by R. K. Ryals
Inside, Heathcliff and Mrs. Callahan were reading this:
Clare Macy
Mrs. Callahan
Date not important
Hawthorne and Heathcliff
Forget poetry for a moment and look at life. Looking into a mirror isn’t really about seeing a reflection, it’s about seeing change. It’s about the passing of time, and time doesn’t need a mirror. It just happens, which means we must carry a figurative mirror with us and learn to look at ourselves without needing a looking glass.
This year, I changed.
This year, I met a shoe. It wasn’t a remarkable shoe. It was worn, the black trim that once lined the white turned gray. The white part of the sneaker had turned, too, stained by dirt and time, but it was a clean shoe. It was well kept, and I knew by looking at it that it had also been repaired numerous times.
That shoe belonged to a boy, a young man whose feet became a lifeline for me in a world of angry silence. My shoe, equally old and worn but not as well kept, rested next to his. It belonged to a girl, a young woman full of bitterness and distrust.
Shoes are kind of like mirrors. They lie more than a mirror does. They carry people to places they shouldn’t go, and because they can’t speak, they can’t say where they’ve been. Yet they also take people to places they should have gone, making them try things they’ve always avoided.
The boy belonged to a shoe that always tried. The girl belonged to a shoe that hid. He belonged to a shoe that was well put together. She belonged to one that didn’t care.
His shoe changed hers.
It seems funny that I’m writing about shoes, but not so funny I guess since we’re talking about poetry. Plath saw something in her mirror that made personifying the looking glass important.
In these shoes, I saw the same thing. I saw a journey. It was an amazing journey, a story of love, trust, and loss. This boy and his shoe changed the girl and her shoe. He taught her that it was okay to fall. He taught her it was okay to trust.
While she was falling, she learned something. She learned that she’d been hiding so much behind her own pain, her own childhood abandonment issues, that she’d missed her life. She’d closed herself off from the people she loved, the ones who’d loved her enough to stay behind when everyone else left. She learned about her uncle.
The boy’s shoe helped her see her uncle. It opened up a line of communication between the girl and her uncle that might have remained closed otherwise. It would have been sad if she’d never met this boy’s shoe. It would have been sadder if she’d never realized how much she was truly loved.
Let’s be honest, it would have been sad if this girl, me, had never been woken up. I, Clare Macy, found a boy’s shoe, and it made me a better person, a better daughter, and a better friend.
That’s what this assignment is really about. It’s about meeting people and going places that changes you. It’s about going through things that leave you scarred and broken but stronger.
Max Vincent’s shoe—because it was Max’s shoe after all—took me down an amazing road. When I was finally able to look at Max’s face, to look beyond his shoe, I fell in love with the boy. My heart fell, and I’m glad it did. Because love, whether it lasts or not, changes you, too. It transforms you into something different. For me, it was a good different.
I’ve now loved two men in my life, and I’ve lost them both. Losing them hurts, but their lives taught me so much about living that what they taught me somehow overshadows the loss.
I have a long journey ahead, but where my eyes were closed before, they are open now. All thanks to a shoe. All thanks to a boy my heart called Heathcliff. Some love stories end. Others start your life over.
His jumpstarted mine. For that, I will always be grateful.
So, in short, I don’t have to look into a mirror to see the changes in me. I just need to keep walking, and I need to care enough about my shoes to stop occasionally and think about where they’ve taken me.
Shoes can tell a lot about a person. The journey they take you on can tell a lot about how they’ll hold up.
Chapter 20
For two weeks, I spent most of my afternoons with Rebecca preparing for graduation. I didn’t see Heathcliff after the day I turned in the mirror assignment. School had mostly ended for seniors, the roll no longer taken in class. Because of that, there wasn’t many who went to school. Summers and celebrations started early, but I kept going. I went because sitting at home would have been worse. The plantation didn’t feel the same without Gregor, even when Rebecca stayed.
It was because of this that I decided to take the fund Mams had started for me as a child, and the savings Gregor had marked as school account in his will, and apply for college. I wasn’t a bad student, but I also wasn’t the top of my class. While I was eligible for some financial help, most of the costs were left to me. My main interests lay in the culinary field.
For two weeks, I filled out applications and made phone calls, alternating between searching for colleges and shopping for graduation dresses with Rebecca. In truth, she shopped, and I watched, though I did grab a pair of black slacks and a fitted red top in one of the shops, trusting the size rather than using the dressing rooms.
Rebecca despaired of me. “If you want to become a business woman one day, you really need to dress better.”
I shrugged. “My career will mainly consist of aprons and chefs hats.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’ll take it as it comes,” I said.
She quit trying after that, only throwing a few cursory comments my way later while reclining at the table in the plantation kitchen, her feet propped on an empty chair.
“Are you really going to leave?” Rebecca asked.
Standing at the kitchen counter, I glanced up, my gaze finding hers. I was baking. Ever since the day I made too many pecan pies and Heathcliff took them to his mother, she’d come often to the plantation to see if I had any baked goods she could sell at the Vincent café. It earned me a little extra money. Not much, but I liked the idea that I didn’t have to depend too heavily on the funds Uncle Gregor had left behind. He’d had two savings accounts, one for my college education, the other to help keep the plantation running.
