BACK TO SCHOOL DAYS
Catherine Forrester shifted uncomfortably in the seat, her knees digging into the metal partition wall in front of her. At age 34, it had been some years since she had been on a school bus, and probably as many years since she had seen old Woodrow Wilson Junior High. The City was showcasing the recently renovated school, one of the oldest in the district, by using it to host the All-City Basketball Tournament. Maybe it was just nostalgia, but when her nephew Jimmy said they were looking for chaperones, she called Coach Milcox and volunteered. Cathy grew up in the south side neighborhood, and had gone to Woodrow Wilson for 6th,7th, and 8th grades, before her parents had insisted that she go to St. Francis Academy High School for Girls. The public relations firm she worked for had done some pro bono work for the Board of Education, getting some good press for the renovation program.
Volunteering had seemed like a good idea at the time, but she wasn't so sure, now that the trip was underway. She was wedged into the front seat of the yellow bus, with the aisle seat occupied by a giant team equipment bag that she could probably fit herself into if it was empty. Coach Milcox had deposited it on the seat and told her to grab it if it started to move around. Before the bus had even left the parking lot, a hard left turn had shifted the bag so that it nearly pinned her to the wall. She had pushed it mostly upright, but it still took up more than it's fair share of the bench seat. The kids were excited and the noise on the bus was deafening. Hot heavy air blowing in through the open windows was oppressive, and her shoulder length ash blond hair danced on end as the wind swirled about. It had rained this morning, and the humid air made her clothes feel wilted and clingy. Getting caught in the rain hadn't helped any either, and although her blouse and jeans had mostly dried, her shoes were still damp.
She shifted herself diagonally in the seat, pointing her knees in the direction of Mrs. Coolman, the bus driver. Her knees complained as she extended her legs in front of the seat with the bag. Cathy looked her shoes in the square of sunlight beyond the wall in front of her. "White canvas Keds," she remarked to herself, smiling at the thought. "Probably the same kind of shoes I was wearing on my last school bus ride. Maybe the sun will dry them a little," she thought stretching her legs until both shoes were mostly in the sun.
Cathy looked in the oversized mirror in the center of the bus. Turning around, she noticed that no one was sitting in the seat behind her. Coach Milcox was holding court in the rear of the bus and all of the kids were hanging on his every word. Cathy looked at Mrs. Coolman, who had little concern about anything other than keeping the bus between the lines of the road. Cathy pressed the heels of the Keds on the metal strip that held down the rubber mat in the center aisle. The cuffs of the thin white socks she wore were blinding white in the sunlight. Slowly, almost covertly, she pulled her heels from the shoes until gap of a quarter of an inch separated her exposed heels from the tops of the shoes. For some reason, her heart was beating furiously. She looked around nervously to see if anyone had noticed her shoe maneuver.
"A little more nostalgia than I bargained for," she thought, laughing at her self, and relaxing a little bit. In spite of considerable previous life experience to the contrary, there was little chance that some seventh and eighth grade boys were going to steal her shoes and play keep away. Still, she kept her toes well inside the shoes.
Tommy Puckett. The name came to her out of thin air. Tommy Puckett. Her first crush. She hadn't thought of him in years, but she could see his face as if it were yesterday. Instantly, she was transported back to the time in 6th grade, when Tommy Puckett had pulled her shoe off on a bus about like this one, and passed it up to the front of the bus. All the other kids teased her, passing the shoe around and saying it smelled. To make matters worse, she never even got her shoe back. It just disappeared and she had to go the whole day at school in just her socks. Tommy Puckett got detention for a week. After that, Tommy and his friends would steal her shoes at every opportunity. At the time, she couldn't understand why Tommy was always so mean to her. Years later, she decided he wasn't so bad. He was good looking, Captain of the football team, and they had actually dated for most of her Senior year. Tommy Puckett.
Suddenly, she was off balance. The bus had hit a pothole in the road and the equipment bag tipped violently toward the aisle. Cathy grabbed the nylon strap on the bag and pulled back hard, barely setting the bag back upright, but losing her right shoe in the process. Another section of rough road jostled the bag as she held on. When the bus was back on smooth road again, Cathy scrambled to retrieve her shoe. It had landed on the yellow stripe that marked the top step to the door. She glanced around, but no one appeared to notice the shoe. She slouched down in the seat and stretched her leg until she was touching the sneaker with the tip of her toe. She curled her toes over the side of the shoe and pulled gently. The shoe rolled back on the heel until it was vertical, the toe pointing at the ceiling. If she could just pull it a little farther...
