The girl with no shoes
A short story with recipes.
Sylvia came from a family with no shoes. Now you might wonder why that would be important, besides the harsh wastelands of winter, who doesn't remember running around in the thick summer grass, the blades tickling you between your toes? But to Sylvia, not owning a single pair of shoes set her about from the other children, and it eventually come to dictate her entire life. Everything that she did, would do or become, centered around not having any shoes.
The summer Sylvia turned 14, she had an argument with one of her 5 brothers during a breakfast of Carrot Fritters. There were too many children and not enough rooms, privacy was a big issue. Sylvia had no where to run and cry alone in the overly small home. Instead she ran from the house and into the woods. Tears of loathing caused her to run blind, she stopped only when her bare feet splashed into the cold water. The hem of her long pale blue skirt soaked up the creeks clean water. The sudden jolted coldness snapped Sylvia temporally out of herself. But the shock only lasted a moment. Before long she was crying again, sitting uncomfortably on the pebbled shore. She swore and cursed her brother under her sobbing breath. He was cruel to her, all her brothers were unreasonably mean to their only sister. They learned that from their father Sylvia thought factually.
Sylvia's father wasn't a hard man, he was sincere in his love, but a man that had spent his own life without shoes. He and his wife, were the only two in the home that wore shoes now. He rightly decided that he deserved them. He labored hard day after day, working in mines to feed his family. In is mind that was the only thing a man needed to do, there was no room for cuddling his only daughter. She should be tough and independent as the boys were. Especially if she was going to go out into the world shoeless. Sylvia never saw it as he was preparing her for the world, she only saw that he took little interest in her, after all, she was only a girl. Her brother Joel had teased her that morning over a boy that he thought Sylvia fancied. He father laughed alone with the rest of the males. Her mother had her back to her as she worked on the breakfast. But her shoulders shook in merriment. And Sylvia had seen it. The whole world was against her, and she didn't like that boy, not really. He was nice to her, and she would mile at him, but that was all. Joel didn't know what he was talking about. And now, Sylvia sat alone, chilled by the creek, crying over what she had declared, before storming out of the house, a gross injustice. It was something she had heard on the television at one of her girlfriend's homes. She thought it fit the situation, she didn't realize that this announcement only caused greater hilarity in the kitchen. The roar that came from the house was load enough to catch an outside neighbor's attention, and he too chuckled as Sylvia ran from the house. His intentions were not cruel, the laughing was merely infectious.
Twilight glittered around Sylvia, nocturnal predators called out to see what or who would answer back, yet the girl still sat their, so wrapped up in her devastation that she wasn't aware of the world changing around her. She didn't hear the sound of rustling rolling paper, and calloused fingers neatly rolled cheaply bought tobacco. She couldn't hear his blue tongue lick the saliva activated glue, and seal the newly created cigarette. Sylvia jumped when she heard the unmistakable clink of the lighters cap open with a quick snap of his fingers, and the sound of flint and metal sparking, and the quiet whoosh as the wick ignited. She turned just as the man sucked on the hand rolled cigarette's end, sucking the flame into the paper. Sylvia gasped, unable to respond to what she saw leaning against one of the tall oak trees that were littered throughout the woods. His red colored irises twinkled in the slowly rising moon's light, and a grin form sightly as his lips lightly held onto the cigarette.
Silvia
"Pray tell little Mary, what makes you weep so?" his voice reminded Sylvia of the chimes that played at church during the happier services. The man tilted his head slightly, like a dog curious to what was happening. He questioned her again, using only this gesture. The girl wasn't sure how to answer. Suddenly her morning torment seemed small compared to what was happening and what could possibly happen now. Her thoughts ran amok, leading her to places that made her shudder. All those warnings from the teachers at school, all those horrible television shows that her friends liked to watch all came flooding back to her. Bad things happened to little girls that found themselves alone in the woods. But never did they show a man that looked like this one. She couldn't see that his tongue was blue, but she did see the blood colored eyes, the moon spun silver hair, and the pine needle colored skin. His long fingers reminded her of her miner father's, except they along with his hand moved gracefully as they removed the cigarette from his ruby colored lips, and back again. He inhaled silently, with much more sophistication then her oldest bother did. This an didn't cough every time he took a drag and the white smoke billowed out slightly before disappearing deep into his lungs. Him, unlike her brother, seemed to be blissfully joyful about the experience.
