to run and I want to put some miles on these shoes before practice."119

"Hey, no problem.  See ya at work Monday."120

He gave a half wave and said, "yup."121

I watched as he got into his car.  Man, that sure was a nice set of wheels.  As he raised his left foot into the car and closed the door, I had a fleeting glimpse of his new shoe from the side.  I hadn't noticed when I looked at his feet straight on, but from the side, I realized that his new shoes looked exactly the same as the one under my bed.  Correction: used to be under my bed.  What a weird coincidence.122

The voice bubbled up from some hidden lair in my brain and asked, "Or is it?"  It was back.  I called it my altered ego, my evil twin.  It always had something negative to say, but it called itself the voice of reason.  It said my mind was clouded by indecision and the fear of making mistakes, and that it offered a clear perspective devoid of my weaknesses.  It could be very persuasive.123

“Hold on to your horses Hank.  Before you chalk this up to mere coincidence, you better think this over.  A lot of weird things have happened today.  You may not think they’re related, but it’s time to do the math, bud, because they’re all adding up.”124

I had no idea what it was talking about.125

“Try to keep up with me , Hank Ole buddy, as I explain.  You just bumped into Gordie.  The only time he comes to this side of town is to visit your house, right?”126

I nodded in agreement.127

“Your front door was locked for a different reason.  Sue didn’t want to be disturbed because your pal Gordie was at your house.  Remember how he flirted with her at the company picnic last month?  She was eating it up.  Remember?  I had a talk with you while it was happening.  I warned you that something like this might happen.  Remember?”128

Yeah, I remembered.129

“When was the last time you saw Sue that flushed and sweaty?  Come on, you remember.  It was last Saturday night during your weekly bout of making whoopee.”130

I stood there staring at nothing in particular.131

“Hank!  Wake up.  You came home early and almost caught her in the act.  While you were fumbling with the locked door, Gordie was scrambling to throw on his clothes and he ran out the back in such a hurry that he forgot his shoes.  Sue kicked them under the bed and ran to meet you as you entered the house.”132

It was starting to make sense.133

“Remember how nervous she looked?  It was because the bed wasn’t made.  She didn’t have time.  It’s always made, right?  But not after a wild bout of rampant sex.  You should have felt the sheets.  I’ll bet they were still warm.”134

Yeah, yeah!  Sue always makes the bed.135

"She started that argument with you to shift your attention from the way she looked.  She came up with that convenient excuse to trick you into getting the laundry so she could run and make the bed and dispose of the shoes.  Gordie’s shoes.  She knew you went straight to the bathroom; she probably watched you go in.  She was checking to see if you looked in the bedroom and you didn’t, so she figured her secret was safe, but she forgot that you don’t always close the bathroom door.  That’s why she blew up when you said that you saw the shoe while sitting on the dumper.”136

All the pieces were falling into place.137

“Gordie didn’t have any old shoes with him when he came out if the shoe store because he didn’t have any when he went in.  They were under your bed.”138

Would they really let a guy come in without shoes?139

“Hey, for what they charge for those shoes, they’d better not complain.”140

I didn’t know about the shoe store thing.  I thought my evil twin was groping on that one.141

“Did you notice how defensive Gordie got when you started asking him questions?  They were harmless questions, and yet, he got really ticked off, right?”142

Yeah, now that you mention it, he did act a little strange.143

“And that excuse about his car not starting was a lie.  The way he pampers his kitty, have you ever heard him say that it wouldn’t start in the past?  No, of course not.  How could you fall for that, Hank?  Why can’t you see through their charade?  It’s so obvious to me.144

You’re so easy Hank.  They’re banking on your gullibility, but they don’t realize you have inside help.  March home and confront her.  Tell her you’re wise to their escapade.  Spell out all the dirty little details I have revealed to you and she’ll cave in and confess.  She’ll beg for your forgiveness and you can lord this over her for years to come.  You’ll never lose another argument.  You’ll never have to make that first floor laundry, plus, you’ll never have to bring up the clothes again.  Never!  And you can smoke as much as you want; in the house too, if you feel like it.  She wouldn’t dare say a word, not after you wring the confession out of her. 145

