Concrete Footsteps

It was on her way to the bus stop that she first noticed the footprints. They seemed haphazard, somewhat unintentionally laid down, almost as though by chance or mistake. She was in a hurry and so for a few days she didn’t think about the impressions in her sidewalk. On Wednesday she noticed them again. Her mind began to wonder, but her schedule demanded speed and she ran on to the bus stop once more and for a few days she again thought nothing of them. Then Saturday came.

Saturday was a day for catching up on the things that had simply flown by during the rest of the week. On Saturdays she tended to her room and her laundry, she wrapped up a little reading, she took a nap and she picked up the necessary groceries. This Saturday she needed milk.

On her way to the store she busied her mind by carefully studying the coins in her hand. She was fiddling with them; organizing them first by size, then colour, then value. Before too long she tired of that game and she began to toss them into the air, one by one, higher and higher as a test against her own hand-eye coordination. On her seventh toss she misjudged the distance and her quarter rolled along its edge for a few feet, into a small groove in the sidewalk. As she bent down to retrieve her money, she recognized the groove – it was the heel of one of the footprints that she had noticed previously in the week. Although she had quickly shrugged them off before, something about them seemed almost enchanting, capturing her attention and exciting a strange curiosity in her mind. Who was the one to take these steps... and where have they gone since?

Without quite acknowledging why, she sat down cross-legged on the sidewalk. She brushed away the crisp, red fallen leaves from the trail of prints that was within her reach. She smiled, observing the wide spacing, the deep toe and nigh invisible heel. This person had been running for the bus. She pulled her legs up to her chest, putting her right foot into the sidewalk’s dent. Probably a boy, she thought. At least three sizes bigger than mine. She lifted her chin and started staring at the feet of those who passed her, curiously. Maybe he’s moved away, or maybe he lives close by. Does he stare at his feet when he runs this path? Does he ever think about the day his sneakers stuck to the road? Maybe he’s someone I know or that I’ve passed before, maybe even on this street, even on this sidewalk... I wonder where he is now.

Her mind ran unbridled for ten minutes, pondering the mysterious boy who could have possibly made the concrete footsteps that she was sitting beside, until an acorn interrupted the daydream. She looked up.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a whisper, as though it were a terribly secret, espionage meeting at the edge of the street. He smiled broadly, tossing another large oak seed up into the air. “You’ve been sitting here for nearly a half hour.”

“You’ve been watching me for a half hour?” She stared at him with a mildly embarrassed expression. She had never seen this person before and yet he seemed familiar. “Oh no,” he replied in a grin, “longer than that. I’ve been watching you on and off for weeks. I just haven’t had the opportunity to say hello.” He knelt down and offered his hand. “Hello.”

She was at a loss for how to respond. Was this a handshake or a hand up? Was he an admirer or creep? Could she really have been sitting outside so long? She shook his hand hesitantly. “Pleased to meet you...” “As I am pleased to meet you,” he replied with a nod of assurance. She had expected an introduction, but instead he just shook her hand a moment, looking unwaveringly into her eyes. It was an intimidating thing, to have so much attention paid to you without apology or explanation, but there was a mischievous sort of glimmer in his eyes that held her gaze. “So,” he said, releasing her hand, “What is so fascinating about this particular pavement?”

With impressively few stumblings she told him about the footprints. “All that from five-and-a-half steps in the concrete,” he mused. “And you almost have the whole story.”

He let a few beats pass before he laughed aloud and answered her look. He traced one of the footsteps with his fingers. “Once upon a time,” he began, softly, “there was a very handsome, intelligent, independent, tough young man. He lived not long ago and far away, but only just over there, even at this very moment.” He waved his hand over her shoulder. “The young man was indeed independent and he thought happily so, but alas loneliness invaded his aloneness and over time he came to feel the need of a young lass to share in the adventures of his life, and to give his toughness and braveness cause. One morning, on his daily quest for higher education, he spied a maiden so beautiful that he was frozen in place, at the gate of his humble castle. She was walking away from him, towards a neighbouring palace, carrying a jug. She was a milkmaid, it seemed, but more stunning than any princess he had ever seen, and she at once stole his very heart. The next day, and the next, and the next he watched as she passed him, sometimes accompanied by other women of her court and sometimes wandering the kingdom alone. Eventually his Squire could keep quiet about his observations no longer. “Sire,” said Squire, “Why don’t you simply pursue the fair maiden?” “Squire,” said Sire, “You’re a genius.” And so, on a quest for the milkmaid he went. He waited for her by the drawbridge of his castle. For hours he stood vigil, waiting for her to appear. At last she did, moving at an incredible pace... she was running... running away from him. At once the young man leapt to his feet and dashed on after his fair lady, not knowing what he would say if he was able to catch up. The thought of an awkward encounter crossed his mind fleetingly, but he pressed on. She was a full block ahead of him, and so focused was he on catching her that he failed to see the perilous situation directly in front of him. The bus was coming, the girl was running and suddenly his armored feet were met with a terrible resistance. He looked down quickly – a trap! The ground was trying to swallow him whole! He looked up and with a great and strenuous effort he pulled up his feet and ran with all his might... and missed the bus by eleven seconds.”

She laughed. “Did you just make that up?” He smiled. “No. I’ve been sitting in the throne room for days trying to put it together. But it’s mostly true, you know.” “Well,” said the maiden, “Before I sat down here... I was, in fact, going for some milk.” He stood and offered her his hand once more. “Can I carry it for you?” She smiled. With all of her imagining, day dreaming, fantasizing and speculation, this was the last place she expected to end up after following those footprints. “Good knight,” she whispered, “that would be lovely.”