Her shoe rolled to the right and tumbled down the steps toward the door. Catherine felt her face blushing as she turned again to see if anyone was watching. A strong sense of D�j� vu enveloped her and she half expected to see a thirteen year old Tommy Puckett staring back at her, but no one seemed to be looking her way. What to do next was the question. Maybe she should just wait until it was time to get off the bus, and collect her shoe then. She stared at her exposed white sock. It was still damp, and her toes were clearly visible through the fabric. She had a narrow heel and a high arch, with toes that aligned perfectly. She pulled her sock up tight displaying a each finely curved toe in a tight row. She had always thought her feet were O.K. but it had been embarrassing to have boys running around with your shoes and socks. As an adult, she favored pumps, and had never had anyone try to steal one from her. She never took her shoes off in public, except occaisionally under her desk at work. She stood up, pretending to stretch, and looked into the three step stairwell that ended at the glass door. Her shoe had come to rest propped up in the corner and leaning against the door. If she could just squeeze past the equipment bag, she could probably...
The bus was slowing down now, and the bag shifted forward blocking her way. Were they there already? She looked out the front window and didn't recognize the area. The bus rolled to a stop, and just as she was about to ask Mrs. Coolman what was happeneing, she saw the "X" on the side of the road. The bus was stopping at railroad crossing.
"Mrs. Coolman!" she shouted, much louder than she had intended to, just as the driver opened the door, as state law required. The sixty or so kids on the bus fell completely silent, and all eyes were on her as she watched the shoe fall out of the open door. Before she could say anything, the door closed and the bus was moving again. "I lost my shoe," she said quietly, struggling past the equipment bag. "It fell out the door back at the tracks." The bus was already halfway over the tracks and could not stop.
"I'll pull over up ahead," Mrs. Coolman said, looking sour and somewhat annoyed. When the door finally opened and Cathy bounded out of the bus, running awkwardly for the hundred yards back to the crossing. The pavement felt rough and hot through her thin sock. She noticed now that the signal lights were flashing, and she could hear the train sounding it's horn in the distance. She ran as fast as she could, imagining her shoe being flattened by the train. She could she the shoe just across the tracks, and she ducked quickly under the crossing arm and crossed the tracks, snatching up the shoe in a fluid motion. There was no time to put it on, so she just ran back to the bus, shoe in hand.
Twelve or fifteen faces pressed against the rear window, all of them looking like Tommy Puckett. "Nice example for the kids," she thought, "Darting in front of a train in your stocking feet." The rest of the kids were hanging out the side windows, clapping and hollering. Even her Nephew Jimmy joined in. The memories flooded back, of the many times she had lost her shoes on the bus.
As she climbed aboard, Mrs. Coolman looked at her passively, as if this happened every day of the week. Cathy squeezed into her seat, and tried to catch her breath, the shoe sitting safely on the seat next to her. She looked at her sock. It was no worse for the wear, but sort of gray on the bottom. She thrust her foot into the shoe again and looked straight ahead for the rest of the ride to Woodrow Wilson Junior High School.
When they arrived, she made her way over to Coach Milcox, who had the situation well in hand. "What can I do to help, Coach Milcox?" she asked, "I've never been a chaperone before."
"Dave," he said, extending his hand. "Call me Dave. I teach Science and Math."
"Cathy," she said, gripping his hand. "I'm a media consultant." She noticed he was looking at her feet, as if he were disappointed she had successfully retrieved her shoe. Maybe it was just her imagination, she thought.
Dave told her that he had things under control, and that if he needed any help, he would not hesitate to ask. He headed off to the locker room to get ready for the game. Cathy walked aimlessly around the renovated school. She knew where the Gym was, but it was an hour before the game. She walked by the science lab, and wondered what ever happened to Mr. Balko, the chemistry teacher. She remembered the time that Tommy stole her shoe in Mr. Balko's class and melted the sole with a Bunsen burner. She ended up going to most of her classes in stockinged feet that day. She passed the Library, the site of shoe loss incidents too numerous to mention. Like the time Tommy's brother Troy managed to steal both shoes and one sock, leaving her barefoot through lunch and the next two classes. She looked at the bench in the courtyard, where Tommy had pulled her boot off and threatened to put it in the mail box, and eventually made her walk through the snow in her socks to get it back. After a bit more reminiscing and walking around, she found her way to the gym.