Then  there’s Gordie.  He’ll have to be taught a lesson.  All in good time Hank, all in good time.  It’d be a shame if something should happen to that sweet paint job of his.”146

My hideous counterpart faded back into the murky depths of my mind, but I could still hear its insipid laughter gurgling up from the convoluted recesses of my brain.147

The evidence was overwhelming and I couldn’t wait to confront Susan.  While driving home, I started to have second thoughts.  In the past, this sinister sidekick inside me has actually caused a few problems for me while trying to help.  I needed solid evidence, but how . . .  As I pulled up in front of the house, I realized that I had forgotten to buy any cigarettes.  I guess that ghoulish guardian of my best interests was good for something after all.148

I got out of my car and saw Captain Al peering out the window at me.  This gave me an idea.  I decided to pay Al a visit.  He saw me coming and ducked out of the window.  I went up to his front door, raised my hand and started to knock.  Just before my knuckle hit the door, it swung open and I was standing face to face with Al Crawford.  Al was an old guy.  I didn’t know how old and I didn’t want to ask.  I was a lousy guesser, so let’s just say he was somewhere between geezer and ancient.149

“What can I do for you Hank?”  Al had a smooth, confident voice.  He probably had a professional career back in his working days.  I’ll bet he was a psychiatrist or an FBI agent or something cool like that.  I could ask him, but I didn’t want to ruin the mystery.150

"Hi, Al, I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions," I said as I studied his face and tried to figure out if wrinkles started out short and grew longer or started out long and just grew deeper.151

"Sure, come on in," he said, as he swung the door wide.152

Whoa.  He was inviting me in.  I'd known Al for over a year and he never even opened the door enough for me to see inside before.153

"Thanks."154

I was shocked when I walked in and saw the inside of his house.  I tried not to look shocked, but doubted that I succeeded because I was so amazingly shocked.  Books.  There were piles of books everywhere.  Not hard covered reading books, but notebooks, ledgers and journals.  There were hundreds of stacks of books, varying from five to seven  feet tall.  A path was carved through the columns which created a trail through each room.  I had walked into an alien landscape of narrow canyons carved through mountains of books.155

"This way," Al said as he turned and walked down the path which led to the living room.  I followed, careful not to knock over any of the piles as visions of catastrophic domino chain reactions raced through my mind.  He moved as small stack of books which revealed a stool and invited me to sit.  He sat down on a steel folding chair next to the window, picked up a journal and pen, then said, "All right Hank, I'm listening."  He was so nonchalant about all this.  How could he be?156

"Jeez Louise, Al . . . you realize there's no way that I cannot ask you about all these books, right?"  I tilted my head towards the nearest pile as I spoke and rolled my eyes.157

"Of course Hank, I understand."  He was unflappable.  "For many years, I was a private investigator."  I knew it.  I just knew it.  I thought triumphantly inside my head.  He continued as I silently rejoiced, "The majority of my career was spent doing covert surveillance operations during which I documented everything that I observed.  These books are the culmination of those efforts.  They date back to 1948.158

"How long were you a P.I.?"159

"I was an investigator for twenty five years."160

"You mean to say you filled all these books in just twenty five years?"161

"Heavens no," he said, "after I retired, I found that my work ethic was so engrained that I couldn't stop observing and writing.  I have chronicled everything that has cut a path across my life since my retirement in 1975.  Every event I have witnessed over the last fifty two years has been faithfully and thoroughly recorded in these books."162

"There has to be thousands of books here."163

"Five thousand, eight hundred and thirty four, to be exact," he said.164

"You counted them all?" I was amazed.165

"Of course Hank," he answered, "every room is categorized and every stack is itemized.  I can find any book in less that five minutes."166

"Al, don't you think this is just a little weird?"  I asked as I swept my arm in a tight little circle to avoid starting an avalanche.167

"I realize that my behavior might be considered somewhat obsessive, but I liken it to a continuous detailed encounter with my environment.  Now tell me Hank, why have you come to see me?"  With that, he started jotting something in the journal.168

"A friend of mine was supposed to come over today,"  I started spinning a yarn, "and I really wanted to catch . . . I mean, catch up with him.  I fear I may have missed him and I was wondering if you happened to see him.  He drives a bright red Cougar."169