"So little Mary?" the winds blew the chimes at her again.
"Sylvia." she managed to squeak out. Suddenly blushing over the embarrassment of her own harsh sounding voice. Of course the chorus director would have given her a lashing for thinking such a thought. Even shoeless, he bragged that she was the best voice to ever grace the halls of Lugh Middle School. But if he could have heard this man speak, and then her, he might have changed his opinion of her.
"Sylvia. . ." he whispered, contemplating the name as though it had great significance to him and possibly the rest of the world. "Sylvia, I like the sound of that name Mary."
"Then why are you still calling me Mary?" Sylvia demanded. Her voice had much more force than she intended it to have. She suddenly shrank back physically, fearful of what he might do. His smile broaden, and she was able to relax a bit.
"Sylvia, I beg your pardon. Sylvia do tell, why are you crying on such a sweet night?" He removed himself from the side of the tree. Sylvia wondered and hoped that it was an illusion, for it seemed as though the part of his body that she thought was leaning against the tree, materialized from the bark, he was now whole. Yet that didn't seem right to her. Wasn't he whole as he was standing there, leaning? She didn't get the impression that he wasn't, however when he moved, for a moment, he seemed to be only half a man. That is until the bark fashioned him a right side of his body, along with the leather motorcycle jacket and dark denim jeans. If it wasn't for the bright silver hair, he would have been straight out of those old black and white movies her mother so loved to drag her to.
And as if he could read her thoughts, his head moved slightly away from her and toward the oak tree, his smiled broadened even wider. Sylvia suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to be in on the joke. She wanted badly to know how he accomplished such a magic trick.
"Twas no trick my wee lass. I thought you wouldn't have noticed. But it seems you can see much more than you think." His shoed feet made no sound as he crossed over the pebbles and gracefully sat next to the swollen eyed girl. Sylvia suddenly found that she forgot the illusion and gawked at the back boots the funny colored man wore. The held no dirt or scuffs. No wear, tear, holes or cracks. They shinned as though the were under flood lights and newly removed from their box.
"You cry over no shoes?" The man asked? Sylvia was only able to nod. Of course that wasn't the reason, but having no shoes wasn't as petty of a problem as Joel teasing her about a boy. "Would you stay and tell me the truth if you had a pair of boots." Sylvia's eyes widened in surprise. Her own shoes! She thanked the heavens for giving her such a gift, the thoughts of all those horrible things that happen to little girls in the woods alone disappeared, her only thought was of shoes. She nodded. The man whistled, and a cur bounded out from the woods. An animal that looked more like the wolves he was bred to kill than the dog it really was. The man opened his mouth as though to speak, but the sound the emerged was that of wind harshly blowing dead leaves. And as quickly as it had come, the cur turned tail and ran back into the woods.
"Are you hungry?" the chimes asked her. Sylvia nodded her reply, still dumbfounded by all that was happening around her, and the astonishing fact that she would be getting her very own pair of shoes. Suddenly it occurred to her that the man that sat next to her in the black and white movies outfit and strange colorings had no name.
"They used to call me James." He told her as soon as she had the thought of asking.
"Used to?"
"Tis a long and perhaps sad story."
"not something you wish to tell me?" She began to find comfort with the young man named James, now that she had a name for him.
He shook his head. "Not that. We have plenty of time for me to tell you my story. And for you to tell me the truth about why you sit almost in the creek, weeping." Sylvia blushed. She felt that he already knew why, but was being polite and waiting for her to tell her own story.
It was her turn to shake her head. "we have plenty of time for me to tell you all of it." She smiled.
