Tickle Box

by BobA. Troutt

  *****

  Tickle Box

  Ophelia’s Shoes

  A few miles up the coast, according to the way the crows fly, sat the little community of Round Stone. It was located along the ocean-beaten shore, way back in the cracks and crannies of the foothills. Round Stone was but a twist and turn of a town. It was most noted for its fine shops and bargains. People from everywhere came to get the best bargains, cheap deals and to shop until they dropped at the peddler’s store. There was the bakery with fresh bread; dress shops galore, bargain barns, bargain bins along the streets and restaurants with fine cuisine. There were also hotels, motels, churches, grills, fix it shops, gadget places, barbershops and shoe stores. You could buy, sell or trade to your heart’s desire. The streets were made of cobblestone, engraved and lined with old-fashioned streetlights of years ago.

  Miss Ophelia was a regular to Round Stone. She came every chance she could. She loved the little town, especially the shops. Well, I have you to know on one particular trip to Round Stone, she had just about shopped until she dropped. Her feet were hurting her so bad that she made her way into The Lost Soles Shoe Shop owned by Mr. Omar Heel. It was located on the corner of Flat Ridge Road and Shady Dale Lane.

  “Ah, ah, ah!” she cried as she made her way over to a chair and collapsed.

  Mr. Heel saw her and hurried over to her.

  “May I help you, ma’am?” he asked as he fanned her with his hands.

  “Ah, ah, ah!” she cried out again. “It’s my feet,” she explained. “I have been walking all day and my feet are about worn out.”

  Mr. Heel slowly looked down at her feet. He was so amazed by what he saw it caused him to stumble backwards. Good gracious, he whispered to himself. He couldn’t help but notice that she was bowlegged and knock-kneed. Also, both of her feet were turned inward; she was pigeon-toed. And to make matters worse, she had two left feet.

  “Oh, I’ll be alright,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” he questioned. “Maybe I can find you a more comfortable pair of shoes.”

  “Well, I’ll take a look around,” she said when she rose to her feet and started to look around.

  “Be my guest, madam,” stated Mr. Heel.

  “What an extraordinary place you have here,” she replied.

  “Why, thank you, ma’am. It’s been in my family for three generations,” he boasted.

  “It has?” she replied.

  “Yes, ma’am, my great-great grandfather, Omar Stump Toe, built it. I come from a long line of proud shoemakers,” he explained.

  “Where on earth did you get all these shoes?” she asked. “Do any of them match?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “All of them match. I travel throughout the town and gather all the shoes that have been thrown away. I bring them back here, clean and repair them. I have all sizes. Also, a lot of the townspeople donate shoes they no longer want; most of them are in good condition.”

  “But, you have so many that are still piled in the floor,” she stated.

  “Yes, ma’am, I am still working on those,” he said. “Let me see, I believe you need a size seven and a half.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” she interrupted.

  “But, but…,” he replied.

  “For your information, I wear a size six not a seven and a half,” she said.

  “Seven,” he said. “I don’t think I have…”

  “I said a size six,” she annoyingly interrupted as she plopped down in the chair and slightly pulled up her pants leg.

  “A six, are you sure?” he inquired.

  “Six!” she yelled. “I have pretty feet, don’t I?”

  Mr. Heel didn’t respond. He figured it was best that he didn’t.

  “Don’t I?” she asked again.

  “Why, yes,” he agreed. “They are very different and unique. Well, madam, what do you have in mind? I have round, square, pointed and opened-toe shoes in all colors along with wingtips and saddle oxfords. I also have flip-flops, slippers, boots and sandals for all occasions. Oh, yes, I almost forgot; I have tennis shoes and cleats as well.”

  “I believe,” she replied, “I’d like to see something with a flat heel in a size six.”

  “A flat heel in a six coming up,” he replied as he reached for a size six.

  She raised her pants leg a bit more and exposed her feet even more. He bent down and looked a little closer this time. His eyes sprung out and his mouth flew open.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he whispered under his breath.

  “Seen what?” she questioned.

  “Oh, nothing,” he replied, “nothing at all.”

  She had two left feet with three-inch toenails.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” he said as he hurried to get the shoes on her feet.

  Carefully, he tried to ease her feet into the shoes but they just wouldn’t fit. He pulled, tugged, stretched and pried. Her size seven and a half foot was not going to fit inside a size six shoe.

  “Having a little trouble?” she asked.

  “Slightly, ma’am,” he groaned as he grabbed a shoehorn and tried again.

  Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as he gritted his teeth. He collapsed in relief when he finally got the shoes on. Her feet were puffed up around the top of the shoe and her ankles hung over the side. Her toes were curled under and her heels had busted out the back.

  “What do you think, ma’am?” he asked out of breath.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “What do you think?”

  “They’re charming,” he replied.

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said. “I believe they seem a little tight for a size six. Do you have something like this in yellow?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do,” he responded.

  “I’ll take them. Also, I need some liquid shoe polish with no wax and some shoestrings? Oh, my, look at the time; I have to go,” she said as she paid for her things.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” cried Mr. Heel. “Come back to see me soon.”

  “Thank you, sir, I believe I will. I just love this store; it has become one of my favorite places to shop. It seems to have so much history,” she replied.

  “Goodbye, ma’am, have a good day.”

  “Bye,” she responded as she walked out the door.

  After she left, Mr. Heel closed the blinds and collapsed in a chair. Nobody would ever believe what I just went through, he thought. Several days passed. Mr. Heel figured he wouldn’t see Ophelia again. However, when he was in the back room repairing some shoes, she walked in unexpectedly.

