The high-heel pointy pumps

(Belarus)

When I met Inna for the first time during summer 2003 at Bearskin Meadow Camp in California, she was wearing a pair of golden high heels and a pair of tight orange pants, unfit for people who work in the mountain. Being asked, she said, “Girls in my country wear such.” (Belorussian girls)

When I met my roommate Mariana in Gliwice this year, I also saw another pair of higher, pointier pumps and tight purple pants she carried with her from Ukraine. Being asked, she said, “my country’s fashion.”

I temporarily accepted, “The girls from the former Soviet Union wear such.”

In the second month working at the camp, Inna threw her high-heel pumps into her locker because they hurt her feet badly and sweet-talked me, “Cindy, my dear, you have two pairs of tennis shoes, can I borrow one?” Later she kept on commenting, “your shoes are so fit, I liked them very much. Thank you!”

I lived in Poland and had only one pair of Sketcher shoes, though very pretty with their mixture of blue, white, and gray; looked terrible with my night outfit for clubbing.  I had to beg my roommate Mariana to lend me her high-heels.

Inna, wearing my tennis shoes, climbed mountains, waded lakes in the Kings Canyon National Park, and forgot about her pumps.

Mariana threw hers into the book shelves, only once in a while took them out for night clubs.

Inna returned to Belarus, leaving her high-heel pointy pumps at the camp to be food for bears and wearing home my gift, the tennis shoes.

Mariana wore her tennis shoes to the bus returning to Ukraine after throwing her high-heels into a big trash bag, which I had to dump before I left Poland.

I arrived in Minsk, the capital of Belarus, visiting my friends whom I met at Bearskin Meadow Camp. Often, I looked at the feet of gorgeous Belarussian girls, trying to spot high-heel pointy pumps.

There were so many. My tennis shoes were the only loner on the pavement after pavement imprinted on by only high-heel pointy pumps. Staying there for a few days, I got used to shoes and thought of buying one of them pair. After all, I was a girl and should be a little more feminine.

I dragged my ass sometimes following Masha, sometimes Tanya, sometimes Sasha, sometimes all, only without Inna, from one subway station to another. One afternoon, Masha walked me to a black marbled stone carved with many names beside a long, black rose stem made of stone, laying on the steps near the downtown station.  Masha pointed at a small printed name on the stone and said, “A few years ago, there was a huge festival. Thousands of people gathered here to watch. Suddenly it rained, and everybody rushed down to the subway. They pushed one another and stepped over those who fell. This is the name of my friend. You know, steps here are too low, easy to trip over if running too fast. And girls in my country wear high-heel pumps, very easy to trip over. Being stepped on by them, what do you think?” she asked. “Only to avoid the rain?” I wondered. “I don’t know. When it rains, naturally people run. ”

So now, I don’t run when it rains and I don’t feel I am not graceful when I wear my not-so-hip, low-heel tennis shoes.