The Torn Slipper

A Little Over Two Years Ago.

Snide whispers. Pursed lips. Gazes traversed my body like I had thousands of bugs on me—what was the deal with these girls? I drew my notebook closer under my chin and hurried faster down the crowded high school hallway toward my next class. I sensed each scowl and detected every nasty word about me. When I reached Room 203, I exhaled with relief. Well, for like 2.3 seconds, when a couple of girls stopped talking in order to shoot darts of disgust my way. You know the kind? Glares with flared nostrils and lips that swelled into duck face, as if I just stepped into a heap of week-old garbage.

I faced away and crossed to my spot. What did I do? I thumbed through the memories in my brain. Nothing came forward to admit my crime. I peeked over at them again, but sorry I did. Ignore them. Maybe if I can’t see them, they can’t see me. I slid onto my lab stool and stared front.

“Oh my gosh, Cindy!” Gabby squealed.

The sound reverberated from the door all the way to my table.

She smacked the counter top hard, then slid around to sit on the stool. “You are like the most hated girl in the entire school!”

You don’t have to sound so happy about it. “Yeah, I kind of got that.” I leaned forward and narrowed my eyes at the annoying redhead. “Why?”

Her twin Charlotte spun around on the stool in the row in front of us and giggled. The two girls weren’t identical, but both were awkward in their own way. Gabby had grown tall and gangly; Charlotte stopped at short and stumpy. Both had frizzy red hair, freckles, braces, and occasional acne. Puberty had not been kind to either girl. Charlotte might be considered a tad more attractive than her sister, but not by much. Most people treated them like pariah, but I tried to be nice.

Pariah. I frowned. Kind of like how I feel in this moment. “What do you know?” I demanded again.

“Well…” Gabby licked her braces and leaned closer.

“It seems that…” Charlotte smiled and giggled again. Both girls exchanged looks, then tittered like birds in unison.

They could be so infuriating. I sucked in a deep breath to keep from screaming, reminding myself to be patient. I opened my mouth to say, “Get on with it,” when Andy Scott walked in. Or should I say, strutted in. The baseball star exuded confidence. Tall, with dark, shoulder-length hair that fell over one eye. Sometimes he would flip it back and all the girls would swoon. In truth, all the girls—myself included—wanted him to be their boyfriend. Last month, Mr. Boyd had assigned him as my lab partner. I would forever be grateful to Mr. Boyd, no matter how boring his lectures were.

“Hey,” Andy said to me, before eyeing Gabby who sat in his seat.

A red hue, brighter than her hair, blanketed her face. She emitted an embarrassed cackle and stumbled off his seat to her stool in front by Charlotte.

“Hey, yourself,” I said, despite being slightly distracted by the two sisters whispering in front of me.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

I pulled my stare from them and gazed into his beautiful hazel eyes. Well, the one I could see.

“You know how the homecoming dance is in a few weeks?”

I swallowed. My heart thumped in my throat. “Yeah?”

“Want to go with me?”

My stare stayed on the cute guy probably a moment too long, but when I glanced up, I saw all the girls in the class foaming at the mouth. Awe, now the loathing makes more sense. “Yeah, totally.” I hoped I said that nonchalantly, because internally I danced the Cabbage Patch around the room.

“Cool.” He winked, then reached for a beaker at the end of the counter.

I remembered little else. We made some formula in our workbook. I don’t remember. Mr. Boyd talked. Not sure what he said. Hopefully, nothing on the test, because the only chemistry I cared about had to do with Andy and his close proximity.

****

“Well, you’re sure smiling.” Mom placed a tray of fruit on the long dining room table, before tucking a strand of her shoulder-length blonde hair out of her face.

“You’re not going to believe it. I mean, I can’t, and it happened to me. It’s super exciting news.” I slid into the fancy antique chair and flapped a cloth napkin into my lap, still smiling.

Dad entered, kissed Mom’s cheek, then sat across the table.

Even though the table stretched the entire room, we all hunkered down at the end.

