Socks and Sandals

Two (adjective1) humans sitting beneath a bridge at midnight, waiting for a train to go by.

1. something along the lines of unenlightened, but still curious of the world.

A boy.

A girl.

A night composed of bats in streetlights, weeping sunflowers, and a slight breeze.

Socks and sandals she said.

She wore socks and sandals. Deliberately. As if all of her years of living in this society that prides itself in its contrived sense of fashion means nothing to her. All of the centuries of powdered wigs, bell bottomed pants, and jean skirts with Ugg boots, tossed right aside. Did she learn nothing? It’s like she threw all that is good and right in this world right over her shoulder like sugar.

Like salt he said.

Like salt. They were polka dot socks. Polka dot socks with lace on the top. You know what that means? It was no accident. No, she woke up that morning and decided to put that on her feet. She looked at herself in the mirror before she left and nodded, pursed her lips in content. It’s as if she decided that defiling our society’s well-evolved sense of style would be a good thing to do that day.

A good thing to do he said.

Yeah, a good thing to do she said. Can you imagine that? Just think about it.

I’m thinking about it.

Oh, and you know what the worst part of it all is?

What?

She looked fine.

Oh?

Yes, she looked fine. Good even. But God forbid I do the same.

Why don’t you do the same?

God forbid it. Because she has freckles and boobs and smiles with all of her teeth, and she’s short enough for boys to kiss her. Because she can pull off socks and sandals; I can hardly pull off snow boots.

Because she is she and I am me. Respectively.

You look fine in snow boots.

Nobody looks good in snow boots in the summer. But that’s beside the point. It’s not only the socks, but her genius. She talks about philosophy like it matters. Like she herself sits on the court steps with Socrates and Euthyphro and contemplates God.

You don’t believe in God? he asked.

Of course I believe in God she said. How else do you explain the moon?

The moon?

Yes, the moon, you’re getting me off track. Anyway, she talks about philosophy like it matters. Like perhaps thinking beyond normal everyday thought will grant her a “Get Out of Jail Free Card” except it will be a “Get out of Death and all Existential Crises Free card”.

Well, wouldn’t you like to understand the world you die in?

It not about death she said and why are you defending her anyway? You’re supposed to hate her with me.

Hate is a strong word he said.

I hate her she said.

Because she wears socks with her sandals?

No! Ugh, you haven’t been listening at all. Here, if there was a rose and a dandelion but you could only pick one, which on would you chose?

He didn’t reply.

And in silence they sat for a while. The orange moon above them illuminated the heavens, but their eyes were cast down into the dark ravine under the bridge. The boy’s eyes stuck to the bright glow of his white shoe laces, but he thought rather of how close the girl’s hips were to his and how if he moved just an inch, they might touch, and dandelions and roses might not matter anymore.

The girl, rather, was unconcerned with proximity. She stared at the train tracks below them and mulled over the possibility of distant headlights. She thought about disappearance, but when she heard the ignorant rumble of cars passing over the bridge above them, she thought she was invisible enough for now.

She asked, do you believe in God?

It makes sense he said that there is something that created us, this earth. There’s no such thing as mere coincidence, none of this just happened on accident.

Do you fear Him then? she asked.

Fear Him? No. He must love what He created if He hasn’t destroyed it yet.

Like He did the dinosaurs? Are you telling me that He didn’t love the dinosaurs?

All I’m saying is that He must love something about us, I don’t know anything about the dinosaurs. You know how a young kid loves their ant farm until something goes awry and then they shake it all up? God hasn’t shaken us all up yet.

You think he loves us?

He must.

Do kids feed their ant farms famine and disaster? she asked.

No, they feed them sugar. Famine and disaster simply occur to make it taste sweeter he said.

So you say that God feeds us just enough love to keep us human, but also in perpetual fear of what would happen without it? she asked.

You must fear God then.

No, I fear love.

How can one fear love?

Easy. Tell me, do you believe in “the one”? she asked.

Like there being one person on this planet we are meant to spend the rest of our lives with? The idea is nice but the probability is small he said.

Well, imagine for a moment that it’s true, that there is that “special someone” for all of us somewhere in this world. Now, imagine that you meet that someone you believe to be perfect. In fact, you believe them to be “the one”. You love them, marry them, buy a house with them; have kids, and build a life around them. You’re happy. Completely and utterly happy. But then suddenly one day you meet the true “one” and it turns out to be Nancy next door, not the one who you thought it was all along. What do you do then?

Logically, it would make sense to stay with the one I built my life with. It would be stupid to destroy it all to be with Nancy, who I hardly even know he said.

But you must agree then that your heart will never be truly content. It will never be happy so long as “the one” got away. You’ll mope around for the rest of your life knowing that you missed your one and only chance for your very own personal Nicholas Sparks novel. Don’t you see? It’s a predicament, and it’s only love that can create a situation so inevitably cruel.

But you believe in it? he asked.

Yes of course I believe in it. Anyone would be stupid not to. It’s like not believing in shooting stars and four-leafed clovers.

Oh, now you’re equating luck to love he said.

They’re one and the same. Both require an immense amount of faith.

I would argue against immense he said.

But I thought it was you who was rooting for love?

I mean luck. Anything can be lucky.

Anything?

So long as you believe it means something. I could believe in a good Denny’s waffle, and so every time I go to Denny’s and get a waffle better than subpar, I can consider myself lucky.

That still requires faith.

But the faith I put in luck is not nearly as immense as the faith I put in love. I don’t need luck if I have love he said.

This time she was the one who stopped speaking, not because she didn’t have anything to say (she always had something to say) but because in the distance she heard the whistle of an oncoming train. He felt her tense up beside him. Hips touching, but only because she was holding her breath. She held it so long as she could feel her heartbeat in her ears, simply to prove that she was alive.

The boy knew she was alive.

The girl looked for distant headlights.

What do you think of wishes then? she asked.

As in birthday candles and shooting stars?

To be precise.

I think you can wish on anything so long as it is rare he said.

On a good Denny’s waffle she said.

Sure.

On trains.

On trains?

If you can wish on a shooting star, why can’t you wish on trains? she asked.

Because trains run on schedules. They’re predictable.

And you don’t think God keeps a shooting star itinerary? How else does he keep track of all of those wishes? she said.

I suppose you could wish on trains he said. There was a pause and he asked, does that mean that we came here looking for luck?

If one can look for love, one can certainly look for luck she said.

Do you think that God really created us to look for love and luck?

Well, there has to be a purpose.

Yes, a purpose to it all. There has to be a purpose he said like every one of us has a reason to exist.

You could say it that way.

And how do we know what that purpose is?

I don’t know if we are supposed to figure that out she said.

How are we supposed to fulfill a purpose that we don’t know of?

A little faith. I figure each of us has a purpose in life like every story has a moral. You don’t really know what the moral is until you reach the end of the story, but nevertheless, we always have faith in the character’s ability to reveal it she said.

So we simply must exist, a purpose will reveal itself in the end? he asked.

We simply must exist she said.

As the train neared, the two could feel the earth beneath them begin to shake. It shook enough to send a small rock tumbling down the wall they sat on and onto the train tracks below. They remained, however, and the boy thought of not-so-distant hips while the girl thought of not-so-distant headlights. They could see them, peering between the leaves of trees that masked their world from the rest of it.

Before the train fully arrived the boy shouted over it, if every story has a moral, then what is the moral to this story?

The girl smiled and turned to him. She said who the hell cares if you wear socks and sandals?

Two (adjective2) humans sitting beneath a bridge at midnight, wishing on a train going by.

2. something along the lines of unenlightened, but simply existing in this world.