"A snappy little hardtop with an exquisite paint job?"170

"Yeah, that's him," I replied.171

"That's too bad Hank.  He drove past about five minutes after you arrived." 172

"Yeah, that is too bad," I said while thinking, so you know when I came home, then you must have seen me fall into the bushes.173

"If he is your friend, and you were supposed to meet, why didn't he stop?" he asked.174

"I don't know, Al.  We must have gotten our wires crossed somehow."  I hoped he wasn't going to start punching holes in my feeble story.  I tried to visualize what must have happened.  Gordie parked on the street behind our house.  He ran through the backyards and escaped unnoticed, but he had to drive past the front to get back on the main road.  That's when Al saw him.175

"Of course," Al said, "that was the second time I saw that particular car."   He consulted a different notebook from one of the stacks on his coffee table.176

I said, "Al, you definitely need to get a hobby," and I wasn't trying to be funny.  He ignored me and continued scanning his finger down the ledger.177

"Let me see, yes, here it is.  It was one week ago today that I observed the red car in question for the first time."178

I mulled over this new development and dug through my memory.  Come to think of it-yes-Gordie was not at work that day either.  He called in sick.  The psycho-paranoid-fiend that mimicked as a conscience, might actually be right.  This was getting serious.  I had to find that shoe, if it was still in the house, and confront Susan with it.  I got an idea and asked Al, "Have you noticed, by any chance,"  while thinking at the same time, was there any chance that he didn't notice, "if Sue has left the house while I've been out."     "No sir," he said, "her car has not left your driveway since. . . "  he hesitated, then checked a notebook next to the window, ". . . 5:15 PM yesterday and she returned at 5:47 PM carrying two bags which appeared to be groceries."179

This guy was a full pound fruitcake with nuts on top, but he sure was turning out to be useful.  Sue hasn't left, so the shoe must still be in the house.180

I got up and started winding my way back towards the door.  "I hafta go Al,"  I turned to thank him; he was busy writing in his notebook while checking the time on his watch.  I continued my journey through bookland and Al disappeared from view behind the piles.  I closed the door gently and shook my head in pity.181

I weighed my options as I walked towards my house.  There was no way to be subtle about this, so I decided on a frontal attack, hoping my boldness would catch Sue off guard.  I walked into the kitchen, where I found her stirring a big pot of one of her unnamed concoctions which would eventually be called supper.  This one actually smelled pretty good.182

"Where's the shoe."  I blurted out.183

"What?"  Sue had her back to me and was startled by the question.184

"You heard me," I continued, "and don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about.  I saw a shoe under the bed and you moved it."  Before she could answer, I said, "and I know Gordie was over here."185

"Who?"  she looked shocked.186

"Don't play innocent, Gordie from work.  He was over here last week and he was over here today."  The color drained from her face as I continued my attack, "It's his shoe.  I have it all figured out.  I came home from work early and he split out the back door so fast that he forgot his shoes."187

"Why on Earth would he have his shoes off?" she asked.188

"Because I came home unexpectedly, he barely had time to get dressed before I came in the front door.  The door you locked to slow me down.  Because you're having an affair with him!"  I said it.  I hadn't meant to accuse her until I had the shoe.  It slipped out.  There was no turning back now.189

"How dare you!" she screamed. "How dare you say such a thing!"  With that, she picked up the pot from the stove and hurled it at me.  I had plenty of time to duck as the pot struck the wall over my head.  The plaster cracked and I was painted with a tomato colored goulash stew as the pot bounced off my back and spewed its remaining contents across the floor.  Peas and carrots slowly skittered down the wall.190

"Supper is served."  The words seethed out of her mouth as she stormed out of the kitchen.  I heard the front door slam and shortly after that, the squeal of tires as she sped away.  I was quite confident that Al was writing  feverishly at this very moment.  With a squishy plopping sound, I dug a pea out of my ear and decided that I would take that shower after all.191

Judging by how loudly the door had slammed, I figured it would be several hours before Sue calmed down and came back.  This was the perfect opportunity for me to find that shoe.  She left so quickly that I was sure she couldn't have retrieved it from its hiding place.  It had to be here somewhere.192