“I love exciting news. Do tell.”

“Andy Scott asked me to homecoming.”

My parents exchanged glances.

Dad lifted his dark groomed eyebrows as he met my gaze. “Andy Scott? What kind of boy is Andy Scott?”

“Only the best kind of boy, Dad. Every girl at school wants him, but he asked me.” I giggled again. “Me!”

Mom patted my hand. “Well, of course, he did. He obviously has great taste.”

“And all the girls hate me now.”

My parents frowned and eyed each other again.

They always did that. Some kind of secret language. Super annoying.

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Mom frowned.

I reached for another grape and shrugged. “I don’t care. It’s not like I get along with most of them anyway.”

Mom’s frown deepened. “I didn’t know you were having trouble making friends.”

“It’s okay. I don’t care.” That might have been a lie. Of course, I wanted friends. Who didn’t? But I never said the right thing at the right time. Sometimes I acted shy or made an awkward comment. But who cared? Andy Scott saw something in me, and that was worth 10,000 friends.

Dad glopped a spoonful of red potatoes onto his plate. “Do we need to talk about that?”

“No, seriously, I’m fine. I’ve got friends who matter. I’m cool. Really.”

He stared at me for a moment longer, then returned to serving himself more food.

The head cook and housekeeper, Rosa, peeked in the doorway. “I’m heading out tonight. Do you need anything else, Mr. Tremaine?”

“No, everything looks great. Thanks, Rosa.”

Her plump cheeks turned up in a grin, and she nodded. “Night.”

“Night,” we said in unison.

Mom grinned. “So, now we need to go shopping and buy you a dress worthy of Andy…”

“Scott.” I beamed. “Really?”

“Of course. You can’t go to a formal without the perfect dress. We can go tomorrow afternoon, if you’re free.”

I leapt out of my chair with a shriek and hugged her neck. “Thanks, Mom.”

One Month, Three Weeks, and Two Days Later.

The night of homecoming, I stood in the mirror, admiring my new dress. The black heart bodice shaped my developing figure perfectly. I especially liked the charcoal tulle with a few diamond sparkles that sprinkled both the top overlay and the skirt. I couldn’t believe it.

My first dance, and I had a date. Not any date—Andy Scott! My stomach skipped. I rubbed a hand over my bodice and giggled.

Mom’s reflection filled the mirror. “You look so pretty.”

I spun and grinned. “You think he’ll like it?”

“Unless he’s blind, he’d better.” She winked.

I faced the mirror again, swaying side to side, watching the material shift with my moves. I liked the sound it made. I bobbed back and forth, to hear it again and again. Swish, swish, swish.

“What time does he get here?” she asked.

I glanced at my phone. “In a half-hour, I think.”

“Did you eat dinner?” she asked “Just a snack. There’s supposed to be food at the dance. Not that I’m hungry at all.” I hadn’t been able to eat anything all day.

“Yeah, boys have a way of doing that. When we like them, we can’t eat a thing. When we break up, we can’t stop eating.” She laughed, then touched my shoulder. “I got you something.”

“Really?” I faced her again, bouncing on my tiptoes. “What?”

“Here.” She handed me a sky-blue gift bag the size of my palm.

I undid the gold ribbon at the top and withdrew a tiny silver box. I glanced up.

She nodded toward it.

I lifted the lid and gasped. An onyx teardrop charm surrounded by a few diamonds rested on a bed of white satin. It matched my dress perfectly. I squealed. “Oh, Mom. I love it.”

“I’m so glad.” She winced and grabbed the side of her head.

“Mom?” My smile faltered. “Are you okay?”

Her mouth turned up in a pained grin. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve had a slight headache all day. It’s nothing. I just need to take something, and I’ll be fine.” She reached for the necklace with one hand and twirled her finger in a circle with the other. “Turn around. I’ll put it on you.”

I spun back, making sure the dress swished once more as I glanced in the mirror.

Mom lifted the chain over my head and clasped it at my neck. “There. Perfect. What do you think?”

