Spring 2006 Sisyphus - St. Louis University High School

Before my feet can carry me though, I
remember that I’m still wearing my uniform—
scuffy brown dress shoes and thick knee-length
crew socks, soaking my feet in sweat. My shirt
still smells like the store, ammonia and bleach
and that sawdust that janitors throw on little
kids’ puke. Somehow my trance is broken. That
feeling of “rightness” abandoned me about three
steps towards her. I’m just disgusted all over
again. What exactly was I going to do anyway,
just walk up and say, “hey!” like some doofus?
“You crazy old loon,” I think to myself, “you
thought you’d found something?” Nervously
glancing around to see if anyone’s watching
me, I wonder how out of place I must look. If
you’ve never used your feet to get around in
your life, here’s an interesting truth for you: if
you’re moving, no one notices you, you’re just
another commuter with someplace to go, but the
second you stop, you’re a sore thumb sticking
out. Everybody’s so damn set on getting where
they need to go, eyes on the road or their feet,
that there is something about someone taking a
break that seems almost...diseased.
My feet are walking again, and looking back
over my shoulder, she slowly pans out of view
like some bad romance flick. I look down at my
shoes and get a whiff of that shithole. I need a
shower.
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He n ry Go l d k a m p