Shoes
Achmed walked all over campus barefoot. Amusing in spring. Interesting
in fall. Crazy in winter, especially in the year of the big snow storm.
Night time, campus street lights shining down into Red Square covered
with frozen crystals. A winter of magic. Thanksgiving break. Me still on
campus in the dorms, nowhere particular to go. A few of us still
around, building giant snow people, the kind you start rolling on the
road above the lower courtyard and then push down the hill until the
ball is as big as a truck and your boots get stuck in the snow when you
try to push it to make it even bigger.
Achmed - a flabby white boy with a blond Afro. Jewish probably. But
with a Muslim name. He was one of those self-contained guys with a Mona
Lisa smile. Not self conscious. Not trying to prove anything to anyone.
Smart. Self directed.
And barefoot.
I remember watching him walk up the icy frozen
cement stairs by the College Activities Building toward Red Square and
the library clock tower. I was cold in ill fitting boots and whatever
layers I could pull together. The Ecuadoran wool sweater in greens and
blues that smelled like the hay the sheep must've eaten. A shawl on my
head. Baggy jeans. And Achmed with those big, meaty feet.
Did he do it for religious reasons? Was it some sort of survival
test? Did he simply hate to be shod? I hope I never find him on Facebook
so I can never ask him. Sometimes satisfying ones curiosity isn't worth
ruining the embedded memories.
When I think of snow and winter and the Northwest of the 80's, Achmed, I think of you.
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