Roadkill.

Up until about two weeks ago, there was a brown converse sitting in the middle of Holmes Road just north of 85th street. It was there for a solid month or so. I passed it to and from school every day. The month in which that shoe resided between the yellow lines of northbound and southbound was not a particularly good month for me. On more occasions than I'd like to admit, I would be approaching 85th looking through the blurred vision of tear-filled eyes, in no mood to smile. Now folks, I am not exaggerating when I tell you that every time I saw that Chuck Taylor looking at me I could not keep from smiling. Every single day, without fail. See the shoe. Bing! Smile. End of story.

Some days I would be halfway home and remember it and look forward to seeing it for the rest of the drive. Other days I would be so preoccupied with my spinning head that I would totally forget about it until there it was and I was oddly instantly uplifted.

I will never be able to explain what about that shoe made me so happy. Perhaps it was the consistency or just the sheer bizarreness, but the day I noticed it was no longer there I felt like crying. There were so many things left unanswered: how did it get there? to whom did it belong? what size was it? is it a left shoe or a right shoe? But the real mystery is where did it go? It went a month without budging and then suddenly it vanished.

I miss that shoe, man. Now there is a dead raccoon (unrelated to the missing shoe) in almost the same spot, which evokes the entirely opposite emotion in me.

Moral of the story: look both ways before crossing the street.