Have you ever wasted precious time looking for an item that disappeared after you put it in a certain spot?
After a long search, I finally found the ideal shoes to wear for a special occasion. When one of the pair seemingly vanished before my eyes, I began to wonder if some otherworldly force was playing a trick on me.
Were unseen hands at play? You decide.
It Started with the Dress
Many women will relate to this sentiment:
Formal wedding attire for mothers of brides and grooms has a way of screaming “matronly.” While I’m not utterly opposed to flowers, crystals, or sequins (or even feathers for some people), I refused to show up at my daughter’s wedding looking like a caricature.
After rejecting an untold number of gowns, I was about to leave yet another boutique empty-handed when a seasoned employee stepped in and convinced me to try on her favorite dress. I loved it!
Although the gown was entirely too big on me and unavailable in a smaller size, a nearby seamstress had worked magic for the boutique’s clients over many years. I bought the dress and went right over to her alterations shop.
The highly touted seamstress, who co-owned the business with her husband, reassured me that I’d come to the right place. Chatting with her while she pinned my dress and listening to the couple’s friendly banter with repeat customers, I sensed a commitment to their patrons and believed I was in expert hands.
Weeks later, when I returned for the fitting, my husband accompanied me. The gown fit perfectly. The female owner, however, noted a simple task left to complete. While I modeled the dress, another seamstress—a grandmotherly lady—finished up with me.
Soon after, as I was preparing to leave, the owner came over to help me zip up the dress in its garment bag and give me a parting hug. I then draped the gown over my arms and used a free hand to grab the straps of the shoes I’d wear on the big day. My husband wanted to help me, so I asked him to carry my purse.
Enter the Shoes
Regarding those shoes, a little voice had told me to transport them in their box. I should have listened! Locating a pair that met my nonnegotiable criteria—color, style, size, and comfort—without being ridiculously expensive had posed a separate set of challenges. (I’ll spare you the details!)
Nevertheless, when we reached our car, my mind was on the dress. To free both hands, I released the shoes, aiming for the front passenger seat. My husband and I then took time to lay the garment bag flat across the back seat.
Thankful for how smoothly everything had gone, we were both ready to get on the highway before rush-hour traffic set in.
Not so fast!
Upon opening the front passenger door, I spotted one lonely shoe on the seat. Certainly, the other had fallen to the floor. No, it had not.
Oh, well, it must have landed on the driver’s side. My husband checked. It wasn’t there.
What ensued was an exercise in lunacy.
The Case of the Vanishing Shoe
We looked high and low—literally—and our car, a midsized sedan, had limited hiding places. Proving that, our eyes and hands covered every inch of the floor. Quite frankly, we moved the seats all the way forward and backward so many times that I’m surprised we didn’t wear out the motors. A tiny pebble couldn’t have gone undetected.
Then, after peering beneath the car, my husband pulled the vehicle up to the next space to make sure the black asphalt wasn’t camouflaging the black shoe. No, it wasn’t.
Next, we took turns retracing our steps from the parking lot to the shop. Some shrubs bordered the sidewalk outside the shop, yet they were too dense for a shoe to have slipped though the branches. Nevertheless, we were all but beating the bushes to find it.
We also reentered the shop three times to scour the ten-square-foot area I had occupied.
Did someone come along and pick up the single shoe? Was the next-door yoga studio holding the lost property for the rightful owner to claim it? I would investigate!
In the meantime, the grandmotherly seamstress and the male owner stepped outside to help. While he inspected the bushes, she came to our car. He next appeared to contemplate the yoga studio but returned to his shop instead. When I got closer to the studio, I realized why. The place was closed.
Just then, my husband’s voice echoed across the parking lot.
“What?” I called back.
The older lady replied, “He found it!” She was ecstatic.
With the mystery solved, she hugged us both and returned to work with a skip in her step.
So, where was the shoe?
My husband, who never gives up, looked inside the car from a different angle and saw it wedged between the backrest of the passenger seat and the doors. Remarkably, all the back-and-forth seat action had neither dislodged nor scuffed the shoe. Still in brand-new condition, it was just waiting to be rescued.
Unseen Hands at Play?
Frustrated with myself yet hugely relieved, I turned to my husband and said, “You know, we were delayed for a reason. We weren’t supposed to be on the road any sooner than now.”
I wasn’t excusing my carelessness. I’ve long believed that interruptions happen to place us in some situations and steer us away from others. What we do during those intervals is up to us. Accordingly, what we gain or lose largely depends on how we respond.
Perhaps the delay spared us an accident. We did make it home safely. But maybe there was more to it.
Searching for that shoe tried our patience. It was 90°F and hotter still on the black asphalt. Yet we didn’t lose our cool. If our temperaments were being tested, we passed!
My husband earned an A+ from me. He had every right to vent, but instead of fuming, he joked his way through the bumper-to-bumper traffic. “Looks like you missed your calling as a magician,” he teased. “That was quite a disappearing act!”
The people at the alterations shop left their mark too: the parting hugs and well wishes, the concern and desire to assist our search, and the shared delight in our happy ending. They reminded us that humanity is in much better shape than what the doom-and-gloom media convey. That message has stuck with me.
Getting to the point of it all, if unseen hands were at play that day, perhaps their aim was to slow us down, at least long enough to renew our appreciation for one another and absorb some warmth and kindness from people we had encountered so briefly.
Do you agree?
Sallie W. Boyles, a.k.a. Write Lady
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