I fingered the black stone in the reflection in front of me. The diamonds glimmered in the overhead light. “It’s perfect. Thanks—”

Something thudded behind me. I checked over my shoulder, but Mom no longer stood there. Rather I found her crumpled on the floor, eyes closed and face ashen. “Mom!” I screamed. “Mom!” My heart pounded in my chest, and my stomach soured. I ran to the doorway. “Dad!” When he didn’t come right away, I yelled louder, “Dad! It’s Mom! Dad!”

Dad poked his head at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mom,” I repeated. “Something’s wrong with Mom.”

He sprinted up the stairs, two at a time.

When he reached the room, I stepped back to let him enter. His gaze fell to his wife, and his eyes enlarged. He folded to her side and touched two fingers to her neck.

“Is she okay? What’s wrong with her?” I knelt on her other side, sobbing.

He didn’t answer; instead, he withdrew his cell phone from his jacket pocket. His fingers shook against the screen. “Shoot!” He opened and closed his fist, then tried three times to dial 9-1-1 before it successfully went through. It rang twice.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the operator said through the speaker.

“My wife…something is wrong…” He tapped the icon and brought the phone to his ear. “She has fallen…she…she’s not breathing.” He paused for their response. “No, she’s been fine.” He paused. “Not that I know of.”

“She had a headache,” I whispered.

“What’s that, Sweetheart?” he asked me, then dipped his head. “No sorry, my daughter said something. One second. What did you say?”

“She said she had a headache all day.” I tucked a strand of her hair away from her face and sniffed.

“She had a headache all day?”

I nodded.

He repeated it to the operator.

I heard little else. I stroked her hand. It felt icy and hollow. I prayed—waiting, wondering—scared.

The EMTs arrived and thrust me aside.

A worker tugged a cup with a bag over her mouth, and another guy stuck a needle in her arm.

Feeling numb, I crawled onto my bed, hugged my pillow, and watched wide-eyed as they placed her onto a gurney.

The EMTs scrambled to get her loaded, but then stopped. A loud electronic screech filled the air, then they hit her with two metal paddles. Her chest catapulted up, then fell back hard. They did it again, twice more. The third EMT continued to press on her chest.

I couldn’t watch any more. My body shivered. I pulled a blanket over me, but it didn’t help. The cold settled deep in my bones with no relief. I heard them roll her out, but I didn’t watch. I closed my eyes instead and sobbed deep into my pillow.

At some point, Dad appeared at my side, helped me stand, and guided me out the door.

The maid said something about Andy as we passed her in the hall.

But I didn’t care. I ignored her, dazed, and trudged toward the limo in front of the house.

We rode to the hospital to only the sound of my muffled cries. My eyes, now swollen and burning, made the world in front of me blurry and indistinguishable. My chest ached from quick, panicked breaths. My head pounded deep inside my skull.

Dad combed my hair with his fingers and spoke words like, “it will be all right,” and “don’t worry about it honey” or “Mom’s strong” or “Have faith.” But those expressions did little to make me feel better. We both knew they were lies anyway. Especially when the doctor revealed the cause of her collapse.

A man in a white coat approached us and said a few things, followed up by, “I’m sorry.” Empty words, filled with pain. The doctor went on to explain that a brain aneurism had killed her. No time to say goodbye. Just dead… In a mere second… Without warning… Gone.

I have no recollection of how I got home that night. Someone, maybe the limo driver, or my aunt, or was it the maid? I don’t remember, but someone tucked me into bed early in the morning. The mysterious person didn’t undress me. Or perhaps I wouldn’t allow them to. Who knew? I only remembered I slept in my dream dress that night. The dress never made it to the dance, but I wore it to my mother’s funeral. Though it was black, my aunt deemed it inappropriate—something about the sequins and tulle not being serious enough, but it was the last thing my mom and I did together. In my mind, the dress could not be more appropriate. Enough so, I wore it for over a week before my dad made me change. I hated when I took it off. Removing the dress felt final. But after that day, I never wore it again.