“I guess it depends on the college I go to. I think I’d like to do a foreign internship, too. But I couldn’t stay away. There’s too much of me here,” I answered.
She smiled. “Good. I don’t think it’d be the same without you.”
“You’re not leaving?” I asked, surprised.
She snorted. “Of course not. Where would I go? Besides, I’m not cut out for town living. It’s kind of nice being a big fish in a small pond. If I leave here, that changes.”
I laughed. “Now who’s using her mother’s reputation?”
She threw me a look, but grinned nonetheless. My relationship with Heathcliff may have ended, but my friendship with Rebecca was growing.
Standing, Rebecca marched into the kitchen and snatched a cookie out of a nearby tin. “Just promise me you won’t let me marry the first guy who flashes me his abs.”
Smiling was easy around Rebecca. Making promises was even easier. She often used my house to escape her mother, and it became a regular thing finding her at the plantation in the afternoons. So, when graduation day arrived, and I woke up that morning to find her car gone from the drive, I suddenly felt sad.
Tears threatened, but I held them back and went through the motions. There was no coffee downstairs, no comforting smell of chicory, no family anticipations. Just me, my dress pants, my red shirt, and the promise of a new tomorrow. No one expected anything of me, so I had to expect it of myself.
Grabbing my uncle’s car keys, I paused at the door, glancing over my shoulder at the kitchen.
“For your sake, Uncle Gregor,” I said.
With that, I pulled the door open and walked out into the May humidity, the sun breaking through the trees. Birds flew, diving and rising, their calls loud in the s
till morning. Across a field, buzzards circled. It brought to mind the Native American story Gregor had told me. No matter what you think of a creature, how ugly and terrible it seems, there’s always something worth remembering about it.
“Keep doing what you do,” I called out to the buzzards. I was getting good at talking to myself.
I’d just closed the door behind me when I stumbled, my hands catching me before I fell. Glancing down, I gasped, my eyes widening. On the stoop sat Heathcliff’s shoes, blue marker marring the side. Keep me, they said.
Leaning down, I lifted them, capturing them against my chest, tears pricking my eyes. He’d kept his promise. He may be leaving, but he wasn’t taking his old shoes with him.
Re-opening the door, I placed the sneakers inside the foyer before heading to the car, my steps light despite my breaking heart. Uncle Gregor’s words swirled in my head. Sometimes love isn’t forever. Sometimes it’s just moments in your life that teach you. If it’s the forever after kind of love, it’ll find you again. If it isn’t, don’t let a broken heart break you. Let it make you love harder. Love is a mistake worth making.
Those words followed me down the drive as I drove to school for the final time. They followed me to the fold out chairs sitting before the stage in the school gym. They followed me through two speeches, three songs, and the moment when I accepted my diploma. They rang through my head as I threw my hat into the air, the room filling with flying black caps, the tassels hanging. Cheers, laughter, and clapping surrounded me. Even with Uncle Gregor gone, it was nice.
There was no reason to stay when the ceremony ended, but when I started to make my way through the crowd to my car, I was stopped by a pair of new shoes. These shoes were the same brand as the old shoes that came before them, as if the idea of getting a different pair had never crossed the owner’s mind.
“Clare—” Heathcliff’s voice began.
His tone was flooded with misgiving, and I glanced up at his face, my hand coming up to cover his mouth.
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t start having doubts now. My wish for you is that your path leads you to an amazing place. I want it to take you to amazing possibilities and brilliant sunsets. I want it to take you to the moon and back. I want your life to be exactly how you always saw it. Don’t look back, Max Vincent.”
I removed my hand, and Heathcliff stared at me. He’d gotten his hair shaved since the last time I saw him. It was odd seeing him that way, but it didn’t take away from his appearance. If anything, it accentuated his face, making his cheekbones sharper, his eyes bigger.
“You know,” he finally said, “I never told you something, and I just don’t feel right leaving without it being said.” He leaned close. “I loved you, Clare. Truth be told, I still do.”
I smiled. “I know. You showed me you did. I just don’t want you to stay, and then have you realize later that it wasn’t enough. Be happy, Max. That’s what I want.”
His grin met mine. “I want the same for you. Be that philosophical chef I know you’re going to be.”
His arms suddenly found my waist, pulling me into a suffocating embrace before letting go, his lips brushing my forehead. Our hands met, clasped, and then released each other.
There weren’t any more words after that, and he turned to walk away. My eyes watched his feet.
“Wait!” I called out abruptly. Max paused, and I stepped forward. “Just remember something, would you? Don’t forget who you are.”
He smiled. “I won’t. And, Hawthorne, check your seat before you sit in your car.”
He continued onward, the crowd swallowing him. For a moment, I stared after his disappearing shoes before throwing myself into the mass of people, nudging my way to the parking lot. We hadn’t been a big graduating class, but where the town was small the families were big, and I was chased to the car by flashing cameras and quick protests.
