Fashion was all about owning a K-way and a pair of clogs... I was about 9 or 10. I remember because every recess girls would have to take them off to play "elastic", and dirty their white socks. Those like me who didn't have these things would also be the ones stuck at holding the elastic or the dancing rope. That's when I first became aware of fashion. Fashion comes and goes, but the politics about it never change! The following year was all about a flat, rubber sole espadrille shoe. Let me entertain you with a little true story about it.
The shoes were called "Chinese shoes", were all the rage on the school grounds and how I longed to have a pair! I pressed and insisted and insisted until finally, towards the end of the year, my mother gave in and bought me a pair.
They came in a nice box in gift wrapping paper. I couldn't even bring myself to unwrap them. They were so perfect, so black, I can still remember the smell of rubber escaping when I lifted the box's lid. They laid there like new objects do, not yet worn in. And so girl-like.
As the eldest, I was usually dressed in non-gendered clothes that could be passed on. And my parents were very conservative. I had witnessed from the shadows the rise and fall of the K-way, the clog mania, the cutting, flipping and subsequently growing out of bangs without ever dreaming of participating. But now it was all different. Now, I -gasp- I OWNED the very shoes all the cool girls had, and they were spark new! I would wear them the next day. I would walk among the cool girls and be part of their group. And they would accept me. And they would let me lead elastic.
A bit later the same evening I did something wrong. I don't remember what it was. I dropped something important, caught a fight with my brother? Anyway the end result was my mother taking away the shoe box. "They are confiscated until I say when. You will learn." My throat instantly clasped. "But Mom, please, anything, anything but taking those, please I beg you, you can't!" I pleaded, begged, kissed her hand repeatedly, no avail. I watched tearfully as she put them away in a little closet in the basement.
I cried myself to sleep that night.The next morning though, as I got dressed to go to school, all I could think about were the shoes. I knew where they were. My mother had already left for work, and as usual wouldn't be back until late. She would never know. I could sneak downstairs, take them. My father had no clue of all this drama. Then when I came back from school I could place them back in the box, in the closet. Ni vu ni connu.
The closet wasn't locked. And the box was there. I checked, the shoes were inside. So easy. I could envision the Chinese shoes stylishly negotiating the elastic, and in them, my feet, and me on top of my feet, effortlessly going about the complicated choreography with a semi-bored, satisfied expression on my face, just like those girls I observed recess after recess.
Yes. Nothing stopped me from taking them. Yet I didn't. I resisted. I thought about my mother. Between the shoes and her, what was I to choose? Her of course. And so I had to respect the harsh punishment. I put the box back in the closet and quickly left for school with my brother. Doing that was a real feat for me at the time.
Later that day came recess. It was my turn to play, but the cool girls decided otherwise. "You hold the elastic!" So unfair. I rebelled. We were in June, the air was hot and heavy with dust swelling out from the ground around us. They were six or eight, I was alone. The tone raised. The air was even thicker now. They pushed me until I fell, then gathered and laughed endlessly. I felt so ashamed. I hated them. I hated the whole school. So I took off. I ran and ran passed the gates into the street and to the next and the next, I ran with my old beaten clunky shoes stumping on the searing pavement and on the piles of dust, big tear drops pushing out of my eyelids and rolling down my cheeks. And while I ran, the sky descended slowly into a black lump above the streets as if it was about to cry too.
I suddenly found myself in front of our house and I knew it was locked and empty. What was I doing there? I didn't care, I threw myself onto the front door and... magically it opened! I literally stumbled in the dining room where, of all people, sat my mother who looked at me as amazed as I looked at her. She smiled to me.
"Maman! " I cried out running toward her embrace and as I did, and this is true, the sky ripped apart into a huge roll of thunder. She held me and I stayed there for a long time. She caressed my hair, wiped my tears, and asked me what was going on.
"The mean girls at school... they all ganged up against me... I couldn't take it anymore!", I hiccuped.
My mother spoke to me softly, and gave me a trick. She told me how when they ganged up they looked like hen in a hen house and that made me laugh. Then she bathed me, dried me and made me wear a very pretty green dress that was usually reserved for Sunday use only. She gently parted and braided my long hair into clean braids. It was very rare for my mother to take such care of me because she worked in a hospital as a nurse where mothers gave birth and people died day in and day out and someone had to care for them.
She led me downstairs. My heart was pounding. She pulled out the box. "Here, wear them. They are perfect with that dress." Oh, how happy I was that I had not taken them behind her back that morning !
"You look so grown up now! Remember, if they do anything... the hens, right?" And we laughed in complicity.
Then she lent me a very cute adult umbrella and as soon as the downpour calmed down, sent me off with an note of excuse. I hoped back to school avoiding puddles, my feet so light and dry inside the brand new Chinese shoes, my heart singing in joy. The skies were clearing and sunshine hit the wet trees and cars. I felt so deeply happy.
I walked in the classroom, confidently handed my note to the teacher and returned to my seat. I was beaming.
The mean cool girls were still mean after this, but to my eyes, they were not so cool anymore.
I wore and cherished the Chinese shoes until they fell into shreds.