The Gym looked exactly as it had when she had been there last, some twenty years ago. The cavernous room was empty, and she climbed the wood bleachers to the very top, where she used to sit with Shelly and Jules. She pressed her back against the painted cinderblock wall, stretched her legs out over the next row, and wondered what ever happened to Shelly. Her legs dangled in the air in front of her and she noticed that the right shoe had a dark gray smudge across the top of the canvas, probably from falling out of the bus. She was lucky the train hadn't run over her shoe, or run over her for that matter. She looked in her purse for a Kleenex, and removed the shoe, but not before assuring herself that the room was empty. A little bit of spit and some vigorous rubbing made the small dark gray spot into a large light gray spot. She searched through her purse for something else that might work. She found some nail polish remover.
Bong bong bong. The sound startled her, but she knew exactly what it was, and when she had heard it before. She even knew who she was with when she had heard it. Tommy Puckett. She had been sitting right here after a home game, and Tommy had sat next to her and "accidentally" kicked her shoe off, so that it fell under the bleachers, hitting the metal braces on the way down. Bong bong bong. She had been furious at the time, but Tommy swore it was an accident. He begged her to forgive him, and then he put his arm around her and kissed her for the very first time. It had been wildly exciting, even before he had kissed her. Blue suede clogs, she remembered them like it was yesterday. After more kissing, Tommy had climbed under the bleachers and, "Shit".
Suddenly, she remembered everything that had happened. Tommy hadn't been able to get her shoe back because there was an access cage, and the custodian had the key, and had gone home for the weekend. She remembered having to retrieve her shoe from homeroom on Monday, Miss Henry looking at her disapprovingly. Twenty years later, here she was in the same place, same predicament. Cathy removed her other shoe and stood up carefully. Her soft socks were slippery on the varnished wood surface as she made her way down to the floor. She was half way down when a group of ten or twelve parents came in. They did not seem to notice that she didn't have any shoes on. B by the time she reached the floor, another fifty people were in the gymnasium. Several men looked at her socks, but no one said anything to her.
Her heart sank as she rounded the corner at the edge of the stands to see a metal cage door with a thick pad lock. There was no way in the world she was going to look for the custodian, padding around the building in her socks. Irrationally, she thought it was probably the same crabby old man that had laughed at her when she was a young girl. "I'll just go on up and sit in the stands and watch the game," she told herself. "Nobody can even see my feet anyway." The thought of padding out to the bus was somewhat disconcerting, but the kids had already seen her run in front of a train wearing one shoe and one sock, so they probably thought she was a nutcase anyway. She stared at her stockinged feet on the shining wood floor. Her socks were holding up O.K. so far. In the bright light, she could see her toes through the thin semi-sheer fabric. "So I decided not to wear my shoes. It's not like it's against the law or something." She tried to talk herself into feeling confident. "Calm down. I'm really more comfortable in my socks," she lied under her breath.
She turned around to head back to the bleachers and ran right into Coach Milcox, Dave she corrected herself. She didn't think it was her imagination this time. Dave, Coach Milcox was staring at her feet like a hungry dog. "Calm down," she told herself again.
"What did you say you do?" he asked without missing a beat.
"Media Consultant," she replied, surprised by the question.
"I'm ready for that help we talked about," he said, and led her out through the double doors.
She always remembered this being a hallway, but bright sunlight blinded her temporarily. As her eyes adjusted she recognized Carmen Gizelle from Channel 7, and someone else from Channel 5. The "sunlight" was coming from a wall of television cameras. She was standing in her white socks, in front of TV cameras, and next to the Mayor she now realized. The reporters shouted questions in rapid sucession.
"What do you think of the new renovation?" stranded her in just your socks, she added in her mind.
"Well, I attended Wilson Jr. High and it looks better than ever..." she started, but was interrupted by another series of questions.
"Do you think the renovation is as good as a new building would be?" What does the Mayor think of your feet? she added silently.
"What was the condition of the school when you attended classes?" and aren't you that girl that lost her shoes on the field trip to the Art Institute?
"Are they bringing back sock hops?" At that question there was laughter all around, and the camera lights pointed downward at Cathy's feet.
"I can assure you that Ms. Forrester is not old enough to remember any sock hops," said a new voice that was not recognizable to her, but was strangely familiar.
"We are joined by the Contractor," said one of the news people, Thomas Puckett, president of PCG. Tommy Puckett shook hands with the Mayor, and hugged Cathy. "I'm here to save you," he whispered as they embraced.
"We would love to stay and talk," he said to the cameras, but the game is about to start. Leading Cathy through the double doors into the gymnasium that was filling up with people, he noticed Cathy looking at the locked access cage.
"Is there any way you could open that lock?" she asked, sounding hopeful.
"We can talk about it," he said, and held her hand as they started the climb up the stands to the last row of the bleachers.
Snowman
