The yellow shoes are too big. She struggles on the kitchen floor with the straps, ankles twisting around. I can easily slide two fingers under the front part around her toes. She has narrow feet, like I do. We had shopped on a website, picking out a practical pair of sandals, a more dressy pair and then these wedges. She wants heels and I understand that along with the daily manicure she gives herself in alternating colors that this is something she waited for very patiently. The heels were the smallest ones available and at one point we did not think we would get them at all. It is not that there is a shortage of size 33 heels in the city, just that these struck her eye. It was all about these heels, with the tangle of flowers wrapping around the bottoms, the peek-a-boo toe cutout.
She stands, taller, wobbling into the hallway to see herself in the mirror. They are making clicking noises. The skin jumps on my arms, not ready to see her take this leap forward but knowing there is little I can do but observe. This is a prologue to her teenage years, I tell myself. A glimpse into the first pages of the next chapter.
She knows they are impossible to wear. I point out how well the practical pair from Italy fits, how cool they are. We even adjust the second pair and they fit better than I thought they did. But the yellow shoes are impossibly loose and there is no padding, no insole, no solution that will solve this.
She slumps into her chair in the kitchen, her face in her elbow, her hair a tangle of ends covering her face. I think to let her have it out for a little while, to let her feelings tumble onto the table freely. I have always had this idea that when you feel something you should admit it, but try to get the feelings all of the way out as quickly as they can so they do not take root. How many times have I told her "It's alright to cry, but not for hours." I remember when she was five and I had just moved out, how we lost a minuscule plastic shoe from a tiny doll on the walk home from kindergarden and how she howled and blubbered and cried like I had never seen her before. "I don't have anything." She shouted, hanging onto the edge of a door.
"Anyyyyyyythhiiiiiiing." She repeated over and over.
I take her in my arms, trying to explain that she will grow into the yellow wedges, that this is better than buying shoes that are too small. She nods, she knows this already.
"I am just disappointed." She blurts out between the snot bubble on the tip of her nose and the tears dribbling from the edges of her mouth.
"Well, everyone gets disappointed." I tell her. "Everyone gets surprised by things. Nothing in life is guaranteed."
"I know." She says after a moment. "I just thought this time it would be ok."
I just sit with her for some time in silence, her slumped against me.
At one point she sits up a little.
"I want to go to bed." She tells me.
I tuck her in. She is still crying, not sleepy at all.
I play some guitar for her, making up a silly song about yellow shoes. She appreciates the gesture but the jokes fall flat.
I put the guitar down, just holding her hand as she stares at the ceiling.
"I didn't think something like this would be
so upsetting for you. " I tell her. "Is it better we didn't buy any shoes at all?"
She shakes her head no.
"I'm sad about more than the shoes." She whispers to me.
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