REDSHOES

By Jeanne Moseley

       My love affair with red shoes began when I was about eight.
        About twice a year my grandparents came for a visit, and on each trip, my grandmother and I would go downtown to buy new shoes.
        Owning more than a couple pair of shoes was definitely a luxury back in the mid 1950s. Typically, we had a pair of  "school shoes" and then more than likely, a patent-leather dress shoe for Sundays and special occasions. But shopping with Memaw seldom had anything to do with such necessities, and that's what made these little excursions so delightful.
        We'd stroll into Marchman's Department Store with my grandmother, dressed "just so" -- matching purse, shoes and hat. She neatly clutched her white gloves in one hand and with the other, she'd carefully direct me toward the children's shoe department.
        There would be no discussion about practicality or durability and not even price. The sales clerk would engage in conversation with Memaw as I studied the row of shiny leather shoes, and they patiently waited as I tried one shoe and then another.
        But it wasn't long before we'd leave the store and at the corner of Rogers and Franklin, I'd gracefully tap the sidewalk with a pair of new, red shoes.
         Memaw followed close behind toting a paper bag with my old shoes inside. On almost every shopping trip we made together, red shoes seemed my favorite choice. I loved red Keds in the summer, red boots for winter, and my much-loved red T-straps were a perfect match for any season.
        And so it was, for me at least, that red became a neutral color.