After cleaning up, I went on a meticulous mission to secure the shoe.  I systematically searched every room and every closet.  I looked under all the furniture and in every cupboard.  I looked everywhere.  I even looked in the basement, though I doubted I would find it there because I was in the basement when she moved it.  No luck.  No shoe.  I was beginning to second guess if there ever was a shoe under the bed.  It had to be real.  I should have picked it up when I first saw it.  This whole sordid mess would have been so much easier to deal with if I had the shoe.193

I gave up.  It was painfully apparent that Sue was much more efficient at hiding things than I was at finding them.  I had no idea how I was going to handle the situation.  I could have used some suggestions, but my inner friend was conveniently no where to be found.  Sue's temper was obviously getting stronger. I attributed it to the fact that it was getting a lot of exercise lately.  I grabbed the remote and sat in front of the TV.  It was going to be a long night.194

As the hours marched by in a slow procession, Hank sank deeper into the chair.  The day's burdens weighed on his mind like sandbags, leaky sandbags that slowly drizzled grains and buried his brain under a blanket of soothing sand.  It covered his cares and suppressed the sounds.  He was soon asleep.195

He found himself outside. He didn't recognize his surroundings, but he recognized the object in front of him.  It was the shoe.  He had found it at last.  He took a step towards it and it took a step back.  He ran forward and the shoe ran backward, always staying just out of reach.  He lunged at the shoe with all of his might.  The shoe jumped at the last second and Hank fell flat on the ground empty-handed.  He was so close.  He refused to give up.  Once again, he ran towards the shoe and, once again, the shoe ran away, but Hank persevered and kept running and running.  He noticed that he was getting closer with each passing minute.  He found his second wind and redoubled his efforts.  When he was almost on top of the shoe, he dove in full stride with outstretched arms and landed on the shoe.196

It kicked and squirmed as Hank struggled to grab it.  Just as he got a firm hold of it, he heard a loud CLOMP behind him.  He turned to see a gigantic white shoe coming straight at him.  He scrambled to his feet, clutching the little white shoe to his chest.  He ran faster than he had ever run before.  He didn't dare look back, but with each monstrous step, the ground shook a little harder.  For some bizarre reason, Hank likened the giant shoe to a dinosaur trying to rescue its baby.  The sound grew deafening and the ground heaved so hard that Hank lost his balance and tumbled head-over-heels like a racehorse that had broken a leg as it neared the finish line.  He laid face down with sweat streaming from every pore as he tried to catch his breath.  Suddenly Hank was bathed in darkness; he turned over and raised his arms in terror.  The giant shoe loomed over his head.  All he could see was the pattern on the sole.  The little shoe scampered off of Hank as tons of leather and rubber came crashing down.197

WHAM!198

The front door slammed so hard, my heart jumped in my chest as I flew out of the chair landing in a heap on the floor.199

Sue was home.200

I tried to think of something to say that would calm her down, "Sue . . ."201

"Don't you dare talk to me."  She blew past without a sideways glance and went straight to the bedroom.202

I gathered myself up off of the floor and followed her.  I turned in the doorway to enter the bedroom and saw a momentary image of Sue, with both hands over her head, launching a pillow towards me.  Everything went white as the pillow struck me in the face.  The impact snapped my head back causing me to lose my balance.  I fell flat on my butt as I heard the bedroom door slam, followed by the click of the lock.  I was amazed that a bag of feathers could be delivered with such force.  I could take a hint.  I walked down the hallway to the family room with the feathered projectile.  It wouldn't be the first night I'd spent on the sleeper sofa and the way things looked, probably not the last.203

I awoke to the familiar sound of a door slamming.  My neck sent distress signals to my brain as I lifted my head from the innocent looking pillow.  I stood up, reversed the kink in my back and scratched myself as I walked to the bathroom.  I paused by the bedroom to read the note Sue had taped to the door.  In fat, red, lipstick letters, she wrote 'DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT KNOCKING ON THIS DOOR!’  I sighed and went into the bathroom.  I flipped up the toilet seat and began to relieve myself.  The house was silent except for the sound of falling water.204

