DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Red Shoes • Jesse Sprague

The shoes emerge from the murky depth of my closet every winter. The rest of the year, I keep them in a box buried under old college sweatshirts. They are perfect shoes. Red and shiny but flat—perfect for running. I tried stilettos when I was younger, but found they were too flashy. There is an art to drawing in the right man.

Too many people nowadays are lazy. They go the easy route—show skin, everything garish and unmistakable like a neon sign around their necks saying "screw me". Not my style. I've always believed that you've got to put the work in.

My boyfriend, Winston, saw me pulling the shoes out the other day. The lid was off and I ran my finger over the smooth blood red surface.

"Those are nice," he said, leaning his shoulder against the wall by the wall. He was halfway dressed for the day in dark jeans as he spoke he began buttoning his work shirt. His bare foot nudged mine, and he smiled. "Shall I take you out? Give you a chance to enjoy them? Tomorrow after work I could get us a reservation."

"Don't bother. I'll have a chance to wear them at work." I shut the shoe box and wondered if I could distract him by calling attention to the fact he wasn't dressed yet. I decided against it... I don't like using trick on him.

He's a good guy. The type of guy that could keep a woman happy her whole life. I don't mind giving him treats—he's earned them. But they have to be real treats. I won't cut corners with him.

Luckily, he had to rush off to work, and the conversation didn't go any further.

Winston almost saw the shoes on one occasion. It was the day I met him, last winter. I was coming back to my car from my favorite spot at the lake. I had the shoes in my bag, having changed into tennis shoes.

"A bit cold for a walk in the woods," he said. The winter wind blew his bard hair over his ears and across his eyes. He was standing right next to the forest path as if waiting for me.

"Colder for a swim," I said, smiling and touching my blonde curls which were turning to icicles.

He took off his jacket and wrapped it around me. Then offered to buy me some coffee to help me warm up. Winston is gorgeous, but that has never been the appeal for me. I've met more than my share of attractive men who are rotten on the inside. But no matter how hard I look, I can't find that side of Winston.

He's the only man I've ever considered retiring the shoes for.

I want to be good for him. Maybe next year.

He's out tonight. Working a double shift to cover for a co-worker whose husband just had an accident. The first time he did that sort of thing, I followed him to see what he was really up to. Spent an awkward night in a cold car, eating salted nuts with my red shoes beside me in a box.

They never came out to play.

Every time I've followed him, or suspected him of lying... he's always up to exactly what he says he is.