Atticus and Indi.

Shoes.

It was the second Wednesday.

Indi sat listening to her Walkman inside the confessional, it was overall loud and it made a slight hum whenever the song grew intense. It was pure rock; that she grew up with yelling it out the windows of my father’s beat up Camry. It had a red body, save for the white door that fit onto it like a forgotten puzzle piece. She had always made a point of sitting beside the door when riding to each remotely exciting event, some how she had thought that ratty old door brought luck

A hand waved wildly through the curtain and she paused the music, shrugging off the headphones. Shaking the dividing curtain between them almost as if to say stop and he did.

“Hi Nothing”

“I sat here talking to you for twenty minutes and you didn’t respond, but I knew you were there, I can see your shoes” She blushed, looking down at her feet to see a worn out pair of Doc Martens.

“What are they?” She asked, picking up her milk from the vacant space left on the bench.

“Black, they’re black”

She laughed, biting her lip to contain the literal happiness bursting forth from her lips in the form of high pitched noise.

She leaned down peering under the gap to see a pair of scruffy tennis shoes. They were beat up and had dirt covering the laces, even the aglets used to thread through the holes when tying them up were vacant from the apparent old set of shoes.

“Yeah I was listening to music, sorry”

“It’s fine”

“So, how was your day?”

“Shitty”

She paused waiting for someone from the church to hell at him, but no one did.

“I had a nice day, it was hot so that was good”

“It felt like I was melting”

“I hate the cold” She shrugged.

 Looking at the four letter words starched into the walls of the box, her jaw gapping at some of the profanities people had been able to conjure up over the years of boredom.

“I hate the heat” He added.

“I guess this makes us rivals”

 “Maybe” He paused " or you don't have good judgment of beautiful weather patterns" He stated.

She smiled.