There was a little girl in my kindergarten class named Dorothy who had a pair of brown wedges. They were like saltwater sandals on crack. I needed that drug. But they weren’t practical.

Everyday, when kindergarten was over, Dorothy and I would sit and play together. We had to stay longer than the other kids. Me, because I was a “mountain child” whose bus only went the long trek up the mountain once a day. I needed to wait for the older kids to finish their schooling. Dorothy, because, well, I don’t know what Dorothy’s deal was. Who cares? She had amazing shoes. She was taller than all of the rest of us. She could reach things. It was incredible.

One day, my mother surprised me with shoes just like Dorothy’s. I was in heaven. I wore them to school. And after the other children had left, I would cast smug glances at both of our shoes. Mine were newer. To say this thrilled me, was an understatement.

But my mother had one last trick up her sleeve. I could wear the shoes that matched Dorothy’s on the condition that I also picked out a pair of sensible sandals for my growing feet.

I remember going shoe shopping with my mother and grandmother. They insisted on driving down to Stride Rite so they could buy me those saltwater sandals that were so popular. I hated them.

I tried on a pink pair and a white pair. I thought both were ugly. But I consoled myself with thoughts that noone need ever see them. Yes, I was a fun five year old.

I picked out the white pair. My mother insisted I wear them on the hour ride home. Imagine a bratty five year old scowling and grimacing during the drive.

We arrived home and I gleefully opened the box where they had stashed my wedges. Only they were not there. In their place, were the ghastly pink ones. The store had mixed the shoes up. It was too far to drive to fix the mistake. My mother was thrilled.

I was not.

I trudged to school in my white sandals everyday. I would now look at Dorothy’s shoes and sigh. They no longer seemed worn. They were beautiful.

I never did wear those pink shoes. Not once. They reminded me of my loss every time I looked at them. Did I mention I was an easy child? I do think of those wedges now and again. I wonder if Dorothy still has her pair?

As for myself, I am still on an endless quest for them.

* This post was written in response to the weekly writing challenge on The Daily Post. It was a timed ten minute reflection challenge. You were supposed to time yourself for ten minutes and write a memory. Then publish it. So, I decided to do it. This means my outfits for the week will run on Friday. Above all else, I am always trying to expand on my writing techniques. Thank you for humoring me!