"Close the door!"  Sue barked out the command like a seasoned drill sergeant.  I balanced on one leg and kicked the door shut without breaking the stream.  After flushing, I dutifully remembered to lower the seat.  I wasn't giving her any new ammunition for a future argument.205

I sulked into the kitchen and spied a few elusive peas under the table.  I ignored them and reexamined the crack in the wall.  I shrugged and walked over to the counter.  My lunchbox was open and the ad for the tool sale was sticking out.  I had planned to go.  I was actually looking forward to it yesterday morning but that seemed like a lifetime ago.  There was no sense going now, I couldn't possible enjoy . . . no . . . it was the perfect excuse to get out of the house; I really needed to get out for a while.  I was just about to tell Sue that I was leaving when I swallowed the words before they could escape.  What's the use?  I didn't want another argument and I didn't care to hear any more slamming doors so I slipped silently out of the house and drove away.206

I tried to clear my mind and cheer up.  I loved tools, especially power tools.  Anything could be built with the right tools and a smattering of talent.  Talent -- that was my Achilles' Heel, but I never let a little thing like accuracy prevent me from finishing a project.207

A blinking neon sign caught my eye.  I checked my watch; I had a half hour before Happy Hal opened his doors.  That left me plenty of time to stop at Dunk'n Munchkin for a dough ball and a cup of Joe.  I pulled into the lot and parked in front of a huge picture of a  donut with sprinkles on it and had a quick breakfast.208

I arrived at the Tool Shack just as the waiting mob of bargain hunters pushed through the opening doors.  It was a party atmosphere at every semi-annual tool sell-a-bration, which I figured happened about four times a year.  There were blue light specials, red tag specials and close-out bins filled with once-in-a-lifetime ridiculously low prices.  Normally I felt like a kid on the first day of summer vacation as I combed the aisles filled with tools, but instead, I felt like a diabetic in a candy store.  I was miserable.  I was the only guy in the store who wasn't smiling about something.  I was surprised they didn't throw me out for spoiling their party.  I bought a box of plaster and left Happy Hal's.209

I drove around for the better part of an hour and watched morning slip into afternoon.  I was in no hurry to find out what kind of mood Sue would be in.  I took the scenic route home which eventually led me down the road behind my house.  As I drove past a long row of cars, I slammed on the brakes.  Unbelievable!  There was Gordie's car parked exactly where I had guessed it would have been yesterday for a quick get-a-way.210

How dare he come back?  How dare she . . .?  How could they . . .?  I was only gone a couple hours.  Were they that hot for each other?  Normally, I wasn't a violent man, but adrenaline was surging through my veins.  I could feel my pulse pounding in my head and my hands shook as I drove around the corner and parked the car.211

I marched into the house and this time, I slammed the door.  Sue was in the kitchen making coffee.212

"Where is he?" I demanded.213

"Who . . ."214

"Don't give me that innocent routine.  I know he's here. Where's Gordie!"215

"I . . . wh . . . how?"  As Sue stood there flustered and stuttering, I heard a noise in the family room and went roaring down the hall before she could make a complete sentence.  216

"Come on out, Gordon, you stupid son-of-a- . . ."  my last word was drowned, as I entered the family room, under the roar of a dozen voices.  Half were shouting, "Surprise!" while the others cheered, "Happy Birthday!"   217

I was dumbfounded.  "It's . . .it's not my birthday till next week," I stammered.218

"We know that," Gordie said. "It's easier to surprise you when you're not expecting it."219

"And here's something you've been looking for."  I turned towards Sue's voice just in time to see her throw something at me.  It was a shoe.  It was the shoe.  The white shoe with the red diagonal stripe.  I was transfixed by the sight of the elusive shoe and it struck me in the forehead.  As if by some signal, everyone took off a shoe and I was bombarded by a fusillade of shoes.220

"That's for almost spoiling the surprise that I worked so hard at planning."  Then she bent down and picked up another white shoe.  "And here's the one you didn't see."  She reared back and let it fly.  This time, I had time to react and covered my head like a boxer on the ropes, but she aimed lower; much lower.  It hit me squarely in the groin and I doubled over in pain.  Everyone took off their other shoe, and again, I was pelted by a barrage of shoes.  Apparently they had conspired to help teach me a lesson.  "And that's for having such a demented imagination!" Sue said, "How could you twist finding a shoe under the bed into me having an affair with Gordie?"  Some of our friends cheered for Sue while others were booing me.221

