Take Me Home

(A version of another Saturday writing prompt from WFSC site)

I walked along on the beach that beautiful Sunday, the sun just beginning to show itself, reliving the wonderful time I had the night before, when straight ahead I saw it; one lone shoe, sitting in the very edge of the foamy water as it pushed inward towards the shore then back into the ocean. Whether coming in or going out (I couldn't always tell in the moment) the tide would soon swallow that shoe, it's story gone forever.

Torn for a time, I wondered whether I would leave it or retrieve it, not sure if the consequences of either choice offered any positive outcome. With each new cycle the soft patient sounds of the water, as it gently twirled around that very tattered worn object that had once been a covering for someones foot, seemed to be urging me to some kind of action. Still unsure, I picked up that lone shoe, tipped the water from inside and looked curiously at the footprints leading away, which until that moment had remained undetected by my usual eagle eye. As I examined the prints that seemed to portray the Nursery Rhyme story about how 'My Son John' had gone to bed, I was feeling more uneasy with each passing moment, still feeling drawn though, to follow the trail.

The book stuffed inside my bag reminded me of my plan to sit awhile on the beach; let the sun warm me as I read. As I glanced at it now the title seemed to compel me more than when it first captured my attention in the little book store. 'Take Me Home' it read. Glancing once more at the book then at the shoe I started up the incline towards the little white church that I could see overlooking the beach where I stood, all the while wondering if it may have something to do with what was quickly becoming my mission.

As I neared the little white church and the edge of the beach, thoughts began to grow as my mind worked overtime to come up with every manner of possibility for the situation I had engaged myself in, each new idea crazier than the one before, until I was certain the story could not have any possible ending this side of tragic. It was with a feeling of dread that I first noticed right next to the little white church, a tiny little blue house. Wondering what I should do I agonized about knocking on the door. Finally I did just that and waited.

Soon the door opened and a most handsome young man appeared. His smile widened as his eyes looked at me questioningly. "How did you come by my shoe? My foot got wedged in when I was walking along on the top of those posts down on the beach & the only way I could get loose was to pull my foot out from my shoe. I couldn't get my shoe out no matter what I tried. It was an old shoe so I wasn't too worried about it. How did you get it out?"

Very relieved, I smiled, explained, gave him his shoe; he thanked me and I turned back towards the beach where I would let the sun warm me as I sat and read awhile remembering his beautiful blue eyes.