Me and Charley

5. First Suit

Grandpa's voice cut through the fog of sleep, "Trey, wake up. C'mon, boy, it's nearly eight o'clock." I didn't know where I was. I sat up and fished around on the table by the couch for my glasses, but Grandpa had them already and handed them to me. As he came into focus I said, "Good morning, Grandpa. Howdja sleep?"

"Better than I have in a long time, Trey. Look, I want you to shower while I go down the street and get us a couple of sweet rolls for breakfast."

"OK, Grandpa. Lock the door good." When Grandpa returned I was fishing clean clothes out of my bag. He just chuckled and went on to the kitchen. I was in my briefs and shorts when he called, "Don't put your shirt on yet, you don't want to get something on it before we even get out the door." So I sat down bare-chested to breakfast, something Mom would never ever let anyone do at any meal. After we finished I donned my shirt and socks while Grandpa put the kitchen in order. He came upon me struggling to get into my sneakers. "They're tight on you, aren't they, boy?"

"Yessir," I replied.

"We'll stop by the shoe store first," he said. "We'll get you new sneakers as well as dress shoes. If you're ready, let's go." So we headed for Lachaine amid the fields of ripening wheat and corn waist-high to the average grownup, a pleasant ride.

Our first stop in Lachaine was Campbell's shoe store, run by distant relatives of my grandmother. The aroma of shoe leather met us as the little bell over the door announced our entrance. "Hello, Mr. Ross," boomed the voice of Mr. McGregor, the manager, "And good morning to you, Trey," he said as he approached. When he reached us he laid his hand on Grandpa's forearm and said, "I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. She was a mighty good woman."

"Thank you, Stewart," Grandpa replied. "She was ready to go, I think. The last few months were hard."

"Well, what can I do for you, sir?"

"We need new sneakers for this boy, and a pair of dress shoes," Grandpa said.

"Hmmm, not much wear on what he's got on, from the look of them."

"No, not really, but he's outgrown them."

Mr. McGregor motioned toward the row of chairs down the center of the store and said "Well, sit down here and we'll see what we can do for him." I did as he directed, and felt instant relief as I took off my sneakers. Mr. McGregor pulled the device he used for measuring feet out from under a chair and had me stand on it. "Hmmm," he said as he measured length and width, then looked in the tongue of my sneakers. "Yes indeed, you've sure outgrown them. What kind would you like?"

"'Bout like these, I guess," I said. Mr. McGregor rummaged among the shelves of shoeboxes that lined the walls of the store and returned with a pair almost identical to those I had been wearing. "Here, try these," he said. "Walk around in them a bit."

I did so, and he asked, "How are they?"

"They feel good to me," I said.

Grandpa asked, "Are you sure, Trey?"

"Yes, sir, I'm sure these will be fine."

"All right, then, they're yours. Now Stewart, we'll need a pair of dress socks so we can get him a pair of serious shoes, and a couple of extra pair."

"What style of shoes are we looking for?" asked Mr. McGregor.

"Plain black oxfords, if you please," said Grandpa.

Mr. McGregor went rummaging some more, and returned with a shoebox and a pair of thin black socks "All right," he said, "Let's change those socks." I slid the white sport socks off and tried to put the dark dress socks on, but they kept catching on the calluses on my feet.