The Woman in Red Boots

Every day is the same. Every moment I feel drained. The same stop sign passes on that same corner square. The one I've seen for years, months, weeks, days, I sometimes wonder when; I wonder where.

Where am I? When am I? I've passed this street for what seems like an eternity. Sometimes the people change, the faces and smiles of people are different. Sometimes people's outfits and general facade change, but never all at once, and never on the same day. The day I've been reliving for years now.

It's been 66 years and six months. 66 years since I've seen my daughter. 66 years since I've seen the light of day. Every day is the same here in London. Wet, rainy, cold, and damp like always.

However, one day I began to notice a pattern. I saw a woman in red boots and a jet black umbrella. You might wonder how I could notice such a minute detail. I'm not exactly sure when I saw her on that stark desolate day.

The memory that sticks out the most in my mind of the woman in the red boots, is when she saved me from being hit by a double-decker bus. Well, save is a strong word. Perhaps it's my ego or pridefulness, but I've never been one to loosely use the phrase, saved my life. The woman merely stopped me from crossing the street when that confounded driver came barreling down the road and preceded to hydroplane into the nearest set of cars and cause a catastrophic chain of lethal wrecks.

I didn't even have a chance to thank her. As soon as I stumbled to my feet and gathered my wits and glasses, she was gone. She appeared to have vanished.

While the police and paramedics flocked to the scene and the mindless crowd wailed and ran in fright, I lost sight of my hero. I've never been a believer in such trivial matters as God, but that day I felt something I hadn't before. I felt fear. The fear of never seeing my beloved daughter again. The fear of what my wife would do knowing her husband died from something as insignificant and avoidable as a multiple car collision.

After the fear subsided I felt something else I hadn't felt before. I felt a glimmer of hope. I felt that maybe someone or something actually cared about me. That maybe my life wasn't as meaningless as I came to believe.

Ever since that day, I can't stop seeing a woman in red boots around the corner square. I see the woman in red boots with her jet black umbrella and her long blonde hair through the window of my taxi cab. I no longer trust this particular intersection. I no longer feel safe as a pedestrian crossing that shady corner square. Ever since the accident, I can't muster the strength to walk that route again.

No one seems to remember that day. When I look in the newspapers there is no record of the accident. When I ask around, no one recalls the event or day even happening.

Finally, I stopped searching. I stopped questioning that the accident ever occurred. I told myself I imagined the whole thing.

One morning I was running late for work, yet again, and couldn't find my umbrella. I called my wife, to no avail, and preceded to look into the closet. I stopped. I glanced at the floor once more and to my surprise, I saw a pair of red boots, just like the ones the woman wore on that mysterious day. I called my wife over again to ask about the boots. But by the time she arrived at the entrance of the closet, they were gone. The red boots had vanished. Just like the ones the woman wore on the day that no one remembers, the day I lost track of my faceless hero.

Maybe one day I'll see the woman in red boots, maybe one day I'll see my daughter again. The one I apparently imagined. The one my wife doesn't recall having. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something. That perhaps something did happen on the corner square that fateful day.

I'm not sure. In the meantime, I've got a taxi to catch, and a jet black umbrella to return.