July 10, 2017 – Buffalo, New York, USA
The weekend donations of clothes and shoes to the Salvation Army thrift store were typically sorted and ready for sale by Monday afternoon. Reggie Brooks knew that the newly arrived shoes were placed on a special rack. They sat there for three days before being moved onto the long shelves that separated them by shoe size.
“Anything nice today?” Reggie asked Carla, the store employee who usually saved shoes she thought Reggie would like.
“Reach up top,” said Carla. “Size eleven loafers. The leather still looks good.”
Reggie strained to grab the brown loafers, which were not visible at first glance. “Hey, these are nice,” he said to Carla, as he thoroughly inspected the shoes. “And size elevens, like you said. You know I can go up or down half a size, but I like to stick with elevens if I can.”
“They match your tie,” said Carla.
Reggie automatically looked down at his blue and tan striped tie, which matched his polyester slacks and long-sleeved shirt. “Nah, I’ve got a better tie at home for these shoes,” Reggie replied.
“How come I never see you without a tie?” asked Carla. “They have a dress code where you work?”
“Not exactly. But I like to look nice.” Reggie continued to turn the shoes over, giving them a thorough inspection. “You know, the heel’s pretty worn on one side. How about I give you $4 for then instead of $5?”
Carla shook her head and smiled. “Always drive a hard bargain, don’t you? I guess $4 is enough.”
Reggie followed Carla past the racks of used clothes and the section of the store reserved for used couches and chairs, which were practically piled on top of each other. He paid with four $1 bills at the cash register.
“I don’t need a bag,” Reggie said to Carla. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Try to hold off on putting out any of the new shoes.”
To avoid the heat of the summer evening, Reggie hurried from the air-conditioned store to his car. He set the freshly purchased shoes on the passenger seat. They were just the type of find he liked. They had enough wear to take the stiffness out of the leather and with only minor scuffs. The heel was not as bad as Reggie had made it sound when he talked Carla down to $4.
Reggie hummed contentedly as he drove home. This was one of those days that made treasure hunting worthwhile. Of all the shoes in the store, he had found the best pair. He had used Carla’s help, but that was only available because he had invested time in the relationship. He looked over at the shoes again. They had probably cost $100 brand new. He had paid 4% of what some poor sucker had spent at a shoe store.
After the 20-minute drive home, Reggie pulled into the single car garage next to his single-story brick house. His neighborhood had been built before Reggie was born. Most of the houses were indistinguishable except for the cars parked around them. Reggie told himself he could afford a bigger house if he wanted one, but he lived alone and there was no point in heating and cooling extra space simply to show off.
Rather than walking inside, Reggie grabbed the shoes sitting next to him and headed to his backyard. On his porch sat a rag and a spray bottle containing a decontamination formula he had invented. Reggie thoroughly sprayed the shoes, inside and out and then wiped the leather surface dry. Then he walked to a wire stretched between two poles, which was meant for drying clothes. He used a metal clip to suspend the shoes. He left them drying in the sun and retrieved a second pair which had already completed the decontamination process.
Reggie walked straight to his bedroom and pulled open a sliding door to his closet. A collection of slacks and long-sleeve shirts was lined up on hangers. Below them were 60 dress shoes arranged on three shelves. The shoes were a variety of dark colors. Some had laces and designs on the tips, others were very plain, slip-on designs. The pair in Reggie’s hands had laces and was maroon colored. To make room for them in his closet, he thoughtfully pulled two similarly looking shoes from the bottommost shelf and replaced them with the ones from the clothesline.
Reggie picked up the shoes he had decided to semi-retire and carried them into the room next door. Every wall of the room was covered with bookshelves. On every shelf sat old shoes. Reggie walked to the one bookcase with some open shelf space and gently placed the pair of shoes he was demoting.
“Just because you’re moving in here doesn’t mean I won’t wear you again,” Reggie said to the pair of shoes. “I’ll remember where I put you.”
