The Boots

In high school, and through most of college, I only bought boots that hit me mid-calf. Clunky and awkward. Aging me quickly. Most of them are still here in my mother's house, collecting dust among my old toys and books. Sometimes I look at them and think about what might have possessed me to get them. But this is a sentiment I have when it comes to many of my clothing from those days.

By the winter of 2005, I had been looking for a pair of knee-high leather boots for months without much success. It wasn't until I found myself on an outing with a family friend that I finally found one. Black leather. Zippers on the inner part of the leg for easy entry. Sturdy wedges. I wore them all of the time. With skirts and dresses. With my first pair of skinny jeans. I wore them so much that I busted through one of the heels. I continued to wear them even after that until finally giving them over to a trusty cobbler.


My best friend calls them my Power Ranger boots, especially when I tuck my pants into them. As if putting them on suddenly endows me with super strength or speed or brains.

They garner unwanted attention from random men. As if putting them on suddenly makes me easy.

I have a tendency to strut in them. Over cobblestone and concrete. Through puddles of slush. Especially when my iPod lands on the raucous pop music that I only listen to when not around others.

They and The Sneakers are my two oldest pairs of shoes, but I've never forgotten these. Even for a moment.