A Different Point of Shoe

No doubt, you all know of the Evil Queen’s magic mirror. I expect you’ve heard all about the Beast’s enchanted rose. And how could you not be painfully aware of the goose that laid the golden eggs? Magic mirrors, enchanted roses and golden eggs. Poison apples, spinning wheels and magic beans. All of these things are familiar features in the stories that you know, every magical item had its place. They delightfully bewitched you and have never relinquished their power over you. What you don’t know is, well, everything else. Magic takes more than its fair share of the spotlight. I’ll bet you didn’t take much time to wonder about the ordinary things in these tales. I thought not.

I can’t tell you everything you don’t know, that would take all the lifetimes you have yet to live. So, on this occasion, I will share you with just one tale. This is a story about a pair of shoes. Cinderella’s shoes, to be precise, but not the ones you’re thinking of.

Cinderella married the Prince and they lived happily ever after.

Let us continue.

Cinderella was swiftly moved into the Prince’s castle, taking with her what meagre possessions she was able to call her own. Among these possessions were a pair of shoes she had worn almost every single day before the night of that fated ball. They weren’t particularly remarkable. They were plain and comfortable and the kind of shoes that were made to be worn until they were worn out, then discarded and replaced like last week’s mouldy bread. They had been scuffed by the miles of running around after Cinderella’s useless stepsisters and stained with ash of a thousand fireplaces. The soles no longer had any visible tread and a hole was threatening to form through the threadbare toe.

These shoes had been good to Cinderella for many years, they’d accompanied her on every thankless chore and had protected her delicate feet with grace and honour. And now, after being absentmindedly scooped up with all the other purposeless belongings, they’d been unceremoniously dumped at the back of a closet, hidden behind the dazzle and shine of Manolos and Louboutins. Forgotten.

Time passed by and having endured the heart-breaking sight of Cinderella selecting every other pair of shoes time and time again, the old shoes had lost all hope. They dreamed of a time when they were the ones to be gratefully slipped into each day, until those dreadfully exquisite glass slippers made their appearance. How could they even begin to compete with that? They had been created by the magic of a well-intended, yet slightly thoughtless in this case, Fairy Godmother. Every day, the shoes wished for magic, a miracle or whatever wizardry was possible to conjure, just to find their rightful place inside that shoe closet.

Then one ordinary seeming day, the shoes made their way out of the closet. This did not happen through the power of their will alone; they had been dragged out by a particularly mischievous kitten. The kitten had been a gift from the Prince for Cinderella’s birthday and it had been given free roam of the castle. It would appear this kitten had a thing for footwear. After succeeding at their retrieval, the kitten stalked the shoes, assessing its catch. It creeped slowly in a circle, keeping its body low to the ground as it prowled, then it pounced on the shoes. It was a playful action from this sweet and innocent little feline but for the shoes it was the last straw. The kitten’s tiny claws were enough to catch one of the myriad stray threads and with the weakest of tugs, pulled it clean away. The already battered and bruised shoes collapsed at the seams like a broken concertina, with their pieces scattered about the floor. The shelves of leather, satin and suede comrades looked on in horror at their own potential fate if that little kitten decided to hunt them down. In a cruel twist of timing, Cinderella swooped in, picked up her darling new pet and closed the closet doors.

“Oh dear, what have you been up to?” she cooed, surveying the shreds of fabric strewn across the carpet. The kitten mewed innocently in response. Cinderella released the kitten from her embrace and began to pick up the pieces of its latest victim.

She held the fabric of the disintegrated shoes between her fingers and was flooded with fond memories of a previous lifetime. She remembered her days as a servant to her ungrateful stepfamily and how it had been the simplest things, like a blanket or a pair of hardy shoes, that had brought just a little bit of comfort. She held those pieces to her heart, thankful for her new life and vowed that those loyal shoes be given the same second chance she had been blessed with. There was much work to be done.

Scooping up every last shred and thread, she hurried the pieces down to the Royal Cobbler. He looked at the carnage in her hands with doubtful eyes.

“You have an entire closetful of shoes, are you sure you want me to bother fixing these tired old things?” he asked gently.

“I want you to do more than just fix them!” Cinderella exclaimed. “I want you to give them a new life!”

“Well,” he began, eyeing the shoes once more, hoping to be inspired. “I’m no Fairy Godmother but I’ll do my best.”

For three days and three nights, the cobbler stitched and hammered and glued until his fingers were raw. Those who have not been blessed with magic have to work a little harder than most. But the absence of such magic did not stop the cobbler from creating what he believed to be some of his finest work. From the ashes of those worn-out old shoes had risen the brightest of phoenixes that would make even a pair of glass slippers turn emerald with envy. By the time he presented them to Cinderella, they were practically glowing with pride.

“Oh my goodness!” she beamed, throwing her hands to her face. “Are they really the same shoes?”

The cobbler beamed back with his own glow of pride. “It was somewhat of a challenge,” he told her humbly, “but I think I did them justice.”

He lay them down on a dais to be further adored. Gone was the faded and mould mottled canvas, their fabric cleaned, dyed and adorned. Gone was the flat and treadless sole. In front of them now was a sparkle of flame-red sequins and glitter with the added flourish of a modest Cuban heel. Nobody would be putting these babies in the corner anytime soon.

“They are so beautiful,” Cinderella gushed, a tear escaping delicately down her cheek.  “I think I’d like to try them on.”

The cobbler helped Cinderella into a chair and she presented him with a single foot as a wave of déjà vu washed over her. She remembered this part so well and couldn’t wait to experience it all over again. The cobbler gently lifted the shoe to her foot and slipped it on. Well, almost.

“Hmm, I’ll just…let me get the shoe horn.” Said the cobbler, leaving to go and rummage around in one of his many cupboards.

Cinderella grabbed the shoe and tried wrenching it onto to her foot. She curled her toes and breathed in but no matter how hard she tried, there was no denying it; they didn’t fit. Feeling defeated, she held the crimson beauties in her hands and sighed.

“I can always try adjusting them somehow.” The cobbler offered, but Cinderella could hear the doubt in his voice.

“No, it’s ok. It must be a sign. It’s time to move on and leave the past behind. They deserved a new life but perhaps that life just isn’t meant to be with me.” She stared wistfully out the window and wondered…..

…maybe my friend Dorothy would like them?