The Shoe Story

Prologue

Have you ever been such close friends with someone to the point where you would willingly die for them, only to have that person vanish from your life with no explanation?

Because I have. It's not great.

Before I was thirteen, all I knew of Ataraxy Smith were fragments.

I first met her when we were four. I wish I could tell you with a nostalgic smile that we had a special childhood friendship, but we didn't, so I won't.

In fact, I didn't even remember that she was in my reception class until someone brought it up at a party. Of course, after hearing that, I delved through old albums until I found an old infants photo and she was there like a ghost I was desperate to see.

That photo is on my wall now, and I can see her, chubby-cheeked and with her tumbling blonde hair in pigtails. I can almost hear her voice just looking at it, hear her complaining about how bad I was at everything. She wasn't perfect by any means. She got me into more trouble I knew possible, she wrote deep poetry late at night when the clouds were asleep and as we got older she spent more time out of school than in it. But she was smart and perceptive and knew what to do an when to do it. She took revenge on her enemies like a deadly king and had the sort of attitude that made you question your own existence. I think that's why I let her drag me down at first- I wanted to be just like her.

Or did she take me flying up?

I still can't remember anything from the early infant days apart from one thing she said when we were saying one of those prayers before lunch. She refused to join in. The nursery staff, obviously alarmed by the idea of such a defiant four-year-old, demanded a reason. "I'll believe in God when He gives me something to believe in," was her reply. Looking back on it, it was something very thoughtful for a four-year-old to say, but at the time, I was just hungry and wishing she'd hurry up with her arguing so we could eat.

I saw her again when we were seven. I never noticed her leave my reception class, and this next meeting was a fleeting one. It the first snowy day of winter, and early in the morning, I looked out of my window to see a girl walking all alone along the road, leaving behind the first trail of footprints. I watched her until she disappeared over the hill, and wondered who on earth she was, but I never found out.

When I was eleven, I had a go-karting party. It was quite low-key, just six of my friends. We had a great time on the track and came off laughing together about who had been good and who had been a slowpoke when we noticed that there was another group waiting. We'd overrun by about fifteen minutes. That made us a little embarrassed, so we went over to the shelves and put back our helmets and the special boots, then picked up our own things. I had just stepped away when I walked into someone and sent them sprawling backwards. "Oh! Sorry," I said guiltily.

The person I'd knocked over regained their balance. It was a girl, with blonde hair cut short and choppy, and wearing a black t-shirt.

She didn't say anything. She smiled a little though, as she slotted a bag under one of the shelves. Her hands were not pinky and fresh like most people's. They were scarred and bruised. She never gave me a chance to say anything else- she was gone again, gone like a ghost.

My friend Jude lost his trainers that day. We never found them.

I was thirteen when I realised that the fragments were just preludes to the rollercoaster that she and I were to go through.

She came like the tide, all at once and bringing rogue ideas with her. Her blonde hair had grown long and she was wearing uniform with a ragged tie instead of a black t-shirt, but I had no trouble at all recognising her. It was strange, the idea of someone you knew but didn't really know.

From her first day, she was never someone our class overlooked. 

I first found that out during a maths lesson, when she more or less saved my life.

***

"Maths homework, Carter?" Mrs Bates prompted icily.

I squirmed in my seat. "Not with me."

"Where?"

I avoided her gaze. I had always been absolutely terrible at getting my homework done on time. "Um."

"With me," a voice came from behind, but it may as well have come from the heavens because for me, it was an angel.

"What do you mean?" Mrs Bates turned the full force of her gaze onto the speaker, who barely batted an eyelid. "It's your first day.This assignment was from before summer."

"I wanted to see what work you were doing," she said with a neutral smile. The new girl. Her expression was polite, but her eyes were laughing. "So I just had quick look at, um, Carter's. Apologies." And she handed me a sheet.

I knew for a fact that my maths sheet was crumpled up at the back of my desk at home, but she had given me a crisp, new sheet with all the answers filled in.

I tried to give a laugh. "Yep. Here it is, all done."

Mrs Bates snatched it without a word. "What's your name, again?" She directed her words at the new girl, ignoring me, which I didn't mind.

"Don't worry if you can't remember it," she reassured. "Ataraxy Smith. Call me Rax, or Ata, or whatever you like if it's too long."

"Ataraxy is fine," Mrs Bates said through gritted teeth. I could see her trying- and failing- to resist the urge to ask the inevitable. "Wherever did your parents get that idea from?" She was a blunt woman.

Ataraxy smiled. "It means a state of serene calmness. Except so far I haven't been very good at that."

A vein popped on Mrs Bates' forehead. "You'll learn to be calm in my lessons." She just smiled and nodded, whilst her eyes told a completely different story.

Ataraxy. I remember thinking what a strange name it was before realising that it suited her perfectly. I hadn't seen much of her, but what I had was unexplainable- questioning the existence of God at four, walking alone in the snow at seven. And then with the maths worksheet. Looking back on it, I can't imagine how I decided in that moment that the name was perfect for her.

She wasn't a calm person. She was always constantly moving- jittering her knees, twitching her fingers, or maybe just shooting her cool turquoise eyes around the room so quickly it was impossible to tell what she could possibly be looking at and you couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were inspiring the rapid changes of her gaze.

We became friends. It started off just as just an amicable, chatty friendship, but then developed into something much deeper.

I learnt that Raxy hated her family. She learnt that I loved mine. I watched her exceed in everything she tried and she watched me struggle in what was simple for her. I showed her how to make friends instead of undermining them, and she showed me how to succeed. I took her to normal things, like the cinema and family dinners, and she took me on adventures I can barely begin to describe.

I'd say we were close for a friendship of two and a half years.

Except on the morning of her sixteenth birthday, after I'd spent ages planning a surprise party for her with our friends, when she was gone.

Gone, leaving behind an empty hole not in my heart but in my head, because all of my memories that I cherished were with her.

How did we ever get so close?

That's what all of my friends asked, after I managed to mumble that she had vanished. And I couldn't answer then and I can't answer now, because for me Ataraxy isn't a person who I can just resign to an emotion. She was my best friend, my partner-in-crime. I ended up risking my life for her and she did the same for me. She knew me better than I knew myself and I didn't mind that. We never dated, or anything like that, because it was stupid, and we both had better things to do with our lives.  We got into a lot of trouble and into some terrific fights but for the most part we stuck together. Until we didn't.

No.

If I'm going to tell this story, it's not going to sound bitter. It'll have to be from the beginning. And it'll have to be done properly. Starting from the shoes.