Rue Thadday - hobo princess

No small amount of thought has gone into simplifying the art of shoelace tying. Delicate scenarios have been created over the years to help younger folks tackle it. For example, there is this rabbit, and he is being chased all over by this fox over here, and around and around they go this tree, and somehow there is a hole involved somewhere. Some attempt to construct a tee-pee, through which you slip and then, somehow, find yourself over the mountains. Papa Thadday was fond of a lovely little action piece involving the Red Baron, a dashing young pilot who bore a striking resemblance to Papa Thadday, and the Arch of St. Louis.

Rue had significant trouble with these things, because try as she might, she just couldn't see a single rabbit, teepee, or baron, red or otherwise. All she saw was endless shoelace and poorly placed thumbs. She had given it an honest try, and found the art just beyond her power. Clearly, modern footwear had turned its back on Rue.

So she reckoned she was left no option but to turn her back on it.

Now, Rue had an older sister by the name of Em. Em is a reasonable young lady, making her way through college en route to greatness, and she prides herself on her practicality. She gave herself the task of keeping Rue shod.

There are alternatives to traditional shoeing. There's the slip-on shoe, in flip-flop or loafers, but Rue's hoboing lifestyle was far too hard for such unsturdy shoemanship. Her lifestyle proved too rough for velcro, as well. If you've never had to pick a few hundred burrs out of a swatch, I'm very happy for you. This really only left her The Clasp, a style not that popular in the kind of shoes one usually finds on the street or in a trash bin.

So when Em discovered Rue had lost her footwear on some misadventure or other, she piggybacked her little sis to the only shopping center Rue could abide being in for more than ten minutes.

No small amount of thought has gone into simplifying the art of shoe shopping. There are stores that specialize in just that item. There are catalogs and telephone numbers you can use at your leisure. Heck, you could buy them from the same place you buy your milk, if you play your cards right. But Rue didn't like the idea of shopping convenience. Doing anything sans adventure was a profound waste. Adventure was what made anything worth doing. And the closest to adventure she reckoned shopping to get was the flea market on Rogers.

Now, whenever you wander into a flea market, it doesn't matter what you're looking for, you will not only have a hell of a time finding it, but you'll spend most of your time talking to folk who really, truly think what you really, truly need is a refurbished fan from the '30s. And before long, you start thinking that yeah, maybe you do need that fan. It'd look great on your desk. And an hour later, you find yourself on the curb in a daze, clutching a stuffed gazelle, three fishing poles, and fifty pounds of assorted lace. That was shopping adventure, reckoned Rue.

They stopped at the first booth, just inside the door. While Rue started poking wary fingers into a tub of linens, Em tried talking directly to the dealer.

"Do you have any shoes-with-clasps?" she asked.

The dealer rubbed his chin thoughtfully, giving Em a steady look out of the corner of his eye. "Shoes-with clasps," he said, chewing over the words gently as they came tumbling out. "I reckon I have some around here somewhere..."

"Em,"cried Rue urgently from the depths of her bin, "he has a pair of dice jell-o molds."

"Stay on target," answered Em warily. "Would you know where your shoes-with-clasps might be?"

"Maybe," said the gentleman. "Maybe. Let's take a look-see."

And he began to sort through his merchandise carefully, handing Em each object as he went by. "These pistols are genuine Russian manufacture. Used in the Orange Revolution. No joke. No? All right... Say, check out this apron. Goes with your eyes. I am seventy-five-percent sure that's just marinara sauce. No? All righty, lookin' here, I see... Say, what a fine ceramic satyr. You strike me as a woman who urgently needs a ceramic satyr. Seven bucks."

"Sir," began Em.

"Five bucks?"

"Sir, what I need here are shoes." She gave him a look, a look Rue knew all too well. She ducked into the bin a little more, using a National Geographic map to cover her head. "I need hearty shoes with some sort of clasp."

The dealer squinted at her. "Sock monkey? Three bucks?"

Em had words with him, and they soon found themselves directed hastily to the rear of the hall. Rue looked longingly at pith helmets and stuffed armadillos as they whirred by, but knew better than to bring it up.

Pretty soon, Rue and Em were standing in Sally Lou's booth, and knew they had found the best opportunity the flea market gods were going to present them with. Piles and piles of unsorted shoes formed three walls around them, while Sally Lou herself sat on a teetery chair in the middle.

"Can I help you ladies?" she called from the height, sipping at a cup of tea delicately.

"We're look for shoes that can take a beating, ones with clasps or something."

Sally Lou peered into her piles, worrying her lip with her teeth. "Shoes-with-clasps... Hmmm…” And without any warning, she stood up on top of her teetery stool, settled her tea there in the middle, and dove right into a far pile of shoes. They moved to make way for her, but settled once she had submerged. And then there was just quiet.

Em and Rue exchanged glances. They weren't quite sure what the polite thing to do would be when your host disappears into a pile of shoes. So, for lack of a better idea, they sat down on the floor and waited.

A few minutes later, Sally Lou appeared in a near pile, her cheeks all ruddy, a pair of boots dangling from her teeth by the tongues. "Are these what you're looking for?" she said thickly.

