Your mother must be very worried about you.

“Where do you think you’re going with those feet of yours? We do not allow bare feet in this church,” the lady said. I recoiled as her words came out like hot sauce. I looked down at my feet.

NO SHOES BY LEAH GRACE O’BRIEN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 57

The sound of a hollering train some miles away woke me. We had spent the night in an abandoned parking lot. I rolled over, groaning, my wet skin stuck to the vinyl seat. My eyes felt as if they were glued together from the melted mascara left on. I looked out the window and saw Dallas in the distance.

I checked the girls in the front seat to see if they were still sleeping. Maribel stirred in the driver’s seat. Cyndie woke and turned away from the glaring sun.

“What time is it?” she asked with a yawn.

“I don’t know. Early. We should look for some food.”

“Maybe we ought to find that soup kitchen downtown. I seen a church with a bunch of people out front. They weren’t no holy rollers. I’m guessing thays looking for food,” she said.

“We should check it out,” I replied, pulling an old tank top over my head. I opened the car door and stepped onto the hot pavement. I looked down at my feet. I had lost my boots a few States back and had been walking around barefoot. My soles were black and hardened. There were blisters forming along the sides of my feet. I was going to have to find myself some shoes, but first we needed to find something to eat.

We woke Maribel and rolled on out of the edge of town towards a hope that downtown would promise us some food. The old church was easy to find due to the long line of vagabonds wrapped around the corner and down the street.

We parked the car and added ourselves to the end of the line. The morning heat persecuted the people in line as they waited, sweating in their tattered street garb. The line moved slowly.

An old black lady in front of me tinkered with her watch. “Excuse me, ma’am, do you have the time?” I asked.

She tried shielding the sun from her eyes. “Mmm. Hmmmm. My watch ain’t workin all that well, but I think it’s about eight o’clock. They be getting ready to serve in a little while,” she said giving me the once-over.