At my vehicle, I paused, my eyes finding a CD sitting in the seat, the disc kept safe by a plastic sleeve. Opening the door, I picked it up and climbed in. I pulled out of the lot, my speed faster than usual, taking the curves and roads without really looking at them until I was parked once more at the plantation.
Inside, I picked up Heathcliff’s shoes, taking them with me into the living room as I placed the CD he’d left me in my uncle’s stereo system. The system was an old one, the kind that had a place for CDs and cassettes, a record player sitting on top.
At first, when I pushed play, there was nothing, but about a half a minute in, guitar music started, full of country and heartache, joined soon by Heathcliff’s voice. Max was a good singer, not the best in the world, but good, and I sat on the floor, his shoes in my lap.
There’s a wild girl, surrounded by hair and dreams.
Her heart is mine, her soul a beautiful beacon.
Her mind is a busy place, full of scars and ripped seams.
Her life is a rough ride.
A potholed mess, no clean straightaway.
But I’ve got a truck with four wheel drive and too many places to go.
It can handle the strife, can plunge through the broken asphalt.
It’s a hard road, baby, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
To be a part of that life,
Those dreams, that wild, passionate girl.
There’s truth in sadness, no shame in letting go.
We’ve got a long way to travel. It’s easier with someone who knows the road.
A long way to travel, a long way to go.
Hold on, darlin’, and quit looking at your shoes.
Look at the road ahead and hang on.
We’ve got this, one way or another, no matter the dues.
It’s you, me, and a world we still need to own.
It’s a hard road, baby, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
To be a part of that life,
Those dreams, that wild, passionate girl.
There’s truth in sadness, no shame in letting go.
We’ve got a long way to travel. It’s easier with someone who knows the road.
A long way to travel, a long way to go.
When I’m gone, and you’re alone.
Keep travelin’ that road. Keep drivin’ over those potholes.
Together, we’re great. Alone, you’re even stronger.
Own the world, baby. It’s yours. Own the world.
There’s truth in sadness, no shame in letting go.
You’ve got a long way to travel. It’s easier with someone who knows the road.
But alone, you’re stronger. Own the world.
You’ve got a long way to go.
A long way to go.
The song ended, and for a long time, I simply sat there, the tune ringing in my head. In the end, even in his absence, Heathcliff had left me a gift. He’d left me a song, a pair of shoes, and a reason to fly.
It was enough.
Five years later …
Chapter 21
“We really need to talk about our uniforms,” Rebecca grumbled, stomping into the kitchen, her hands on her hips.
Amused, I glanced at her. “We don’t have uniforms.”
She frowned. “That’s what I mean. We need them.”
Some things never changed. At twenty-three years old, Rebecca wasn’t much different than she’d been at eighteen; the only change her bigger breasts and somewhat jaded opinion of men. Two failed marriages in five years would do that to a person. Her second divorce was still in the filing process. On the other hand, if it hadn’t been for the settlement she’d received from her first marriage, For My Sake Catering never would have become a reality.
My gaze roamed over my uncle’s kitchen, the recent renovations allowing for a bigger oven, cooling racks, and a walk-in freezer area. Strangely, even after four years of college, a year interning in France, and remodels on the plantation, I still had a hard time seeing For My Sake Plantation as mine. My uncle’s spirit felt too big here, as if no amount of time would ever b
e enough to truly overcome the grief. Time brought healing, but it didn’t get rid of the heartache, the empty place his passing left behind.
“Have you looked at the order I put in this morning?” Rebecca asked.
I shook myself, my head shooting up. “What order?”
She sighed. “I know I put it around here somewhere.”
Rebecca and I had remained faithful friends over the past five years, her local business degree coming in handy when a night of drunken celebration somehow translated into a joint business venture. It was the last time I ever drank hard liquor with Rebecca.
“And here you’re worried about uniforms,” I said on a laugh.
She threw me a look, knocking over a stack of ledgers to get to a pack of hot pink sticky notes. “It was for the Vincents,” she murmured, her gaze flicking from the table to my face. Pulling off the top note, she handed it me.
Sucking in a breath, I glanced down at Rebecca’s scrawling script, and then exhaled. “Wow. What is this for? A wedding?” There were two cakes on order, both of them with elaborate descriptions, as well as four dozen petit fours.
She shrugged. “I hope not. There’s only one unmarried Vincent of age.”
The pulse in my neck quickened, the sudden lump in my throat an unnecessary evil. Max Vinent. Heathcliff.
“He’s overseas, isn’t he?” I asked nonchalantly.
In the past five years, even on visits home, I’d always managed to miss seeing Heathcliff. He was never home when I was, his time in the military keeping him either deployed or working. I’d always made it a point to visit the Vincents, especially Mams, who after all these years was still alive. Somehow, she’d managed to fight the odds, but her time was drawing near, the last few months since my return from France revealing an aged woman whose memory was sketchy at best, her skin more yellow than peach.