The right shoe can make everything different.
~Jimmy Choo
“Hey, you think you could give some money?” A young man was tapping the arm of the woman in line in front of me as she opened her wallet to pay for her purchase.
It was obvious by the look on her face that she didn’t know the kid, who appeared to be about seventeen. She shook her head. “Sorry.”
The kid shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Really?”
“Sorry,” she said again as she tucked her credit card into her wallet and walked away.
Before I could set my bag of cat food on the counter, the kid took a step forward and made eye contact. My elevated stress and deteriorating patience were doing overtime. Oh, come on, I thought to myself. I don’t have time for this. I have to be back to work in twenty minutes. I can’t believe he’s going to ask me for money.
He was holding a pair of Nikes. “So, can you help me out? I’m like . . .” He paused and looked at the price tag, then counted on his fingers. “A couple dollars short.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
He sighed. “Seriously? Why not?”
I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t nice to ask for handouts, and that he should learn to manage his money. But I replied instead, “Because I have my own things to pay for. Sorry, but I’m not giving you money.”
He broke eye contact and looked down at his feet.
“These are my cousin’s shoes,” he said. I glanced at what he was wearing — a pair of dirty, tattered work boots. Unlaced. “He’s been letting me wear them to work all week. They don’t fit very good. And it’s kinda gross wearing someone else’s shoes.”
I motioned to the man in line behind me to go ahead.
The kid looked up at me. “Are you sure you can’t help me out? I thought I had enough. These are real good shoes, and they’re on sale for $58. It’s the only pair they have left in my size.”
I felt my heart shift into mom-mode. “Why are you wearing those, anyway? What happened to your own shoes?”
“They’re back home. I guess I forgot them.”
“So just go home and get them.” I assumed his house was across town.
“Well, I can’t. They’re in Nebraska.”
“Nebraska? How do you forget to put shoes on your feet when traveling from one state to another?” I heard my voice shoot up an octave, as if I were scolding my own son.
He looked down again. “Well, my cousin came to get me, and I grabbed all my stuff and threw it in his car. We were in a hurry, and I guess my shoes weren’t in there. I know it was dumb.”
From outside, a car horn beeped. “I gotta get to work. My cousin’s out there waiting for me.” He looked at the cashier and asked, “Can you hang onto these? I can come back tomorrow and get them. If I have the money.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. It’s a clearance item. And we can’t hold clearance merchandise.”
He turned and looked toward the back of the store. By now, three people had refused to help him out. I watched his face as he contemplated the journey to the shoe department, then back past the registers. Empty-handed.
Standing there in the checkout line, my mind flashed back to when I was a single mom, in constant financial worry and struggling to provide for my family. Fifteen years ago, the owner of a local shoe store stopped by my workplace and handed me a gift certificate. Aside from the business logo and my own name, it was blank. The giver’s name and dollar amount weren’t filled in. The storeowner explained that “a friend” wanted me to take my daughter shopping and let her pick out any pair of shoes she wanted. I stood with the certificate in hand and asked, “Why?”
“Maybe someone just wants to do something nice for you,” she said with a smile.
That weekend, my eight-year-old daughter got to pick out a pair of shoes without her mother telling her we couldn’t afford them. Even after all these years, I don’t know who paid for those shoes, but my heart swells with gratitude every time I think of it.
Now, here I was listening to this kid’s excuses as to why his shoes were 400 miles away. I didn’t know why he left home in a hurry. Maybe his cousin had rescued him from a bad situation. Maybe that’s why he left his shoes behind, because he had to leave fast. Right now, it didn’t matter. A voice in my heart spoke up and told me it was my turn to pay it forward.
I nudged his arm. “Put the shoes on the counter.”
“For real?”
He sat the shoes on the counter and pulled a crumpled wad of cash from his jeans pocket. The cashier scanned the tag as he handed over the money. She looked at me. “There’s an $11.86 difference.”
I took a $20 bill from my wallet and laid it in the kid’s hand. The cashier counted back $8.14, and he turned to me with the change. “Here, I can pay you back the rest next week when I get paid.”
“You keep it,” I said. “Spend it on something useful.”
His eyes were wide and sincere. “Why? I didn’t need the whole $20.”
“It’s your lucky day. Somebody wants to do something nice for you.”
He folded the money neatly and slipped it in his pocket. “Friday is my sister’s birthday.”
“Well then, buy something for your sister.” He lunged toward me with open arms and a chorus of thank-yous, but before he could hit me with a hug, he turned his attention to another round of beeps from the car waiting outside.
He kicked off the old boots as he shuffled toward the door. “I’m never wearing these again.” He slipped on the sneakers and waved a final thank-you as he ran outside.
I was now the only person left in line. My five-pound bag of cat food seemed so insignificant. The clerk scanned the bag of Purina and said, “That was really nice of you. I think you totally made his day.”
“You know,” I smiled, “every kid deserves to wear new shoes.” I realized that the kid who was $11.86 shy of a new pair of sneakers had no idea who I was and likely never would. And I was okay with that.
~Ann Morrow
