And Shoes to Match
This story features characters from The Rainbow Collection
Rick
We have a new dish soap that smells like Christmas trees. The bottle says it’s “Iowa Pine” and I’m not used to it yet. I keep thinking I’ll see a tree in the living room when I turn around.
But not the type of tree you’re thinking of.
My mind’s eye goes to the late 70s and a small ceramic evergreen that stands maybe six inches tall. It’s painted with decorations and snow and filled with little wax beads holding the scent of our new dish soap. I’m certain those perfumed pellets would now be labeled toxic. It lived on the coffee table of our Brooklyn home in December, and the scent will always remind me of New Years.
My parents were headed to a party and Mom had laid out a flowing black dress with sheer bell sleeves, a black handbag, and thick-heeled platform shoes with wide straps. Very 70s indeed. The handbag was square and had a prominent silver buckle clasped around its middle. To a four-year-old, it looked like something off a Pilgram’s hat. Intrigued, I spent hours sifting through our small closet in search of a flat-topped hat that would match, but the only hats I found were of the sun and woolen varieties.
Mom didn’t wear make up often, but a special occasion required a special face. I sat on the bathroom counter and watched as she applied sparkling, baby-blue eyeshadow, bushy false lashes, and color on her cheeks, transforming her from Mary Ann to Ginger in a matter of minutes.
“That all black outfit is what you’re wearing tonight?” my father asked.
Mom held two shades of lipstick up and examined her pout in the mirror. “You said you weren’t sure if it’s formal or not. That dress can go either way.”
“It’s a New Year’s Eve party, Lily. Not a funeral.”
She considered his reflection. “You said all my other dresses were too loud. You also told me to try for elegant because it’s your boss’s party. That dress is the closest I’ll get without spending money in the next hour.”
“But all black?”
“With silver accents. I could always wear my silver go-gos.”
My father made a face. “Wear something respectable.”
“Then I’m wearing the black shoes.”
He huffed and thudded away. Mom leaned into me and whispered, “The shoes are supposed to match the purse anyway.”
An idea sparked and I grinned. She disappeared into the bedroom to change and I raced to the kitchen cupboard. Her shoes could match her purse a little better and I was determined to make it so.
It took me a few tries to pull a clean sheet of foil over the jagged metal strip. My folds weren’t as neat as I wanted them, but decided the crinkled aluminum would only add more sparkle. One was a little bigger than the other, but if these little squares were moving and hidden by the skirt of the dress, who would be the wiser?
Attaching my secret crafting project proved to be a bigger challenge than cutting the foil cleanly. Taping them would take too much time— I wanted to get them in place without much fuss. I wasn’t allowed to use the stapler after driving one of the little menacing staples into my thumb earlier in the year. Paper clips would have to do.
Mom was in her party dress when I got to her bedroom. She was clasping long silver chains around her neck and smiled at me in the mirror. “Where’d you go off to, my Rich boy?”
“Nowhere,” I said with a grin and she narrowed her eyes at me.
“You went somewhere,” she urged and smiled back.
“I got a surprise for you.”
Mom swirled around wearing a Christmas morning grin. “Do you? Should I close my eyes?”
I nodded fast and laughed when she did it. I waved to see if she was peeking, and when she didn’t respond, I attached my gift as quickly as my less than nimble fingers would go.
“Ok. You can look now.”
Mom blinked and came closer, curiosity playing across her face. I pointed at her shoes.
After a confused moment, she picked them up and marveled at the sight. “Buckles! You made buckles for me!”
“You said the shoes gotta match the purse. Now they match!”
“Yes, they do!” she giggled and slipped her feet in. “They’re perfect. Now it’ll be like you are at the party with us!”
She scooped me up with a kiss and swung me around. “And I’ll tell everyone just where I got these one-of-a-kind gems,” she vowed.
“The babysitter is here,” Dad said and strode into the room. “Are you ready— What are those?”
“Silver buckles,” Mom said with pride. “Now my shoes really match my bag.”
“You’re not wearing tin foil to this party, Lily.”
“Yes, I am. Rich made these for me and I’m proud of his imagination. You should be too.”
“You’re not wearing tin foil on your shoes.”
“Then I’m not going,” she said and crossed her arms in defiance.
I beamed with pride, having no idea how tense the situation was. All I knew was my mom loved her gift and she was determined to win this argument.
“Don’t worry, Chuck,” Mom said. “I’ll be sure to tell everyone they were designed by a four-year-old.”
“Four and a half,” I reminded her. It was an important distinction then.
Mom nodded at me. “Four and a half. And they will be as charmed as I am.”
So my parents went off to the party. I imagined the compliments she would get all night and the smile on her face as she explained the buckles’ origins. I spent the night with my sitter. She woke me up just before midnight and I kneeled between the couch and the coffee table with my nose over the ceramic Christmas tree, breathing in its Iowa Pine scent. The sparkling ball dropped in Times Square and somewhere in the Brooklyn night, a proud mother displayed her shoes to all her husband’s associates.
“Happy new year, Mom,” I whispered and yawned. My eyes were heavy and my sitter carried me back to bed where I dreamed of tin foil buckles hanging all over evergreens.