My father had two boots. They are my only memory of dad. They are golden brown with a white streak running down the sides. The tips of the shoes are as pointed as a shark’s fin. Right after my eighth birthday he gave me the boots. When I was little I would walk around in them pretending to be him. My mom wanted to throw them away because the boots made her sad, but I rescued them. The boots are in my closet waiting to be worn. I haven’t put them on since he died.
Now I pluck them from the innards of my closet and set them on the bookshelf. I glance around my room and think “I have a lot of work to do.” My desk is cluttered with old papers, mainly tests and homework. My pens and pencils are strewn about the room. I start picking them up and placing them back in their rightful bins. I pick up the dirty clothes I wore yesterday off the floor and stuff them down the laundry chute. Mom walks in and starts to ask something, but then she sees the boots.
“Why are they on your shelf for display?” She asks curtly.
“I like them and they remind me of dad” I reply. I can already see the tears in her eyes even though it had been four years since he died.
“Put them away,” my mom commands.
“Why can’t I remember him?” I ask my voice raising.
“Because it’s too painful,” She declares.
“Not for me, I want to recall all the fun I had with him”
“Please just put the boots away,” I put the boots back into the closet reluctantly.
She shifts my sister Holly to her left thigh. Holly has giant blue eyes. She has slightly curly hair that is the color of almond brown. I know she is going to have the same hair as mom and I. She has the fat cheeks of a newborn, even though she is two. On the other hand mom has pinched cheeks. Mom and I both have vibrant blue eyes like Holly. Now that dad has died I think her eyes don’t sparkle the vibrant blue anymore. She was only 32 when he died. But now she looks much older. Before she leaves my room she says “We’re going to go shopping, do you want to come or stay here?”
“Here,” I say without looking at her. I pretend to organize my closet while she stands there waiting for me to say more.
Finally she shuts the door and clomps downstairs. I look out of my window and see mom pull out of the driveway. I go back to the closet and stare at the boots. I pick them up and set them in the middles of my room.
“Should I put them on? Or not?” I wonder. I trace the embroidered pattern on the boot with the tip of my finger. I pull out the tissue that keeps the boot in the right shape.
Very slowly I put my right foot in one of the boots. Then I put my left foot in the other boot. I stand up and suddenly I am back on the ranch…. learning how to drive a four wheeler.
“Good morning, darling” Dad says as I come down the stairs.
“Morning daddy,” I reply giving him a huge hug.
“Where’s my hug?” Mom asks.
I run around the table to give her a hug too.
“Do you want to learn how to drive a 4 wheeler?” Dad asks his eyes shining at me. I nod, because my mouth is filled with cheerios. After I finish the bite I scream, “Of course I want to.” I bounce up and down in my seat.
“Well, finish your food and we can go.” Dad says. I scarf down the last bites of food. I gulp down the milk. The milk leaves a big mustache around my lips. Dad laughs and then mom joins in.
“What?” I demand.
“You have mustache like me,” He says. I burst out laughing. Mom starts to clear the table. Dad and I walk to the shed to get the 4 wheeler.
“Which one do you want to use?” He asks. I point to the big blue one. He climbs on and then lifts me up with his huge muscular arms. I sit in the front and he sits in the back. Dad turns on the engine and presses the gas. We zoom back to the house where mom is standing. She smiles at us. In her hand is a camera. I groan and dad tickles me. I laugh.
“Smile! Say cheese!” She calls to us. The bulb flashes white in our eyes. “Have fun!” Dad shows me the gear control. He shows me the gas and brake. He demonstrates how to turn on and off the machine. He presses the clutch and shifts gears. All the while mom is snapping photos.
“All right, you know how to work this now. Let’s drive,” He says. I put my foot on the clutch and move the gear to drive. I put my hand on the gas and we take off, leaving mom in the dust.
“Let’s go down the driveway,” Dad screams above the roaring wind.
“Okay!” I shout back. I steer the 4 wheeler towards the long driveway. The wind hits us in the face. Dust kicks up all around us. Soon we hear a noise behind us, dad and I look behind and see mom on a 4 wheeler.
“Hi,” She shouts.
“Hi, do you want to take the loop through the woods.” Dad asks her. I see her nod. Mom turns her wheeler around and I turn mine around. I follow mom. We cut across the grass and through the woods until we get back to the ranch.
“Well, that was fun,” Dad says. Our hair is messed up, except for dad. Mom runs inside and grabs her camera. We all sit on the same wheeler and mom snaps a photo.
