I had a pair of boots in school. I got them when I first started my GCSE’s. The were black and shiny and the Doc Martin type. They weren’t Doc Martin’s – I couldn’t afford them. I used them throughout school and they got knocked around quite a bit. Back then I used to walk everywhere.
The first thing to go was oddly a slit along one side. I think I may have caught it on barbed wire. I used blue thread to cross stitch it closed. Then a lump of leather was torn off the other boot when I came too close to a stick that was partially buried. I patched it with a piece of canvas with pink flowers on. And that is how my boots grew.
Four year later they were multi-coloured examples of stitch-work and patches. I loved them. I started University and they became the talk on my dorm, people liked them. I even had them re-soled. But their life was almost over.
The tops started to lift from the sole and that was the end. I tried glue but there just wasn’t enough leather left to stick. Finally I gave up and the boots just sat in the porch of my parents place. A memorial to my teenage years. Then one day they were gone.
“Where are my boots?”
“The ones in the porch.”
“Oh, those old things… I threw them out.”
I couldn’t really argue with that.