Running Barefoot

“Will you be all right?” He asked softly.

I nodded my head.

“Thank you Samuel. It’s so good to see you again,” I said sincerely, then turned and walked quickly up the walk and slid my soaked shoes off under the covered porch. He still stood in the rain, holding the horse steady, watching me. I stepped inside and gently closed the door.

I stood in the bathroom and pulled the sweatshirt over my head so it covered my face; I breathed in the smell. I didn’t want to take it off, though I was cold and shivering and the heat rose deliciously out of the tub I was filling with water. I couldn’t find it in myself to be embarrassed by my actions towards Samuel. Samuel! I marveled that he was here, back in Levan. So many years had gone by! Again I considered my unusual behavior, and although I knew I would be mortified when I saw him again, for now the sweetness of the contact remained too acute for regret.

I had enjoyed effusive affection from Kasey for two years only to suffer a famine when he was gone. Afterwards, any sympathy or affection had sabotaged my efforts to control my despair, so I had effectively shunned both from anyone who offered them. For a long time I had stiffened at the lightest touch. If you push people away for long enough isolation become a terrible habit. People start to believe you prefer it.

I felt suddenly ravenous for a gentle touch. Just like physical starvation, the hunger for contact was all consuming. Human beings are not designed to be alone. Our creator gave us smooth, sensitive skin that craves the warmth of other skin. Our arms seek to hold. Our hands yearn to touch. We are drawn to companionship and affection out of an innate need.

I pulled off the sweatshirt with a jerk, shaking my head to dislodge my indulgent musings. I finished undressing and slid down into the tub until the very hot water covered me completely - submerging my head, my face, and my thoughts. Then I willed my long dormant neediness to retreat before I made a complete fool of myself.

I turned twenty-three on a Sunday that year. The family typically gathered for birthday parties-which was nice, but we always gathered at home, dad’s home, which also happened to my home - which meant I did all the cooking, as usual. I was actually hoping that I could take a little walk up to the cemetery and visit Kasey’s and Mom’s graves. Maybe I could spend a little time reading against Mom’s cool headstone like I did when I was young. Maybe I would make a chocolate cake for later. There was nothing better than chocolate cake, cold milk, and quiet. But with the family gathering there wouldn’t be any quiet, not until much later.

I felt a little guilty for not wanting my family around on my birthday. I knew I was strange. I was always glad to see them, always glad to kiss their kids and cook for them. I just felt a little melancholy. Seeing Samuel had me thinking about Beethoven. I hadn’t expelled music from my life - I taught piano lessons, I played the organ in church, but my days of listening for the pure rapture of listening had become few and far between; I guarded my emotions very carefully, and the music just oozed its way around my walls. But maybe I could enjoy something that would lift my spirit without widening the cracks in my heart I had thought I might listen to a little Hungarian Rhapsody with my chocolate cake.

I went to church that morning, and Dad came along with me, which he had begun to do more often as of late. I hadn’t asked him why; I’d just enjoyed the fact that he would come and be with me. Except for a little persistent weakness on his right side he was completely recovered from his stroke. He looked handsome in his light blue dress shirt and navy slacks. His hair had gone white, as I am sure my hair would one day do. His skin was very brown from his life as a horseman. His vivid blue eyes were arresting, and I wondered why some lonely widow hadn’t gobbled him up. I guess there weren’t too many to choose from. There was always Sweaty Betty down at the diner. She thought my dad walked on water and had hot coffee in his hand before he could say “Please” whenever he found time to sit a while and ‘shoot the bull’ with the old boys that gathered there every morning. The thought of my dad with Betty had me giggling into my hand, and my dad shot me a look under his furry white brows.

I had chosen to play the hymn ‘The Lord is My Shepherd’ from the 23rd Psalm for the closing number. I loved the 23rd Psalm. The words spoke of such simple faith and beauty; it was a prayer I had often uttered when I found myself teetering on the brink of depression. The congregation sang along with very little feeling ... hard pews, hungry bellies, and impatient kids eager to be free of their Sunday clothes, make sincere expression difficult. After the closing song, the prayer was given, and I stood from the organ, only to see Nettie and Don Yates a few rows back. My heart stuttered and my breath quickened. Samuel was with them, looking starched and pressed in a white shirt, dark slacks, and a red tie. I wondered what he looked like in his ‘dress blues’. I hadn’t seen him since I had literally run into him in the storm. I still had his sweatshirt sitting, washed and folded, on top of the dryer. I had been trying to work up the nerve to walk down to Don and Nettie’s and give it back to him.

My dad was making his way towards them, extending his hand to Don who hadn’t been to church, except for Christmas Eve service, in years. I wondered if Samuel being in town had something to do with their attendance. It seemed unlikely, but I couldn’t come up with another possibility to explain his presence at church today. Samuel saw me walking towards them and something flickered across his handsome face. I was grateful I had worn my red that morning.

Another weakness of mine….red shoes. Tara had given them to me when I graduated from beauty school. She’d purchased them for her mom’s birthday, kind of on a whim, thinking Aunt Louise would have a good laugh at the red, four-inch heels. Louise had laughed all right, and then told Tara to take them back. I can’t explain why I couldn’t let Tara return them, but I had wanted them. I had the same size feet as Louise, and the shoes made me feel happy when I looked at them. For me, happy had been kind of hard to come by. I’d offered to buy them from her, but she’d seen the look on my face and was thrilled to declare them a graduation gift.