“There were so many things that pointed to it," I said, "finding the shoe. . . you were flushed and nervous . . .the bed unmade . . .hiding the shoe from me . . .Al saw Gordie's car . . .I found Gordie buying new shoes . . ." I paused, "it all made so much sense yesterday."222

"I was just about to wrap your present in the bedroom," Sue started to explain, "when you came home unexpectedly.  I had to hide the shoes fast, so I kicked them under the bed, threw the covers back over the sweat suit and sped down the hall to intercept you.  That's why I was flushed and 'out of breath', not nervous."223

"Sweat suit?" I asked.224

"I almost forgot."  She picked up a nice looking set of designer sweats from the table next to her and tossed them at me. I caught them easily.  There was no force behind them.  Sue was calming down.  "The only way you would have found them was if you made the bed," she continued, "and past experience told me that you would never find them."  A few of our friends chuckled.225

"And I told you why I was at the shoe store," Gordie spoke up, "what part didn't you understand?"226

"But Al said he saw your car here last week." I added.227

Sue said, "That's when we started planning your party.  I don't know why you talk to that old, busy-body, peeping whacko.  I told Gordie to park on the block behind us and come through the backyard so that Al wouldn't get suspicious and tip you off,"228

"Why did you lie about cleaning the tub?" I asked.229

"You caught me off guard with the question about the red face," she replied, "I had to think fast.  I couldn't say that I raced down the hallway to greet you.  My face always gets red when I scrub out the tub, so that's what I told you.  The only other thing that makes me flushed and sweaty is when we make . . ." remembering that company was present, she stopped and looked embarrassingly at the guests.230

“I know Sue, that’s what I thought of yesterday.”231

Our friends started laughing.  They all knew what we were talking about.232

“I realize now that your plan was to lure me out of the house with the tool sale, but after what happened yesterday, how could you be sure I’d still go?”233

“Hank, honey,”  she called me honey, that meant she wasn’t mad at me anymore, “have you ever missed one of Happy Hal’s quarterly semi-annual tool sales?” 234

“Ummmmm . . .” I hesitated, trying to think.235

“No Hank,” she answered for me, “you’ve never missed one.  Why do you think Hal is always so happy?  You’re his best customer, that’s why.”     236

More laughter.237

“So you’re not mad at me?”238

“Hank, you stretch the ‘for-better-or worse’ clause to its ripping point.  You can be such a knucklehead at times.  I was so mad at you yesterday, I could have bitten your head off, reached down your neck and ripped out your heart.”  As she spoke, I caught myself rubbing my neck; some of my friends were also rubbing their necks.  “But there are times,” she continued, “when you are so loving and understanding and it feels so right to be in your arms.  And I feel so lucky to be with you and I thank God that you chose to spend the rest of your life with me.”239

All of Sue’s girlfriends said, “Awwwwww”240

“So, you forgive me?”  I didn’t feel I needed to ask, but I wanted to hear her say it.241

“Ask me again after you’ve moved the laundry upstairs.”242

I groaned, but she knew I’d do it.243

Sue took my hand and said, “Coffee’s made!  Who wants cake?”244

“Wait a minute, Sue.  You never told me where you hid the shoes.  I looked everywhere for them.  Did you take them out of the house?”  I had to know.245

“I didn’t have to take them out of the house,” she explained, “I sent you down to get the clothes from the dryer as a decoy.  While you were down there, I hung the sweat suit in the closet.  You weren’t looking for it, so you wouldn’t find it.  I made the bed and stuck the shoes in the stove.”246

“I looked in the stove,” I objected, “they weren’t in there.”247

“You looked after I left the house, right?”  I nodded yes.  “I moved them long before that; while you were at the store talking to Gordie. I put them someplace where they’d be safe and sound; someplace where you’d never look; someplace that you shun like a leper’s handshake.”248

She was driving me nuts, and she knew it. “Where?”  I was exasperated.249

“In the washing machine!”250