Rue took the right one gingerly, and as soon as she got a good look at it, she whispered, "Yes." She knew immediately that she would find no shoes better short of those made by God.

Not that the shoes themselves were that impressive. Quite a few years had rolled over its head, wearing the leather ragged in a few spots. But that didn't matter; nothing mattered, once Rue saw the snap on the side that held the shoe tight.

Two half-circles of metal were snapped together to hold it fast, and as she moved them together with trembling hands, she saw that one was a dog, and the other was a fiddle, and when connected it was a dog playing a fiddle.

"I WANT THESE SHOES," yelled Rue.

"Rue, baby...” Em took the other shoe from Sally Lou. "The other clasp is missing."

"I DON'T CARE. I WANT THESE SHOES."

"Sweetie, you'd only be able to wear half of the pair. What good would that do you?"

"I. WANT. THESE. SHOES."

Em felt a headache forming in her temples. "Honey, what about...” She reached lamely into the pile and pulled out a pair of moccasins. "What about these? They're, uh. They're cute."

"THESE ARE THE BEST SHOES EVER MADE EVER."

“Rue…”

“THESE ARE MY NEW SHOES.”

“Sweetness...”

"I think Bernard should know someone who could repair them," said Sally Lou, settling onto her stool once more.

"And who, exactly, is Bernard?"

"Didn't you see him on your way in?" Sally Lou took a gentle sip of tea. "He's the first dealer right inside the door."

The headache swept forward into her face. "I see. THAT guy. Right. All right." She paid Sally Lou for the shoes, swept Rue up on her back, and marched back to the front of the hall.

"I'm sorry for being rude to you before, sir," started Em. Bernard winced at the sound of her voice. "But Sally Lou said you might know where we can get this repaired?"

Bernard reached out for the broken shoe carefully, expecting it to explode or snap something crucial off. "Hmm. Yeah. Need to get a duplicate made." He scratched at his chin, the stubble making a strange noise against his fingernail. "Only know one fella who can do this sort of metalwork. Reckon you need to go see Basil."

"And where's Basil?" Em looked down the aisles of the market. "Down the other way, or...?"

"Nah." Bernard hooked a finger around Em's arm and dragged her outside, and pointed off in the distance, way beyond Chowbib Park, deep in the far-off forest. "Basil's out in Aegus Crick, on the far side of Ollie Wood."

"You're kidding me," said Em. "I have class in an hour, and you're telling me to go tromping through the park?"

"I can do it!" said Rue, trying to wiggle free. "I'll go!"

"Rue, you don't even know how to get there."

"’Seasy," said Bernard. "Just head for the smoke."

Sure enough, if she squinted, Em could make out a thin little trail of smoke reaching high into the sky. She let out a little sigh. "Right, then. Thank you, Bernard. I guess."

"Right," said the dealer, pulling the door to the market shut. "Y'all have fun now."

And they started walking.

"I thought you said you had claaaassss," said Rue, beating her legs on her sister's arms impatiently.

"Yeah, well, I do, but I don't trust you to actually go do it on your own. Knowing you, you'll get sidetracked by turtle racing or something."

"There's a turtle race today?" said Rue, bouncing even more.

"Exactly."

But Em overestimated herself. Half an hour later, they had only made it as far as Baxter's hot dog stand in Chowbib Park. The smoke was still hazy and distant over the trees.

"I'll go I'll go I'll go," said Rue.

As Baxter seemed to be off and about, Em helped herself to a bottle of water. "All right. But you have to promise me that at the end of the day, you'll have a complete and fully formed shoe on each foot. You promise?"

"Yessssssssssssss," whined Rue. "Can I go now?"

"Two shoes, Rue." Em hunkered down to meet her sister at eye level. "Shake on it?"

They did, Rue wiggling anxiously all the while. "Okay?"

"Okay."

And Rue was off like a shot.

"Be safe!" yelled Em after, and started to laugh.

"What, exactly, is so funny, Miss Thadday?" said Baxter, coming up behind her and ruffling her hair. "Stealing from the cart of poor fellas who dared wander off to use the WC?"

"Well, yes," said Em, smiling up at him. "And to a lesser degree, Rue."

Baxter grabbed a water of his own, and sat down with is back to the cart. He clinked his bottle against hers. "Cheers. And what's our princess up to today?"

"You know, the usual. Shopping."

He groaned. "Bless your heart. I don't wish that on anyone."

Em grinned. "It wasn't so bad. But you know Rue. She had to choose the one broken pair of shoes in the whole place."

"Of course," said Baxter. "Why stray from her hobo roots?"

"Because she's got to have shoes, Baxter. But apparently there's some guy who can fix them over at Aegus Creek."

"Well, that's goo—” Baxter froze, the water bottle poised on the edge of his mouth. "Wait. Aegus Crick?"

"I think so."

"Aegus Crick on-the-far-side-of-Ollie-Wood Aegus Crick?"

"Is there a problem?"

"Ollie Wood man-eating-deer Ollie Wood?"

"Bax, what are you—"

But he was off in a run, dodging through the trees.

"Man-eating deer," she giggled, and then called after him, "I'll find someone to watch your cart!"

He didn't stop, but waved in thanks.

She watched him run appraisingly.

But he would never make it to the creek.