Easter In Edinburgh
Standing in line to buy shoes
I had chosen to walk down Princes Street, in Edinburgh, because for a month I had been saving my money, looking forward to the Easter Holiday sale at the House of Fraser.
I read in the newspaper that the first hundred customers would receive a voucher worth an extra ten pounds toward any purchase.
Early as I was, I was not the first in the queue, not the fiftieth even. I would just wait and see if a voucher got handed to me on entry.
I checked my watch. 9:30 a.m. Across the street church folks were coming out of St. John’s, having attended Eucharist. Several crossed the road and joined the back of the queue. The store wasn’t set to open for another half hour.
A few minutes later, a man wearing a black overcoat and a cap handed numbered tickets to the folk at the front of the queue.
Hand it to the doorman, he’ll give you a voucher, he said.
I said thank you, raised my eyes to the heavens, and felt happy. I had just received the equivalent of a ten-pound note.
The thing is, well, and this is the truth, I hadn’t bought a new pair of shoes in two years. I saw that the Timberland boat shoes were in the sale, real leather, the kind I like, so a week ago I decided to stand in line like everyone else waiting to get a bargain. With just ten minutes left before the store opened, I noticed an old man squeezing by in a wheelchair; he was a second world war Vet. He still has his legs, but they were useless to him. He wheeled down the line of people rattling his can. I knew I had three, crisp, twenty-pound notes in my wallet. I knew, too, I must buy some new shoes. It was then the guy behind spoke up. It was still a chilly spring morning, and the early sun kept sliding into shadows.
Shouldn’t be too long now, I suspect. I see you got a ticket, the stranger said.
Can you believe that, I replied, showing the man, number one hundred!
You deserve it, he said.
I had never seen this man before this day…or had I? There was something familiar about his features, but no, I had never met him before. I’m not sure you are right, sir, but I’ll accept the kindness of it, I said.
The stranger, without intention or rudeness, asked what I intended to buy. I told him I was hoping to get new Timberland shoes.
You? I asked in return.
He smiled, then said that he, too, was looking to buy footwear; a new pair of sandals.
Look, Harry, he said, slipping off one sandal, I haven’t bought myself a new pair in two thousand years, and turned them sole side up.
I was at a loss on two fronts, how did this man know my name? And two, how funny was his joke! Two thousand years indeed. Funny or not, I could see, quite plainly, there was a very real possibility, looking at them, they were indeed two thousand years old!
The stranger continued. I need new sandals for Sunday because it’s a special day, he said, resting his hand on my shoulder while balancing on one leg. Just look, Harry, can you see them doing another thousand years?
I almost choked with laughter. The guy was freaking hilarious.
I mumbled under my breath something about there being far needier souls on the other side of the road, praying at St. John’s.
You’re right, Harry, the man said.
But wait, I had whispered that remark to myself! Yet the stranger appeared to agree with my thought.
The world is not as it should be, Harry. Too many lost souls, too much strife, it’s not at all what my Father had planned.
I might have listened more carefully, but the ache in my neck, the one that had plagued me several years and two surgeries, well, it had gone. I was busy turning my head from side to side feeling it’s freedom more than showing any intent on listening to the stranger. I felt no age old pain.
I’m sorry…I meant to ask, how do you know my name? Do I know you?
You don’t remember, Harry? He asked.
I felt suddenly stupid. The man apparently knew me, and yet I could not recall ever having met him. The stranger struggled to put his sandal back on, again using my shoulder to lean on. I felt the sudden warmth, it was more than the sun.
I had been hitch-hiking past Birmingham, Harry. You kindly offered me a lift, he said. Then he peered over my shoulder. I hope the doors open soon. I have to have new sandals for Sunday. I saw the perfect pair in the newspaper.
I was still in a daze, trying to figure this stranger out. I’m sorry, I don’t recall that meeting at all, I said.
You were twenty years old, Harry. It was your first car. An Austin A35 I remember, blue, he said matter of factly.
I wanted to roar with laughter, the man was too incredible. I don’t recall what happened to me yesterday, let alone fifty years ago. I went back to something else he said…
You say your father screwed up? I asked.
The stranger laughed. Yes, He did, Harry. It wasn’t meant to be like this. You know, some who have plenty and some who do not have any. It is supposed to be a better world, but that’s the way of things, He couldn’t get everything right, but as far as I know, He is still trying.
I wondered why these things happen to me? What goes on in my head? I’m just a guy standing in a queue hoping to buy some new shoes. Is this it? Is this what I’ve become, waiting for some future insanity to take me home?
Oh, you’re not so bad, Harry. You’ve got a good heart. I just thought I’d come and keep you company, it could have been here or maybe fishing together off the harbour wall.
I mumbled quietly to myself… Just my kind of day, I guess. Down on my luck, needing to stand in a queue at a sale for a pair of shoes, and who have I got to tell?
You got me, Harry. I’m always listening, he said, smiling. His eyes the brightest blue. Hey, look. The doors are opening, Harry.
The movement forward was anything but orderly. Grown men and women jostled each other to get to the door. I felt like there was every chance I could get get a tooth knocked out. Have you ever seen anything like this in your life? I asked the stranger.
Not since my crucifixion! He said.
Wait, what did he just say that? I turned to look over my shoulder. The guy certainly had the face of an angel. I don’t know why but I burst out laughing.
It wasn’t that funny, Harry. It hurt like hell!
I apologized. Why? Am I going crazy? The queue was disappearing into the store like a snake in the grass. We all kept shuffling along.
The stranger said something else: You’ve done some good things, Harry. You keep scraping by.
I didn’t look around, half afraid, and the stranger continued, you’ve got to forget what you did wrong, Harry. Do some good, okay? You’re not finished, you have a chance. People still believe in you. Just make sure to tell those people you love them. It doesn’t get any easier. Look at me, I’ve been trying to sort this mess out for two thousand years. Sure, you pulled some stunts, you got lost, but you found a way to do something good.
I was still shuffling forward. I wanted to cry. I wanted to ask the stranger for help.
You don’t need me, Harry. You need to believe in your friends and your family, tell them you love them and that you’re doing your best. Hey, look, we’re almost there.
As we approached the door, I saw the guy in the wheelchair again. He held a hand-written placard that read: ‘No sob story, no work, just need help.’
I looked down at my old shoes, only two years old. I left my place in the queue, and went over to the Vet in his wheelchair and put my three crisp twenty-pound notes into his tin can.
When I looked around, the stranger was no longer there. Not surprising, actually, in my old age I imagine so much, every day some new weird thought, some grand idea, something to say to someone, no-one, anyone. Is this my life, to imagine everything?
I crossed over Princes Street, chuckling to myself. I wouldn’t ordinarily stop at a church, but a crowd had gathered. The Vet was no longer sitting in a wheelchair. He was staggering, and then walking, and staggering a little more, each step gaining in strength and many people were coming to gather around him and stand near him, and they were amazed.
The Vet was wearing a pair of sandals; two-thousand-year-old.
I searched in the crowd, looking for the stranger. Then I saw Him. The stranger was walking away in a new pair of Timberland sandals. I didn’t have to call out, he heard my thoughts, and raised a scarred palm in salute. His smile shone a kindliness into a world that has a lot of ugliness.
I raised my arm before He disappeared into the same sunshine that had warmed my shoulders.
Many of you know me now, you read what I have to say. I won’t be in Edinburgh come Easter, Hawaii instead, but I imagine my friend will certainly be in Edinburgh, wearing His Timberlands, and I hope there will be a long line of people waiting to hear what He has to say on Easter Sunday.
