Baby Shoes, Never Worn
Baby shoes, never worn The watch that hang over the table was ticking loudly in the silence. The two of them were standing muted in front of each other. They had been together for three years and each year she would ask him the question. She thought it was about time they started trying, but he still felt too young for the commitment. She said her biologically watch was ticking, but he maintained his opinion and told her to stop being anxious. He believed they still had plenty of time.
One day she walked along the sidewalk and all she saw on her way was little people. She looked at Jumpsuits, diapers and perambulators. She got to a place with tiny shoes. She picked up a pair and caught herself in a mirror as she turned around. Something wet ran down her cheek and she could hear herself. Coming to her senses she stormed out to her car and drove home. She stayed up that night thinking about her misfortune. She decided to wake him up to convince him that the right moment was now. Luck was not with her.
Wanting to put herself out of her misery and rage she discovered her hand moving to give him a red mark on the side of his head. She had never worried this much about anything before and he had never seen her this way before. The chaotic atmosphere had filled up the entire apartment. He tried to catch her before she got to the doorknob but failed. Her mind was empty for everything but her wish. She kept driving into the night not stopping at any point. The tank was almost empty when the first light hit the windscreen.
A petrol station was the first place she saw and it was about time to stop. She sat on the bench looking at a newspaper with wet eyes when she saw the advertisement. It said “For Sales: Baby Shoes. Never Worn”. Looking at the address she drove fast across town. The picture of the baby shoes hang from the ceiling. She bulled over when she reached the right block. The young Mrs. opened the door to the apartment. She was home alone. They greeted each other. They had a noiseless clock over their table in the kitchen.
The needle went from number to number, silently. She looked around not saying anything, not complimenting anything. The Mrs. observed her walking through the apartment, but stopped her when she came to the room at the far back. She barely got to see the room, but it was plenty. She looked at the Mrs. expression, turned around and walked down to her car on the street. The car was empty when she drove home to him. The clock was still ticking over the kitchen table however not as fast as it used to tick.