Decades old dust, like a determined sentry, long ago entrusted to hold fast on its charge, and since that time never wavering. It clung still, to these decades old boots, even as the long forgotten sunshine made its appearance once again. It flew up to meet its liberator as soon as it was freed- whether to attack an offender or offer an embrace to a long unseen friend, it knew not, except for the split second before reaching the liberator. This liberator. . .he was different. Yet still very much the friend of old. He was so much bigger. The youthful smudges of dirt on his cheeks now replaced by signs of age and experience. But what experience? His eyes- still as crystal blue as they had been on that day so long ago. Those had not changed. They were still filled with wonder and longing, with a certain sadness behind them that apparently had never gone away. The dust remembered that day so clearly now as the blue eyes looking down at it misted over with memory. The little boy never bothered to shake it off his boots before putting them back in the box, and that was so strange back then, because it was a ritual he never wavered from at the end of the weekend. Such a diligent little boy. So careful. How he loved those boots, and as such, those boots were always clean when they were put away again before leaving his childhood playground.
But that day, just as the dust expected to be shaken off again as per the usual ritual, it was not. Instead the little boy had pulled them off, put them back in the box, and sat. He had just sat on the old wooden sidewalk with the box on his lap. Confused, the dust had looked up at him, wondering at this unheard of invitation to share the box with his precious boots. It had always been nothing more than a mere playmate, invited to cling to him and his boots as he made his best attempts at being a carefree child. That was more than good enough for the dust. It was more than happy to play along, and when necessary, to offer a soft landing surface for his little body when his lanky legs were unable to keep his feet under him.
The little boy was never happy when his time to leave this playground would end. There was always a marked sadness in his eyes, more so than usual. But this day, not only was the sadness there, but it seemed to be overwhelming him. There was so much sadness in his eyes that even their unending blueness couldn’t hold it back, and the sadness welled up and spilled out onto his cheeks. More sadness followed from that, causing the initial sadness that had spilled out to roll all the way down his little face, onto his chin, and finally into the box.
The dust had not expected that as it withstood the several drops that followed, causing it to clump up in areas where it had been hit. It had no idea what was happening, but clearly its job was to protect those boots now from this assault of sadness. And so the dust held firm, taking drops of sadness one after another until the little boy was done- well, judging by the look on his eyes even now, the dust couldn’t be sure that he had ever completely finished. Even so, it was on that day, so very long ago, that the dust had made a solemn vow. The little boy had trusted it to stay with his boots. For how long, it knew not, but it was a trust not given lightly. So the dust had vowed to remain, and hold on, and not let him down. Never had the dust imagined that this vow would require such a seemingly unending commitment, but such a long guard had allowed it to come to see that the sorrow the little boy was spilling out that day had in fact been a good-bye. The little boy had known it back then, so logically, he didn’t want his boots to remain alone. The dust had been invited to remain and keep his prized boots company. And so the dust had kept its promise, upholding the honor of its charge. It kept the boots company even as it felt the sadness from the boots themselves. They loved their little boy, and they loved their little boy for keeping them together. But in doing so, they knew that their little boy was now alone.
***************************************
It had been so long since they’d been worn, since they had even been handled, that they shuttered to think about how stiff and out of practice they might be. They knew they had long since been retired, ever since that one day at practice when they tried oh-so-hard but could not keep from continuously hurting her. Even if they had been her favorite pair, and they knew this because she told them so often, they knew that their time was limited. She would soon outgrow them, or they would become too worn, or both, and their time with her would be over. Yet, even being fully aware that their retirement was coming didn’t make that day any easier as she struggled through her practice, and they struggled to support her as best they could- but by the end, the realization was mutual. Their time was over. They had looked up at her as she looked down on them with disappointment while rubbing her sore feet. Their end had come way too soon.
“They were just barely broken in and perfect.” She had said in dismay. “They were the first pair I could get to pointe on.”
They knew their unique position as the pair she had learned pointe on would make them special to her, even if she had grown too fast for them to be much more use to her. They had no idea what that “special place” might mean, but they were happy to have given her such happiness. They could still feel the electric thrill of victory buzzing all the way down her feet as she stood en pointe successfully for the very first time ever, and they proudly held her up to the best of their ability, working as one with her feet to raise her up just a couple inches- but the inches that to a dancer- meant everything. She was long and slim, but she was strong. They had sensed that from the moment she had first put them on. There was a conviction and confidence in her step, and a determination for perfection. It was a good thing she worked so hard, because that meant they were broken in that much sooner, and pushed forth a bond that would not have been possible otherwise.
