Foley Gaspers nearly ran out of fuel driving to Venice Beach in a 2000 Camry he had stolen from his girlfriend, Sarah. He abandoned the car on a narrow one-way street.
He walked to the boardwalk, intending to make his way to the pier for a jump and a swim, but had issues. Fish to fry. He was under the impression Sarah was having an affair with a co-worker.
She was tired of his unfounded accusations.
Why would I want to sleep with Kingston? You’re the one with the problem, Foley. You can’t even figure out whether you’re straight or gay. Having a queer boyfriend isn’t kosher with me.
Why don’t you ever reply when I text you at work?
Foley had yet to figure out the etiquette of wireless correspondence.
I don’t answer your texts because I’m busy working! Why don’t you ever send me smiley or people emojis?
Because emojis are for the verbally incapacitated, Foley thought.
After he abandoned the Camry, Foley was arrested for being a nuisance. He wasn’t booked for a crime. Rather, the authorities allowed him to spend the night at the police station.
In the morning, upon release, he laced up his treasured sneakers, a pair of Asics that were black and grey with red features. He called his mom and her boyfriend from the station, but Irene and Angel were so exhausted and alarmed by his recent antics that they refused to respond to calls at 6 a.m. Irene didn't want to hear her son calling from a jail phone again.
The shoes Foley wore into the outlet store were old school Adidas Sambas, size nine and a half. After browsing a handful of different types, the sneakers that caught his eye were a stylish model of a brand he had never owned before. He found a box that contained a size ten pair.
He contemplated walking out of the store without paying for them.
The words go for it, sounded in his mind's ear.
As soon as the the sneakers were on his feet, he felt like a bigger person. The confidence allowed him to not visit the register as he walked out of the store. He strode out of the store wearing the Asics.
Two weeks after he stole the athletic shoes, he wore them on a pilgrimage, migrating thirty miles from beach city to inland suburb to prove his devotion to Sarah.
On the voyage he encountered a woman navigating a shopping cart in opposing traffic. She commenced drifting into the right-hand lane.
After he caught sight of her, Foley saw she could have been a beauty queen in a previous incarnation.
Cars were maneuvering into the left lane to avoid hitting her.
He approached her near a bus stop and said, excuse me, ma’am, can I push your cart for you?
No. God has kicked me out of paradise, the homewrecker!
I see a mini-mart down the road, let me buy you a strawberry milk.
Foley remembered his mother buying him sweetened, pink-colored Nesquik to coax him into doing his math homework.
The woman stopped in mid-stride and removed a grimy gold engagement ring from a jacket pocket. She regarded it with a furrowed brow and moved toward the waste can at the bus stop.
Foley sensed that better use could be made of the keepsake.
If you don’t want that, I can give it to someone I care for.
Without hesitating, she discarded it in the waste can.
Can’t do it, she said, it hasn’t been blessed by a holy person.
Having bought the promised drink, he exited the gas station mini-mart and saw the homeless woman preparing to cross the intersection.
He called after her, Here's your Nesquik!
Stop being an asshole and give it to your mother!
Foley’s eight-hour trek ended at Sara’s house where she indulged him with a session of pity sex. But no matter how many efforts she made to spice up their amorous relationship, Sara couldn’t rid Foley of his paranoias.
After leaving the Venice Beach jail he asked for change to get on a bus headed toward downtown Los Angeles.
Getting off the bus near Skid Row, he began regretting all the trouble he had caused his mother.
He found a public phone and dialed her number.
Before she answered, he noticed a pair of pigeons fighting in an overhead roost. He took this for an auspicious sign. He was going to get muscled for his prized Asics.
Mom, I’m in L.A. I spent the night in jail. Can you or Angel pick me up?
Foley, we can’t take any more of your escapades. When are you going to come to your senses? When are you going to have compassion for your mother?
I had to beg for money to get on a bus. I'm considering going to a homeless shelter. The neighborhood I’m in is tough. I can’t do it. I need help.
Brief, vacant silence.
Can you hear me? I’m in trouble, Foley said.
Yes, son, I can hear you, but I have one of my morning migraines. I can’t drive in my condition. I’m phoning Angel. Find a safe place to wait. Call me back when your at an address where we can find you.
I’ll call you as soon as I find a safe spot.
After hanging up, Foley turned around and saw a woman struggling to cross the street with the assistance of a makeshift crutch. The crutch had been fashioned from the steel post of a traffic sign.
She was barefoot and he decided he was going to shoplift footwear for her. He entered a store full of made-in-China sports memorabilia, most that unquestionably infringed on American trademark laws. He saw a pair of American football franchise slippers, picked them up and stepped out of the store as casually as he had walked in.
The store didn't have any socks.
He found the woman sitting on the sidewalk around the corner from the knock-offs store and crouched near her.
Can you use a pair of shoes? he said.
With an appreciative nod she accepted his gift and inserted her dirty, calloused feet into the fuzzy blue, green and white slippers. As soon as she had them on, he saw they were several sizes larger than the size she needed.
The woman stood up, thanked Foley and hobbled back in the direction she had approached from.
No sooner had she vanished from sight than a black BMW sports utility vehicle approached the curb near where he stood. Two young men wearing hoodies and baggie pants came out of the vehicle and began arguing and using aggressive body language.
Foley, convinced the time of reckoning had arrived, made a run for it.
He entered the sales office of a large, modern-looking structure. A concierge sat behind the desk.
Are you interested in today’s open house?
No. I need to use your phone. I'm in a crisis.
Our phone is only used to assist prospective tenants of the Ivory Towers apartment hotel.
Foley glanced through the windows of the office to check for the marauders he imagined were after his sneakers. Even though he didn’t catch sight of the imagined footwear thieves, he removed his shoes and ginger-stepped out of the hotel lobby.
Foley walked 10 yards to another building, and before stepping in, gently set his Asics on the sidewalk.
Two older Hispanic men were doing construction work in the entryway. They noticed he was not wearing any shoes.
Lo siento, we have no money, one of the men said.
I don’t need money. I just need to call my mother. She needs to know where I am so she can pick me up.
Sensing his desperation was genuine, one of the construction workers handed him a phone.
You rest here until your madre arrive.
With a gasp of relief, Foley thanked the men. He called Irene and gave her the address of his newfound safe spot.
After what seemed like an eternity, he saw Angel's car pull up the street. His mother was in the passenger seat.
Overwhelmed by relief, Foley didn’t say his farewells to the construction workers who had sheltered him. He waved down Angel, but before approaching the car noticed that his Asics were still on the sidewalk where he had placed them over an hour ago.
Dumbfounded, he picked up the sneakers, climbed into the back seat of Angel’s car, and started crying.
His mother regarded him with affection.
Foley, it’s okay. You’ll be fine. We’re here for you.
Lucky I found that safe spot, her son replied, the Asics securely on his feet.