Shoes

I had never spoken to her in my life. In fact, I had never even approached her. I did not know where she was from and I did not know her name. Rather, I sat mutely on the bus bench every day and watched as she came and left, taking the bus right before the one I needed. Like clockwork, this had happened every day for the past five years. Always the same woman, always the same bus.

I tended to notice her shoes more than anything. They were always different from day to day, of course, but she developed a pattern when wearing them. She would wear either the red heels or the black sandals for the first part of the week. Wednesday was white heel day. Thursday was a toss up between the blue or the yellow flats and then Friday was always sneakers of various kinds. Based upon that and the suit that she wore, I guessed that she was some kind of businesswoman, but she went elsewhere on Fridays, though she took the same bus. Her clothing was so varied that I could never keep up, but I did see the same suits over and over again. What changed was the color of the shirts.

It was a red heeled Tuesday when I saw her for the last time at the busstop. Come Wednesday, she did not return. It had happened a few times. After all, she was not wonder woman, but I still had a feeling inside of me that something bad had happened. Even then I knew she would not return. I kept my thoughts to myself and went my own way, taking the bus after hers to my own job at the bank.

Two weeks had passed since I last saw her but I had not forgotten her. It was another Wednesday when I decided that I would try and track her down.

But that was unnecessary. As I sat typing at my desk, I received a call that a client was coming to talk about a loan. I noticed her feet first. White heels. The woman stepped in and gave me a smile. She recognized me. I could see it in her eyes.

I asked her all the standard questions and it was revealed to me that she had simply moved across town and was looking for a loan to help pay off her new home. She had not been in trouble, contrary to what my feelings had told me. She had simply moved from the Main Street stop to the Elm Street stop.

The next day, I walked all the way to Elm Street and sat down.

It was a yellow flats day.