I was shocked when I realized the teacher who once bought me shoes was working as a janitor. She didn’t recognize me, but when I gave her something I’d kept for 37 years, her jaw dropped. “Why would you do this to me?” she whispered. Then I leaned in and told her something that made her cry.
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When I was 11, my father died and left us in debt. Mom and I were always one bill away from panic.
Sometimes we barely had enough for food and to pay the electricity bill.
Clothes came from clearance racks or second-hand stores. Then, my sneakers started falling apart.
The soles were loose and had cracked across the balls of my feet ages ago, but now those cracks had turned into holes. I didn’t tell Mom because I didn’t want her to worry.
I could handle getting wet socks when it rained, but the way my classmates teased me soon became unbearable.
My mother and I were always one bill away from panic.
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One day, a girl named Dana leaned over in class and whispered loudly, “Ew, I can see Alice’s dirty sock through the front of her shoe.”
Her friend snorted. “No, look, the sole is coming off.”
I kept my eyes on my workbook.
At lunch, I sat with my tray untouched while the same girls giggled two tables over.
“Maybe her shoes are vintage.”