Seven white swans suddenly appeared. Fear grasped at the girl's chest. She had been warned of the appearance of seven swans, the seven brothers. She looked at James, panic threatened to tighten her throat and emerge as a scream to save her. She had no wish to be dragged from the pebble strewn creek bank and dragged under the water to be drowned by the beautiful swans. James musical laugh engulfed her, comforting her like a thick wool blanket. The swans continued to drift with the creeks current, between them floated a gold platter, Spiced Beef covered it. Sylvia's mouth began to water as the smell was wafted up to her by the night's breeze. She had sat there the entire day, she hadn't even been able to eat her breakfast because of Joel. Her stomach growled loudly, making her jump. The swans pushed the platter onto the bank, trumpeted their greetings and then drifted away. Sylvia was to famished to be courteous, and began to devour the food. So enraptured by the meal that she neglected to notice that the young man who use to be called James, ate nothing. When she had almost completely finished all the food that was on the platter, and her stomach had ceased rumbling, she became aware of the fact that a pair of shinning new boots had been placed quietly beside her.
"Oh James!" She gasped as she plunged her feet into the boots. "They are the most beautiful things I have ever seen."
"I have seen much more beauty elsewhere." James softly spoke as he tilted his head to look at her. Sylvia blushed with the realization that he was flirting with her.
"James," She whispered. "I like it here, with you." James couldn't contain the smile the exploded on his face.
"You don't know how happy I am to hear of this Sylvia" He replied. "Do you see that weeping willow further down the bank?"
"the one that looks to be dying?" She asked.
James nodded. "A few weeks ago some men came into the woods. We thought they were here to fish, and none of us realized that the Willows Dryad was washing in the creek. These men saw her, and viciousness came over them. They hurt the poor dyad before any of us new what was happening and could come to her rescue." Tears rolled down Sylvia's cheeks as she listened to James describe the horrible scene that he discovered. "we sent to Curs after them, so that would never harm another in this manner. But now the willow is dying. She can not live without her dryad.
Sylvia nodded. Her father had told her all about the wood nymphs and the dryad's of the woods. There were so many different types of fairy that Sylvia could barely remember which ones where good, which were evil, and which were tricksters.
"I am none of those things." James quickly replied to her thought." But that willow, she has a child. Can you see it's young branches swaying from here?" Sylvia strained her eyes to see in the short distance, and indeed she spotted the young willow trying to grow. "She needs someone to care for her Sylvia. She will die without care. He mother will soon perish and she has no dryad of her own yet."
Sylvia nodded, "I will care for it." She blurted out without thinking what she might be committing to. As soon as the words fell from her lips she felt her body being tugged. Resisting it hurt her clear down through her bones. She relaxed and allowed herself to be taken. "James," she whispered and pleaded.
"You will have as many shoes as you could ever want Sylvia." James tried to sooth her. "Think about that." And she did. She thought about all the shoes she had seen, the ones that made her yearn to be someone else. She thought about the old cobbler and the gnomes that made shoes for him in the middle of the night. She thought about the boots that were know on her feet, her very first pair. She allowed herself to meld with the sapling and into the darkness. James's voice filled her mind, calling her back into the light. She found she was stiff and unable to move around freely. She had become the dryad of the infant weeping willow. Her eyes slowly adjust just in time to see the mother rot away. James kept calling her until she could think clearly. She couldn't find her mouth, and could only answer with her thoughts. And then she wept.
It took time for her to adjust to her new life. It had been painfully difficult for her not to answer to her brothers that swept the woods, searching for her. After a time they stopped calling, and she began to improve her new limbs. She even had the Curs leave boots on the steps of her home, for all her brothers including Joel. Sylvia found that she did have time to tell James her story, and he told her his. And the two passed the time telling each other all about their old lives until one day a young child drifted face down passed the willow. Sylvia reached down and swept the child away from the deep clear creek and helped him breath again. She wrapped herself around him to warm him, and called the swans to be Milk Punch. The small boy looked up at her, shivering, and smiled his appreciation.
Sylvia gasped "Oh dear boy! You haven't any shoes!"