Boy Wearing Light-up Sneakers

He was tall…quite tall.  And thin; the kind of thin that appeared to hide-behind rather than be covered-by the t-shirt that fell like a drape from his rack of shoulders.  The shirt was nearly colorless.  His pants were faded as well.  Both had seen better days, probably on the back of an older brother or a cousin who would see him wearing clothes that used to decorate the floor of his bedroom, and never make the connection.

He stood behind his father who held his brother while talking to the waiter about a table.  His eyes watched the floor, rising only occasionally to glance at his father’s face as though gauging his mood.  He knew how to stay out of the way, but he also knew that what was out of the way now might not be out of the way in just a minute.  He kept track.  And, when his father’s free hand swung in his direction while motioning towards a larger table, he took two steps to his left.

That’s when I saw them…light-up sneakers…the kind I hadn’t seen since my boys wore them twenty-odd years ago.  The shoes themselves were black and would, had the boy stood still, gone unnoticed.  His steps though, set off a pattern of multi-colored lights that chased themselves around the circumference of his school-aged foot, sending shards of longing deep into my chest.

I will never again be the mother of a boy wearing light-up sneakers.

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