The Man With Elastic Shoelaces

My new thing is elastic shoelaces. Now all my shoes have elastic laces. I can slip my shoes off really easy and every time I do I get a thrill, like I’ve just done something that should be impossible. I’ve started taking my shoes off at inappropriate times to call attention myself, so myself can call attention to my shoelaces. Like at the supermarket, and on the train. To get people to ask me. Because I’m lonely. Like at the bar where I go to bait-read. I sit at the center of the bar with Borges, just to one side of the taps. I want to be immediately next to the taps but not obscured by the taps. When my glass is empty, I want to look sad over it so the bartender notices me. I get real bad empty glass anxiety. But so, I sit just to the side, and once that first beer sloshes in front of me (uh oh – don’t get Borges wet!), I’ll look around and determine if it’s time to take my shoes off. If I have a neighbor, I kick em off and they drop underneath the stool and my neighbor will register a thud and register the shoes and then register me. I wink. I lean over and I say elastic shoelaces. And I shrug like what can ya do? Because I think it’s funny to act that way. And I slurp the beer. Sometimes I act like it’s a secret - which is funny because it’s not. I hold my hand up like a secret and I say shhh elastic shoelaces. A lot of times they look at me like I’m a real knucklehead and they leave, and I have to put my shoes on again. I have to wait for another stranger. But eventually there’s a next guy, and this guy really hates tying shoes, so now I have just blown his mind. This guy can’t believe they make these, pulls the tongue to see its really stretchy. He tells me about the circumstances in which it would be convenient to quickly take his shoes on and off, like going in and outside a lot of times like when he has to do all the mopping and gardening on his day off. I go, sure sure sure! I hear what you’re saying! But it doesn’t matter what he’s saying. The point of talking about the laces is to get past them. The point is that he’s captured. The point is he becomes my friend. I’ll position Borges prominently. It’s a cloth cover. I like those. I’ll only tell somebody I don’t know who Borges is if they say they do know who Borges is. If they do? Now I’m learning about Borges without having to read him. I’m getting the gist. I’m intellectually curious. Once we are a little sloshed, I’ll pull my shoes on – very easily. I’ll put the little cardboard coaster on top of my glass. I say hey chief, I’m gonna go burn one. Keep an eye on Borges, would ya? He’s more sloshed than me even though we drank the same. I have a high tolerance. He shouldn’t feel bad. He slides the book over to himself, mumbling stuff about Borges. He pages through. I back away and my eyes well up. I am wearing my shoes, pulling my jacket on. I whisper, thanks, pal.

It’s bitter cold as I light up outside. I stand at the window of the bar. I tug my hat low. My new friend’s face is lit up by the glow of his phone which he holds inside the pages of my cloth-bound Borges. He is ordering shoelaces. Soon he will wonder where I went, and what to do with my book. They’ll ask, where did the man who was sitting here go? The one with the elastic shoelaces? But the question unanswered is how they’ll remember me. The question, the Borges, the shoelaces.