“Memory is a net.”
–Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
A pair of black velvet shoes hung onto me. I was deeply in love with them. I can’t remember now why my parents would buy me such a frivolous thing, but I wore them to something special, and then wanted to wear them every day. I’d come home from school, take off my school clothes, and play dress up. The clothes I’d put together were anything but chic, but I always finished the garb with the black velvet shoes. To me they really were the only thing that mattered.
When the shoes were no longer nice enough for special occasions, I wore the them every where. My mom had given me permission, so I took it. I wore them every day and even put the shoes under my pillow at night.
I’d have wonderful dreams of princesses and queens. There were balls and parties where me and my shoes were the attention.
My mom, being the killer of all joy, told me one day that the shoes had given into their end. They were too old and the construction was so broken that, my wonder shoes would kill my feet if I continued to wear them. I was forbidden to every put them on my feet again. As an act of defiance I continued to sleep with the black velvet shoes under my pillow for the dreams that they seemed to bring. I still used them for dress up and — if no one was looking — I’d sneak out of the house with the shoes and change into them to go to school and to feed our animals. I didn’t see what my mom saw, the shoes were decomposing with every step. I only notice that every time I wore the shoes my feet would hurt.
I didn’t take my wonderful shoes to school one day. I thought I’d be kind and give the poor old things a rest. When I got home the shoes were gone.
My mom had thrown them away. I found the beautiful things in the incinerator, waiting to be burned the next day. I rescued the shoes and took them to my room to clean the soot off and hide the poor shoes in my closet. The next day I found them in the compost pile. It was hard to get rid of the potato peelings and the smell of old coffee grounds. I used an old brush in the garage to scrub my black velvet shoes, that now looked like there would be no reviving them.
Before I went to school the next day, I pleaded with my mom not throw the shoes away. I promised that I’d never wear them again, but I just wanted them for the dreams. Eventually, she gave in.
A few months later I threw the black velvet shoes away. My mom had bought me a pair of lilac satin shoes for a wedding I was to be a flower girl in. And they were gorgeous!
When you write for this prompt, choose: a red velvet dress and how you feel when you wear it. How someone looks in the dress. What you would do for a red velvet dress. You hate red velvet. Red velvet with a blood stain, ( for the thriller writers).
Have a good weekend and don’t forget about the CWC meeting on Saturday. Boarders Montclair, 10:15 am