He looked around and reminded himself that he was quickly running out of shoe storage space. He would either need to add a new row of shelves down the middle of the room or rent a storage locker and transfer a portion of the collection to offsite status. But how would he ever decide which shoes he would send away like that?
Reggie did not keep an exact count on his shoe population, but he had a pretty good idea of their numbers. His regular shopping route took him to the Salvation Army store on Mondays and Thursdays, Goodwill on Tuesdays and Fridays, and a shop called New2U on Wednesdays and Saturdays. By keeping a close eye on their inventories, he was usually able to find a couple of quality pairs each week. After 10 years of the routine, he had to be somewhere over 1000 pairs. He still remembered finding each one.
The shoe obsession was something in between a hobby and a lifestyle. Reggie did not try to explain it to family members or colleagues at work. He was well aware that other people would not get it. He assured himself there were worse thing he could be doing with his time. Was a room full of shoes much different than something like a model train or car collection?
The next morning, Reggie finished his usual breakfast of orange juice and peanut butter on an English muffin. He went to his closet and first picked out his shoes, the maroon ones fresh from decontamination. Then he chose a tie to match, followed by a shirt and slacks. He brushed his teeth for two minutes and added gel to his hair to keep it in place. He reached his desk at the city’s water and sanitation department a full fifteen minutes before work was supposed to start.
The extra time in the morning allowed Reggie to water the climbing vine and yucca plants in his cubicle. The yucca was on a once-a-week watering schedule and the vine twice a week. Reggie replaced his watering can next to his pictures of whales and lighthouses and turned on his computer.
Reggie kept looking over his shoulder, but it was not until 8:30 when he finally saw what he was waiting for. Twila rushed past, dripping frazzled blonde hair and rubbing the wrinkles in her skirt. She ducked into the cubicle two away from Reggie. He could only see the top of her head, but he knew she was applying lipstick. The phone on his desk rang.
“Was anybody looking for me?” Twila whispered when Reggie picked up.
“No. Not yet. Where have you been?”
“Dealing with the usual stuff. I won’t bore you.”
“If Rolandi showed up, I was gonna tell him your cat had kittens.”
“Yeah. Good one. Hey, can you take some of these Past Due cases for me. I’ll never finish them all.”
“Sure. No problem.”
Twila stood up and walked to the breakroom. Reggie listened for her laughter as she sipped coffee and chatted with coworkers. He did not see her face-to-face until the 10 am staff meeting with Mr. Rolandi. She made a point to sit next to Reggie at the meeting room table.
“Tell Rolandi he’s already told us about expense reports a thousand times,” Twila whispered to Reggie as the meeting got underway.
“I’m not telling him that,” Reggie whispered back.
“Tell him you think his fly might be open.”
Reggie suppressed a grin. “You tell him.”
Twila raised her hand. Reggie turned red with embarrassment. Mr. Rolandi stopped his droning and gestured for Twila to ask her question.
“Mr. Rolandi, I noticed you’re wearing new glasses.”
“These aren’t new,” Mr. Rolandi replied in confusion.
“Well, they look real nice anyway,” said Twila.
“Thanks, I guess,” replied Mr. Rolandi as Reggie kept his eyes nervously glued to the table.
Twila gently elbowed him in the ribs and did the same thing when she sat down next to him in the lunchroom. Lunch was often a time for her to vent about her two preteen kids or her ex-husband. She lived in an apartment with bad plumbing and barely any air conditioning. She had friends from high school who still hung around and kept her up too late at night.
“So Reggie, we’ve been eating lunch in the same room for two years,” said Twila, quietly enough so only Reggie could hear. “I’m starting to wonder why you haven’t asked me out.”
Reggie almost spit out his bite of sandwich.
“You don’t have a policy about dating people you work with, do you?”
“I uh, no, I don’t think so.”
“So why is it?”
