Red Boots, Of Course
The inspiration to write settles over me like a sea breeze, dewy like. I have a plan, which entails catching a flight on the wings of a dove, a bluebird, or for a new door to open that will instantly pull me through to an adventure waiting on the other side. To some degree, it’s how my writing life has unfolded before me, but not always on my terms or when it suits me.
If stuck with the empty page and a blinking cursor, I only need to close my eyes, open a book, slip in a CD, walk the viaducts of my mind, remember all I have seen and imagine.
- The tattooed bicep ‘For you, I AM’.
- Walking through the haze of Déjà vu and coming out the other side with the words, I want to go to an unknown place/ To be anywhere but in this moment
- The squeals of children laughing
- The eyes hidden by Chanel sunglasses exposed when the single tear trickles out from under the big-rimmed glasses.
- You Were Always on My Mind –This song is my number one, and never fails to wring a love story out of my mind regardless of how tired I am.
- Lovers, the real, the imaginary, the ones yet to come
- Racing down the motorway with the top down, crooning along to a song at the top of my lungs (song varies, but this moment never disappoints)
- Walking the aisles of the bookstore pulling out random books and copying the titles into my go-every trusty writer’s diary
- The come-hither glance of lanky man I happen upon in line at Starbucks
- My functionally insane family
- Dropping in on private conversations, eavesdropping is a favorite pastime, shameless I know, but many a story have started this way
- Reading the words of other writers
- Love, the ethereal, the chase, the settlement, the inevitable, the surrender, the misunderstanding, and oft the heartbreak that follows the rush
- Food, rather the planning, preparation, last minute dash to the store, the chopping, the sautéing, the table dressing, the wine, oh the wine, the conversation, the burnt, the raw, the forgotten, the music. Family meals in Latin families are more about the before and after. If not for the chewing there would be no silence.
- Stumbling upon a remote patch of shore with only the beat of my heart and the lapping waves in ear shot
- Walking in the morning, but more is found walking at dusk
Finally, my muse pushes me out of bed to the right hand corner of my room where the blank white word document and blinking cursor are waiting impatiently. My nasty muse saw a woman today in red boots, they were not the sexy sorts with pointy toes, high heels, nor were they sporting the words Tony Lama.
They were brilliant red, sturdy leather with a matching strap that ran from the inside of the soul across the top of the foot joined to the other side by a nickel plated buckle giving the appearance of solid reinforcement. The boots were ankle high, and stood on a one and half inch wide clunky heel. The shoes had seen a few miles, walked up and down several downtown strips, and into deep puddles. The boots lacked sizzle and sexiness, and might have gone unnoticed by my muse if it were not for their color.
The red boots were clunky, thunderous, and so certain that with each step heal-toe-pavement re-acquaintance-step that a shockwave went up each of my legs through the souls of my feet that I felt drawn to them. I willed myself to look away from the red boots and to maintain eye contact with the woman filling the boots.
She had non-descript brown hair. The ends of her hair had not seen hair conditioner since the late eighties, and someone had forgotten to mention the bowl cut went out in the sixties. The face under the black framed glasses was, if given a chance, something close to remarkable. Her skin, to use a tired cliché, was alabaster and there wasn’t a pore anywhere to be found. The body inside of the boots was more remarkable than the face, and something man or woman would want to travel, but no one had in quite some time of this I am certain. I wondered if she even noticed herself when she showered. I doubt she was aware. Her clothes said don’t notice me, for I am nothing.
But not those boots, they were not sexy but they said, Hey… I am here inside; please take a minute or two to notice. Inside there is something, one hell of a something.