I shouldn’t have looked down. I should’ve kept my eyes up. I should’ve known better. But before I could think twice, I felt that stab in my chest - the Dagger of Lastima.
I’m at the Ralph’s coffee aisle, an aisle I frequent. He’s walking by and I’m looking at the bottom shelf, at the new Dunkin’ Donuts flavors (hello, Gingerbread Cookie!) Already being low to the ground, that’s when I see his sneaker. That’s when I let the Pumpkin Spice bag of beans fall from my hands.
How old are they? How ugly can shoes be? How many years have you neglected to give your feet proper padding, sir? My mind is on code red creating stories about you, trying to excuse the dirty white blobs laced up by your ankles. Like maybe you don’t know new sneakers exist. Or maybe you don’t care about style. Maybe, just maybe, these tennies from the 80’s mean something to you. Something precious.
I have to stop myself from talking to you about lattes, trying to distract my lastima with idle chatter. I have to stop myself from throwing my arms around you. I have to stop myself from kicking off my shoes and saying “HERE!” Anything to support you- starting with your arches.
p.s. This Daily Lastima was not paid for by Nike.