Rain or shine. Mud or pavement.
Those sneakers stayed on his feet like they were a part of him.
Two weeks ago, they finally gave out. The soles peeled off completely.
I told Andrew I would get him a new pair, though deep down, I didn’t know how I would manage it.
I had just lost my job as a waitress. At the restaurant—where they knew everything I had been through—they told me I was being let go because I looked “too sad” around customers.
I didn’t argue.
Money was tight, but somehow, I would have figured something out.
Still, Andrew shook his head.
“I can’t wear other shoes, Mom. These are from Dad.”
Then, as if it were the simplest solution in the world, he handed me a roll of duct tape.