They flinched inside as she reached down to touch them again for the first time in 5 years. They hadn’t seen her in that long, and while she didn’t look all that different, there was definitely a different air to her. She wasn’t the same person that had kept them tied together by their ribbons, hanging decoratively from her dresser mirror as a reminder that she could do anything she set her mind to. Sure, they had seen her grow up as they hung from their vantage point for years. They had witnessed her move on to other forms of dance, to other interests. They had held firm as she would occasionally reach out to touch them with a determined look in her eye, gathering strength from the early success they had given her. They knew she had big plans in mind, and they felt honored to have been given this spot to watch her reach for her dreams.
As strong as she was, there was a certain vulnerability to her, and they knew it. As hard as she worked, there was always that occasional time when she would recluse herself in her room and simply stare at herself in the mirror, as if to wonder who she was. She would often look at them during those times, as if wondering how she could have been so sure of herself once upon a time. It was during one of those moments of self-reflection, a day they remember so clearly, when there appeared a spark in her eye that seemed to change her whole person. They had watched her over the next few weeks as she would come home looking more and more different, with more “things” that looked like nothing she had ever owned before. They watched her diligently practicing with one of her new accessories, carefully following her own movements in the mirror as she had done so in dance. But this was not a dance. . .or was it? Her accessory was black and appeared heavy, so unlike anything she owned. She handled it clumsily at first, but over time, they watched as it became a part of her, her movements with it fluid and solid- well balanced. She would hold it close to her body in one moment, then in another smooth moment, she would hold it out in front of her, pointing it at her reflection. This dance was nothing like anything they knew of, but as they watched her practice and improve, they began to see that it was the one that she had been seeking.
And as so many seeking journeys turned out, the day came when she entered her room with a look of firm resolve on her face. She appeared happy, yet anxious all at once as she set down a folder on her dresser with the letters SBPD on them. Strange. They knew not what that could mean. They could only watch in utter confusion as she then commenced to packing up everything in her room. They looked on as item after item disappeared into boxes, until it was their turn. They saw the look in her eyes as she reached out to them, this time to take them from their perch more so than to just touch them. They looked up at her as she carefully wrapped their ribbons around them to hold them together, then placed them in their own box.
That was years ago. She looked so much stronger now. She had been gaining her strength from elsewhere all this time. But from where? She had never unpacked them, clearly a sign that she didn’t need them anymore. So, what was the occasion now, that caused her to reach out to them once again?
***************************************
He blinked in response to the small cloud of dust escaping from the box as he opened it, at first confused as to where it came from considering how carefully he had always made sure to clean his boots before putting them away. It took a few moments, but the old, fuzzy memory finally began to take shape in the forefront of his mind, and he remembered that he had not cleaned his boots that fateful day. He took a deep breath against the rush of feelings that soon followed the memory, wondering how they could still hold such power to overwhelm him like this. He replayed in his mind the events of that day as they had happened and ended with him feeling like he would never look upon his beloved boots again.
The day had begun as Sundays usually did at his childhood retreat- under the deep blue sky as streaks of color began announcing the sunrise, and greeted by the wafting scent of bacon and eggs as Hank cooked his breakfast just a few feet away from him. He had nothing more to do when getting up than to just roll up his bed and head down to the nearby creek to wash his face and hands. He was already fully dressed because, as Hank had taught him, you never know when you’ve gotta make a quick run for it, and running barefoot in yer knickers ain’t much fun. He had always accepted the wisdom for what it was, and frankly, sleeping under the stars in your clothes and boots was every little boy’s dream. So he didn’t question it. What he had begun to question was whether there was actually a story behind those words. That would be interesting to hear. Perhaps he would ask Hank at supper this evening before his departure.
That supper had never come. In fact, he had only barely made it past lunch when his father had arrived to pick him up, unheeding of the young boy’s protests that it wasn’t time to go yet. Even worse, his father had made the announcement that he was not to return again. His father was never one for discussion and compromise. Neither was he the type that believed in explaining himself to his son. He had made the announcement that it was time to say farewell to this place for good, and expected the young boy to accept it accordingly.
