The Shoebox Paradox

Story Five: Dead Neighbors and A Field Trip

At this point of my life, my shoes had brought me a job, a crush, and a "best friend". But, I hadn't yet put everything together. In fact, I hadn't even noticed. As promised, Max dried my shoes. And pretty much fixed everything else about them. When he'd returned them to me, they looked almost brand new, except for one skid mark on the right toe, which he claimed, "Not even God himself could erase." 

And life went on, as life seems to do. A fact that would have annoyed me, if not for the other fact that nothing in mine was worth slowing down for. Not yet, at least. And then, life decided to change, another thing that it seems to do. 

It was the Devil Twins' birthday, and, by some luck of God, my Journalism class was taking a field trip to Harlem to "immerse ourselves in the unique culture". Honestly, the whole thing felt like it was some plan to show how "the other half lived" to us rich, snobby white kids. Now, I never really fit into the "rich, snobby white kid" category, especially the rich part, but by default, I was put into it by my school, whose definition was rich, snobby, and mostly white. 

The day started with a scream. It also ended with a scream, but that's a later story. 

But the first scream of the day was one of Laura, who burst into my room, her long ponytail in her hands. In my sleepy haze, I thought at first that it was a duster, and I was impressed at my sister's new cleanliness. 

"What?" I asked, rubbing my eyes and sitting up in my bed. "My room's not that messy." 

"Shawn!" She shrieked, "Did you do this?!" Her voice grew higher as she spoke, until it reached almost pure hysteria. Her tiny 8 year old body shook with rage. 

I finally got the message that Laura wasn't there to tidy up. I shook my head. 

"I don't even know what you're talking about, Laura!" I looked down at her hands. "What are you holding?" Laura started to cry, large tears falling down her rosy cheeks. Instead of responding, she whirled around, and for the first time, I saw what exactly had happened. Her long, red hair was gone, and in it's place was a roughly cut bob, the left side of her hair was a couple inches longer than her right. It looked really bad. 

At that instant, my parents rushed into the room. Worry etched on both of their faces, panic in their eyes. 

"What is going on in here?" My father demanded. He was a handsome man, a little round in the belly, and a loud booming voice. 

Laura turned to him, holding her ponytail in her little hands. My mom's hands shot to her mouth. 

"Oh my god, Laura!" She exclaimed, "What did you do?" 

"Nothing! Somebody did it, Mommy!" Mom's face hardened. She turned to look at Dad, who was already out the door. 

"JASPER! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!" My mom turned to face me. 

"You have to get ready, we'll (sigh) deal with this." She said. She had gotten very good at sighing mid-sentence. Over the last eight years, my mom had perfected the practice. I nodded, and picked up a tee from my floor. It smelled faintly of B.O, but was good enough to wear. 

I was out the door as quick as I could, as I saw that Jasper had been caught hiding behind the washing machine, and was afraid of getting caught in the crossfire of spit and leg flails as Jasper wriggled in my father's arms. 

"It was just a birthday present!" He insisted in his high pitched eight year old voice. 

The Harlem trip ended up being cooler than I had though it would be. We went to see a jazz performance, and some really cool artwork. It wasn't until the ride back that things got messy. My classmates thought that it would be funny to hold me down and steal my shoes. (They did it to a few others, but what mattered was it happened to me!) They then whipped them around by the laces and jumped around in their seats like cowboys. You know, really adult stuff. Maxwell sat next to me and laughed through the whole thing. He even managed to laugh harder when I punched him in the shoulder to make him stop. 

It actually ended up being kind of funny. Max managed to get me laughing too. And once I started, I couldn't stop. That made Max laugh harder, which was difficult to believe. We sat there laughing together, and I couldn't help thinking that this was probably what a friendship feels like. 

When we got to my stop, the Cowboys threw my shoes out the window, which wasn't even remotely funny. Of course, the douche missed my driveway, and my shoes went straight through the window of my next door neighbors house.  That shut them up good. 

I cursed and ran out of the bus. That was going to come out of my own pocket! Great. My neighbor was this old lady who was very senile and mean. She'd stomp on your porch flowers if she though they were better than hers. And most flowers were, because she had a terrible limp and never regularly went outside to water them. And of course, they had to go straight through her window. Great. 

I walked up to her door, and knocked tentatively. No answer. I knocked louder. Still no answer. Finally,  I got fed up and walked into her house. Maybe if I could remove the evidence that it was me, she'll never have to know. I sneaked into the kitchen, which was decorated in a disgusting shade of yellow. The shoes lay in the middle of the glass, surprisingly unharmed. 

It was then that I noticed the smell. And the body. 

Which is what led to the second scream of the day. Yeah, yeah the scream was mine. Get over it.