The Sneakers

I'm finally taking a break from the cleaning frenzy I entered a few hours ago. The dishwasher is running. The bathroom smells like cleaning products. But my shoes, as always, are still scattered all over my apartment. They're always the last things I organize. And the first things to return to their original state. I can see beneath my futon from where I sit, and there are at least seven pairs residing there. Mostly forgotten as things that are partially hidden have a tendency to become. Living there now are my favorite pair of sneakers. Beat up blue and orange Sauconys.


Also featured: an old H&M bag, a pair of Marc by Marc Jacobs flip flops I never wear and the leg of my Gap skinny jeans.

I've never really been a sneaker person. Flats and boots and the occasional heels are my loves. In my life, sneakers are for the gym or really, horribly, nasty rainy days. When I do wear sneakers out, they're usually of the more fashion variety. A pair from Lacoste that would never make it through a marathon, much less a light jog. Or a pair of light green plaid Chucks.

But this old, ratty pair has been around longer than all of those. Actually it's been around longer than any of the shoes currently in my rotation. They've never seen the inside of a gym, but they have seen rain, snow, sleet, wind and beer to the point where I actually had to throw them into the washing machine (don't ask). If they were a child, they'd be wrapping up the first grade and preparing for a summer vacation filled with mud pies and hopscotch.

In the past, I would sometimes leave them alone for months before happily rediscovering them on a day when none of my many flats would do. When I wanted to be able to wander my neighborhood without wincing and cursing under my breath. But now, they don't go long without being worn. Even on days where there is no rain.