He ran his grown hands over the old and worn leather of the child sized boots, somewhat amazed that his feet ever fit in them. The emotion welled up inside of him as strongly as it had so long ago when, his pleas to his father falling short, he had begged and pleaded for Hank to talk some sense into his father. The reaction he got from Hank at that point was so strange, so impossible for a little boy to understand, but the look on Hank’s face was still burned in his memory to this day. Hank had indeed asked a couple questions of his father, but he had not fought nearly as hard as Carlton would have expected him to. When it was all said and done, Hank had walked back to him with a somber look in his face, a look that was now recognized as truly pained, but to a little boy was nothing more than yet another male figure dismissing him and his wishes as mere childhood fancy. Hank had spoken his verdict as confidently as he could. Carlton now knew that he had been trying to sound that way to spare his feelings, but to his young mind, it was nothing short of dismissal. Hank had told him that his father had made a decision, and he as a good son should listen to his father, who only had his best interests in mind. In retrospect, Carlton could now pinpoint that exact moment when he first looked upon Hank as a father figure to him, to the point that the word ‘father’ actually formed in his mind. He could also now swear that Hank had looked at him as the son he never had. This realization made Hank’s words infinitely more painful.
He pulled his hand out of the box and brushed off the dust as he remembered how he tearfully sat down to take off his boots for what he knew would be the last time ever. For the longest time, putting on the boots had been a symbol of weekend, of freedom, acceptance, and happiness. Taking them off and knowing he would never go through the ritual of “gearing up” again brought to him a pain unlike he had ever felt. Habit told him he should dust them off and wipe them down before putting them away, but he couldn’t bear to do that. He no longer saw the point, not if there was no longer a reason to keep his boots pristine in wait for his next adventure. Habit and duty continued to nag at him to clean them, and now he resisted out of sheer anger and opposition, acting for the only bit of control in this situation that he had.
He rubbed the remnants of dust between his fingers, allowing himself to feel the familiar sensation. Gazing across his bedroom from the spot in the closet that he now occupied, he saw the pair of shoes that he used in duty- removed soon upon his arrival home- and carefully wiped down in preparation for the next shift. He had never truly let go of “gearing up” did he? His ritual continued every morning that he donned his suit, slid his feet into his shoes, and pulled on his shoulder holster.
Without another thought, he put down the boots, then went to fetch a couple soft cloths and some leather oil.
***************************************
It was like an old friend reaching out to her as she reached in to take the old ballet slippers from their box, slipping her fingers through the ribbons as she did so. She felt herself sighing in response to the smooth feel of the satin, and looked upon them with mild surprise at seeing how good a shape they appeared to be in even after all these years. She ran her fingers across the body of the shoe itself, then felt the contrasting roughness of the toe. She couldn’t help but smile at knowing that the toe was rough and slightly off color because it had borne her weight. The shoe had held her up on this tiny platform, hardly larger than her toes, and she had sworn that her vantage point was just as exhilarating as any that can be found upon Mount Everest. She allowed herself to inspect both shoes carefully, feeling slightly sad that the satin was still strong and intact in both toes- a sign that they had not seen nearly enough pointe experiences. No, she would never purposefully want her shoes to be torn and worn out, but like a well beloved and often read book- the signs of wear and tear were more like badges of honor than abuse. She had never before ‘connected’ with any other pair of shoes so fast before, but this being her first ever pair of pointe shoes, and also being the pair with which she actually succeeded in the endeavor, she couldn’t help but feel slightly sad that the shoes never had the honor of achieving an honorable ‘worn out’ status. Her own endeavors in ballet had not lasted much longer beyond this point anyway, but still, that wasn’t quite the point. . .so to speak.
She slowly massaged the satin back to its pliable state as she further explored the shoes as if catching up with an old acquaintance. It was relatively flexible, having already been broken in by her. She bent the sole back and forth, feeling herself falling into a familiar routine of prepping her shoes for practice and for performance. She remembered putting them on for the very first time, and realizing that some ‘tough love’ would be needed before they could be worn. Indeed, compared to a brand new pair of dance shoes, an old pair often felt like bedroom slippers. So tough love she gave to them, treatment that to an unaware observer, might have seemed like she could only feel disdain for the poor shoes.