The noise of mom’s car pulling up in the driveway brings me back to the present. I realize now that mom hasn’t taken many pictures of me or Holly. She doesn’t smile as much and she barely laughs. I quickly pull off the boots and run down stairs to greet them. Mom hands me bags and I put the food in the fridge.
“Mom,” I say.
“Hmm,”
“Do you know where are the pictures of dad and us on the 4 wheelers?” I ask.
“Why,”
“I don’t know, I just was remembering when he taught me how to ride them all by myself,” I explain.
“I don’t know where they are.”
The next morning I wake up find my boots missing. I rush out of my room and into Holly’s. She is playing with my boots. She smiles up at me but I don’t smile back. I take in the damage of the boots. Holly had pulled off all of the embroidery and pieces of thread scatter her rug.
“What did you do to the boots?!” I scream. She just picks up the other boot and starts to pull the embroidery off.
“Don’t you dare, Holly,” I tell her. I grab the boots from her clutches. The ruined boots make me feel the way I did just after dad died. He died on a Sunday morning…..
“Good morning, sweetie,” My mom trills as I sit down for breakfast.
“Good morning, where’s dad?” I ask.
“Oh, he and his buddies went horseback riding,” Mom says.
“Oh,” I push my bowl of cereal away from me.
“I guess you’re done,” I nod. The sun is beginning to make everything hot, so I go upstairs do my homework in my cool room. About an hour later mom comes in my room and says
“I am going to look for your father and his buddies, stay here,”
“Why?” I ask.
“If they are right in the head they would know to get out of the sun,” She says.
“Okay,” She leaves the room muttering to herself.
Later I hear a knock at the door. I run downstairs and open it up. My dad’s friend Bob is standing there.
“Hi, Maya, is your mom home?” He asks.
“No, she went looking for my dad and his friends,” I reply.
“Do you mind if I wait here for her?”
“Sure, you can wait here. Do you want tea or anything?” he shakes his head no and begins drumming on the table. My mom bursts through the door with a panic stricken face. Then she notices Bob.
“Bob, do you know where Henry is? I’ve been searching all over for him.” My mom asks. Bob nods and then looks at me.
“Maya, go upstairs and finish your homework.” Mom says. I trudge upstairs and into my purple flowered room. I can hear Bob and mom muttering. I crack open the door and can hear Bob’s deep voice telling mom something. I catch snippets of what Bob is saying.
“Horse… bucked… Henry…fall…hit…head…might’ve…
“Oh no, dad can’t be dead!” I think.
“Maya, come down here!” When I reach mom and Bob we all run straight to the ambulance. The attendant opens the back door and we all clamber in. Dad is on a stretcher, with IV tubes stuck in him. His face is all bruised and swollen. I look away. We finally make it to the hospital. After that it was a blur…
Holly looks up at me, finally realizing she did something wrong. Bob still visits every Saturday.
“Mom,” I bellow. She comes into Holly’s room still in her white nightgown. She reaches for the light switch but instead turns on Holly’s mobile.
“What is it, it’s only 9 in the morning and something is already wrong,” She complains. I hold up the messed up boots for her to see. She suddenly becomes wide awake.
“Well they were old anyways.” She says.
“Can we have them fixed?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because, I am not, wasting my money on a pair of old stinky boots.” She practically yells.
“They were dad’s boots. And you know he loved them,” I say. Holly looks at us with wide eyes. “Fine if you don’t want to respect dad’s love for the boots, don’t. I will. I will also fix them using my own money!” I tell her. I run back to my room and count my money. Only 12 dollars and 98 cents. I’ll just have to save mymoney. 12 dollars and 98 cents is not enough to fix shoes.
Later my mom knocks on the door. She cracks open the door and shoves two bags inside my room. I reach into the bag and take out the contents. Inside are a pair of boots. I don’t want these stupid boots. They aren’t dads. I think. Then I take a closer look and realize they are dad’s boots and they are fixed!
“Hurray,” I shout. I reach into the second bag and take out another pair of boots. The boots are exactly identical to dad’s boots. Attach to the boots is a note. It says: Dear Maya, I now understand your need to remember Henry. I had the boots fixed and a pair made especially for you. Love, Mom
I hug everything that came inside the bag. Thank you, I say silently to my mom. Then I step in my new boots and remember.
I like it. :) It seems like a movie.
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