Reggie shrugged his shoulders, but he knew exactly why. He was afraid of rejection. Twila was fun and lively and beautiful. Why would she be interested in him? And wasn’t he too old for her? Maybe it only seemed that way.
“I’d be up for dinner if you are,” Twila said with a sweet smile. “My kids are with their father, so I don’t need a sitter.”
“You and me for dinner?” said Reggie, as if he was trying to catch up to the conversation.
“Why don’t you pick me up at 7:00?”
Reggie skipped his usual visit to the Goodwill thrift store that afternoon because he was so nervous. He went to his closet and picked out his favorite pair of black wingtips. Then he changed his tie. Then he changed his shirt and pants.
When Reggie knocked on Twila’s door, she called that the door was open and he should come inside. He pushed aside some shopping bags and sat on her lumpy couch. She emerged from her bedroom, took one look at Reggie, and laughed out loud.
“You’re dressed like you’re going to work. I was hoping to see you in something different.”
“Sorry. I wanted to look nice.”
“I’m only teasing. Come on, I know an Italian place I’m dying to try.”
Reggie and Twila drove to the Italian restaurant. The place was half empty and they were seated right away. Their table was set with a stiff white tablecloth and a flickering candle. Twila ordered appetizers, and then, for the first time, asked Reggie about his family and childhood. She wanted to know how he learned to ride a bike and which movies made him cry. By the time their entrees arrived, Reggie had stopped feeling nervous. Twila told him about her goal to visit all 50 states and bring back a bumper sticker from each. She only had 28 to go.
Reggie paid the bill and drove Twila home. “That was really nice,” she said. “We should do it again real soon.”
“We should?”
“Yes, we should. You should probably ask me out for this weekend.”
Reggie sat on his bed that night wondering if it had all been real. He had imagined something like it for a very long time. Had his mind simply manufactured something so vivid that he could actually remember the feel of the tablecloth and the smell of Twila’s hair?
She was late again the next morning but instead of sneaking to her cubicle, Twila stopped at Reggie’s. She carried a plastic shopping bag. She handed it to Reggie with a satisfied grin.
“I got this for you a few days ago. You’re always wearing old shoes. I though you deserved something new.”
Reggie automatically looked down at the black loafers he was wearing. He had added polish to the leather, but they were obviously scuffed. He reached into Twila’s bag and pulled out a shoebox. Inside, wrapped in paper, were a pair of black Oxfords. They shined like a dark mirror.
“You like them?” asked Twila.
Reggie quickly calculated in his head how much the shoes cost and how many hours Twila worked to pay for them. They were the most expensive gift he had received since graduating high school. “They’re beautiful,” said Reggie. “But they’re too much. I can’t take them.”
“Sure you can. I owe you. Think of everything you do for me around here. And I want you wearing them when you take me out on Saturday. Try them on.”
“No, I’ll wait.”
The shoes sat on his desk until he drove them straight home, bypassing his scheduled visit to New2U thrift store. There was no need to decontaminate shoes from a box, so Reggie slipped his feet inside them and tightened the laces. They felt tight and stiff. He walked back and forth between his bedroom, kitchen, and shoe storage room. He stared down at Twila’s Oxfords and could not find one imperfection. Were they worth twenty pairs of shoes on his shelf? They had cost the same. He would have to wear them for thirty days before they felt comfortable. But Twila would expect to see them.
He loved eating dinner with her. He loved how she could make him laugh. She actually seemed interested in him. But Reggie had also seen her on bad days when she sat alone in the lunchroom, angry at her kids and crying into her phone. She was far from perfect, maybe very far. And he had already missed two days of shoe shopping.
The next morning, Reggie woke up earlier than usual. He skipped his peanut butter on English muffin and stared at the new Oxfords sitting in front of his closet. What would it be? Them or the thousand other pairs he had worked so hard to find?
Twila’s first stop that morning was Reggie’s cubicle. She immediately looked at his feet. “Nice shoes,” she said with a satisfied smile.
Reggie smiled back even though his toes felt pinched.
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