THE SHOE PROJECT
Shoe Story 21: Treasure Shoes
Abandoning her luggage, Sayara broke away from a group of Afghan women visiting the United States under the auspices of the United Nations. She got lost, running in circles between the terminals in the Atlanta airport, trying to find the exit while being cautious of all the guards. Finally she made her great escape and settled in a safe place- Toronto. Three years after, she is still unable to find anything as good and comfortable as the beloved shoes she left in the airport.
I am waiting in terminal C in Atlanta Airport. By contract, all 15 members of our group must leave the USA. There are twenty minutes left before the plane is to take off. I must choose to stay or leave; I wonít ever get this chance again. I spot an exit sign by an escalator. I politely ask to go window shopping in the terminal. I am surprised when the guard allows me, although she says I must take a group member along, and I must leave my entire luggage behind. My precious and most comfy shoes are in my suitcase.
My mind is set; I leave my companion when she isnít looking. I sprint my way toward the exit sign. The escalator leads down to a narrow hallway which takes a sharp right. When I reach the bottom, I have to pull the brake on my legs, because I spot a guard around the turn. I cautiously pass him, and thankfully he does not bother to question my suspicious behaviour.
At the next turn in this hallway, a sign shows that the escalator leads to the shuttle in between terminals. I make my way into it, not daring to look back, as I suspect I am being chased. When I take my seat, I feel as if everyone in the train is eyeing me. I think security guards on the shuttle might come and question me. This does not happen, though as the minutes go by while I am in this train, I panic more and more at what I might find at the next stop. Maybe a few officers will handcuff me and be done with it all!
Fortunately this is not the case either, and as I get off at terminal D, then A, B, and again C my fortune seems very bright. So far no guards seem to be alert to my escape. Still I am very eager to find the main exit and put as much distance between myself and this airport as possible.
When I leave terminal D for the second time after failing to find the way out, I overhear a conversation between two passengers. They say their family is waiting for them at carousel in terminal A. In the interval of 20 minutes I spent searching for my destination among the terminals, I finally find it: apparently it is exactly where I started. I mustíve been in such a hurry that I missed it. So I sit in this train, going all the way around in a circle until I arrive back at Terminal A. I take the same hallway and escalator back up. This time I actually notice the huge doors leading out. I speed out like an escaping prisoner and take my leave on a random bus.
Freed from the grasp of the group and of the security, I did not think about where fate would lead me next in this strange world. Giving away my identity, fear of being rejected, living in an uncertain and paranoid life, none of this mattered as I just mourned over my shoes I left behind.
It has been three years since I made my way to Canada. I have tried various types of shoes, from low heels to high heels, various colours, shapes, and designs. Though some might be more beautiful, I have yet to find any as fair and comfortable as my dear beloved shoes.
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