  “You who,” came a voice from the front door. “It’s me, Ophelia!” she yelled. “Is anyone in? Mr. Heel, are you here?” she cried as she closed the door.

  “Oh, no,” he said softly when he saw her. “Why, Miss Ophelia, what a surprise. Is there something I can help you with today? Do you need a buckle, bow or hat to match your shoes?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” she replied. “I was in town and I thought I would stop by to see you. I don’t think I need anything in particular.”

  “Good!” Mr. Heel hurriedly replied.

  “Well, on the other hand, I might have a little something in mind,” she replied.

  “And, what might that be?” asked Mr. Heel hastily.

  “Well, I was thinking about something casual, you know, something I can were every day,” she explained.

  “Let me see,” he said. “I don’t know if I have anything casual or not.”

  “Oh,” she said, “what about these? They look very comfortable.”

  “I don’t think I have your size in that,” he replied. “You are a six, aren’t you?”

  “Why, yes, Mr. Heel,” she giggled, “how nice of you to remember. Oh, look, Mr. Heel, I like this pair.”

  Mr. Heel looked at her wit
h his eyes bugged out and mouth half open. His voice quivered and his hands trembled as she handed him the pair of shoes. She sat down and slipped her blue jean pants leg up. The very first thing he noticed was her toenails.

  “You trimmed your toenails. Thank you, thank you,” he said as he kneeled down to help her try on the shoes.

  He tried to gently slip her feet into the shoes. He loosened the strings and pulled the tongue of the shoe back, but it didn’t work. He stretched this way and that, pulled, tugged, gouged and poked, but he still couldn’t make the shoes fit. Not only was she pigeon-toed, she had two giant bunions that he had to pry the shoes over. Suddenly, out of the clear blue sky, he had a brainstorm. He went and got a pair of crutches from the back storage room. He placed one of the crutches down the left side of her hip and the other to her right hip. He hoped the crutches would straighten the bow out of her legs so he would have enough slack to ease her feet into the shoes. With the crutches in place, he helped her stand up, leaned her against the wall and bent down to put her shoes on. He tried and tried; sweat ran from his face and dripped onto the floor.

  “Do you think this is going to work?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “If I can get them over these bunions, it might.”

  All of a sudden, the crutches popped loose. Ophelia started to fall. She tried to keep herself from falling with her feet; she did so with such force that it drove the shoes onto her feet.

  “You did it,” she laughed. “You are a brilliant man,” she said.

  “Oh, it was nothing,” he replied. “We were lucky. Bye, Ophelia.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Heel. Oh, I do, I do love these shoes,” she gloated as she hobbled out the door.

  Every day, Mr. Heel looked and looked for Ophelia. He was afraid she would come back. Months and months went by; she never came. She is such a nice lady, he said to himself. Unfortunately, she has some crazy feet. I’ve never seen feet like that before. Then one day, just when he thought she wasn’t coming back, she returned.

  “You who, Mr. Heel,” she hollered. “It’s me, it’s Ophelia.”

  He immediately recognized her voice, raced over to the counter, squatted down and hid.

  “Mr. Heel, come out, come out, wherever you are,” she cried. “I know you’re here. I just happened to be in town so I thought I would come by to see you.”

  The store was silent. Mr. Heel didn’t say a word. He didn’t even blink his eyes because he was afraid she would hear him.

  “Now, don’t you want to see little Miss Ophelia?” she teased.

  Mr. Heel stayed hidden behind the counter and hoped she wouldn’t find him.

  “Mr. Heel, why on earth are you squatted down behind the counter? Didn’t you hear me calling you?” she questioned.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. What did you say?” he asked.

  “Didn’t you…oh, well forget it,” she said. “I’m looking for a pair of boots.”

  “Boots!” he screamed. “Boots, I guess you need a size six in them too.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not going to believe this. It’s funny; I wear a size five and a half in a boot.”

  Immediately, he reached up, grabbed his hair and pulled it.

  “No,” he cried, “not again. What about a pair of house shoes or moccasins? Something you can just wrap around your feet?”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Heel, I can’t wear those. My feet would get wet when it rains. Nope, boots for me,” she stated.

  She took him by the hand and led him over to the rack of boots.

  “Now, let’s see what we have here,” she said, “nope, nope, nope, nope, not this one or that one.”

  Mr. Heel stood in a daze with tears in his eyes.

  “Aw-ha, here we go. These will do just fine,” she announced.

  She sat down in a chair and Mr. Heel squatted down to remove her shoes. When he slipped off the first one, he smelled something awful.

  “What on earth is that smell?” he asked.

  “Smell, what smell? I don’t smell anything!” she shouted.

  His eyes started burning. He took a few short breaths of air before he pulled off the other shoe. He almost fainted.

  “Good grief, Miss Ophelia, your feet stink to high Heaven,” he complained.

  “Why, I beg your pardon, Mr. Heel, I don’t smell a thing,” she responded sharply.

  About that time, Ophelia heard a loud thump. Mr. Heel had fainted. Embarrassed, she looked to her right and then to her left; she hoped no one else saw her or smelled her feet. She rushed to get her shoes on, carefully eased over to the door, flipped the sign in the window from open to closed, threw back her shoulders, tilted her head, opened the door and to walked out. Huh! she mumbled to herself. I don’t think he ever believed I wore a size six. Huh, why he has a nerve to say my feet stink! It’s probably all those old shoes in there that he smells.

  When Mr. Heel finally woke up, he was still panting for air. After that day, Miss Ophelia never did visit Mr. Heel’s store again. But, from time to time, he still laughs about the lady with the weird feet.