PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Eddie and his older brother, Kyle (a difference of

three years and an odd number of months separated

their chronologies), presented a very distinct and

impressive physical beauty:  "and it runs in the

"family," said some, regarding their older sisters

(now at college) or cousins in the next township.

Prejudiced and disdainful gossips often repeated

certain assertions that Kyle---despite his Homecoming

Court appearance and qualification---was actually

involved in a surreptitious relationship (far more

intimate than mere friendship) with one of the

varsity football players.  The words "That way . . ."

were often whispered about them, mostly behind

their backs, and they made no discernable effort to

address, deny, or discourage the opinion.  Although

ours was a mostly denim-friendly campus (unusual for

high schools in that county and that part of the state;

rigid dress codes, some of them two or three decades

old, were much more prevalent), Kyle and Eddie rarely

wore jeans---casual or "dress" slacks were more like

their signature style, a rather subtle but noticeable

difference (but the brothers did prefer bell-bottoms to

straight-legs).  One fairly bright day in the early

spring of Eddie's freshman year, during fifth period

lunch, he and some of his friends had taken their

usual seats on the cubic stone benches occupied the

broad space between the entrances to the cafeteria

(southward) and the main gymnasium (northward).  Kim

Pryne, one of Eddie's classmates, was showing off---

well, really, bragging loudly about---her open-toed,

platform sandals (very popular in that time).  Someone

else remarked that her feet, and Eddie's, seemed to be

similarly shaped to the same dimensions:  therefore, a

momentary swap of shoes seemed to be suggested.  This

seemed agreeable to them, and Eddie slipped his shoes

off, rather quickly, and put on Kim's platforms---which

increased his stature by about two inches.  His socks

were jet-black---sheer around the soles and arches, but

opaque at the toes and heels.  Although Kim's platforms

fit his feet with exact precision, the grimace on his

face suggested discomfort, and, almost immediately, he

flexed his ankles to remove them---having declined to

buckle them securely.  As he stood, unshod, on the floor's

linoleum surface, an expression of relief became one of

amazement---and as he gazed at us (admittedly staring at

him, much more than at Kim, during these last several

moments)---something seemed to reveal itself with the

immediacy of a revelation.  As he stood, his feet in

those very attractive socks, were almost entirely

concealed beneath the cuffs of his pin-stripe gray

bell-bottoms.  Then suddenly he picked up his shoes, and

carried them through the corridor toward the location of

his assigned locker.  Only sixth period (Geometry for

both of us) remained; and our teacher, the staid and

highly conformable Mrs. Shalorite, did not notice Eddie's

now delighted shoelessness.  Nor did his other teachers, the

next day; nor the hall monitors; nor the library staff.

Most certainly, however, some of us did; I numbered these

glimpses among my daily delectables and nightly fantasies.

I did not, at that time, ever expect that Eddie would

notice, much less become acquainted with, me:  but high

school is an artificially accelerated environment; and we

began dating during the Autumn of our sophomore year.

(More of our peers seemed to be shocked that Eddie felt

affection toward, and desire for, a stereotypical nerd:

that we were both, in the terms of that time and place,

"Homos" was less disturbing because already suspected.)  I

asked him about that incident, in which Kim had participated:

he told me, between the very wet and open-mouthed kisses

we were exchanging during a prime time sit-com, that he had

suddenly, and very pointedly, realized just how much he

actually disliked shoes; that, unshod, his socks were much

more comfortable; and that the absence of shoes---whenever

surfaces or weather allowed---became one of his standing and

abiding preferences.  Even now, two decades later, it remains a

part of his personality and lifestyle; an entire chest of

drawers is reserved for his collection of socks, most of which

have been gifts from me to mark almost any occasion.  He

never hesitates to show them off for me---during the mundane

events of his daily activities and, more intimately, during

our intimate evenings when the socks become a nuance to his

playful nakedness---while we are making love.

Starward

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