It almost seemed a shame, as she turned them over in her hand, to think that she had missed out on wearing them. Besides breaking them in and wearing them at a couple practices, they had never really been worn. Signs of them being dirty or being slightly worn happened only on the sole, and even that was minimal as she was only just beginning pointe practice when she had outgrown them. She had dreams of being a great ballerina back then, but a rude teacher and similarly rude classmates made that difficult. So what if she insisted on defending herself? So it was on to other forms of dance that might suit her better, and they all had their strong points, but nothing ever felt like ‘home’ to her. Perhaps it was her experience with this one pair that began to awaken her to the impossibility of her endeavors in dance, but still, they had treated her well.
She stopped herself as she had begun untying the knot holding the ribbons of both shoes together, suddenly remembering the place that these shoes had held in her bedroom. They had hung there even well after her works in any form of dance had ended, they had been there to encourage her and remind her of her abilities when she started college, they had been there to remind her of better times the first time she got her heart broken, and they had been there to demand that she take on an ‘I can do it’ attitude when she decided to go into the police academy, then once more when she had made the seemingly crazy decision to move across the country all on her own to join the Santa Barbara Police Department.
She looked at the boots she now wore on duty, giggling at the shock that her partner had shown upon seeing her banging them repeatedly on the floor as if in a rage. Even more confusing to him had been the discovery that she was not upset at all while doing this, but was only ‘breaking in’ her shoes. He had never heard of such a thing, nor did he seem to approve, but considering that she had finally consented to wearing boots on duty, he didn’t argue much.
In her heart, she felt a longing for the days when the biggest challenge in her day was putting a pair of dance slippers on and taking on the task of landing a perfect “double pirouette en pointe,” or trusting her pas de deux partner to not drop her on her head while holding her high above his head. She smiled as she realized that she still used her skills much more than she thought while on the job. And honestly, what better partner could she ever wish for than one that she could quite literally trust with her life on a daily basis?
It was this simple realization that answered for her the question of why she had not felt the need to unpack these shoes now that she was living in Santa Barbara. The knowledge that she no longer needed them was liberating in its own sense as she made the move to undo the knot in the ribbons, finally separating them for good.
***************************************
The smell of leather oil and clean, supple leather was almost as comforting to him as was the scent of gun oil. The gun sitting on the table by the boots he now admired would never need gun oil anyway as it was just a toy revolver, but the boots had seemed so lonely without it. He had never thought, when he made the decision to bring the boots back out that he would follow it up with an unexpected trip to the nearby toy store to pick this up- but why not? He had never spent a weekend at his childhood playground without his precious boots once he had them, and he had never worn his precious boots without a holster complete with cap gun to go with it. The gun was nowhere near as impressive as the antique weapon that Hank had, but being a little kid, he reluctantly understood the reasoning. He simply made a mental note to himself that someday, when he was older, he would get to carry around his own real guns, and they would be just as nice as Hank’s.
He couldn’t help but sit and admire the boots now standing proudly side by side on his kitchen table. They were a bit scuffed and showed some clear signs of having been worn and played with, but for the most part they were in very good shape. Of course they were. His father had only very reluctantly agreed to get them for him in the first place- he couldn’t count on another successful plea for new cowboy boots anytime in the foreseeable future. That had been the main reason he had always been so meticulous to clean and care for his boots in the best way possible. Hank had taught him how to wipe them down and keep the leather in good shape, and Hank’s method had become his ritual, to be performed before putting them away following every visit. Having gone through this ritual one last time now, decades later, he finally felt closure for that day so long ago, when the mere thought of cleaning them could find no room to enter his consciousness amongst the overwhelming turmoil that had already filled it up. He could finally look upon his newly pristine boots in the shape that they were meant to be, even the soles were well wiped and cleaned.
He brought over the new box he had picked up. Yes, he had considered dusting off the old box and reusing it, but honestly even he couldn’t justify doing so. This box was in much better shape, and having been originally used for his own shoes, it was large enough to also house the toy gun and child-sized hip holster. He busied himself lining the inside of the box with much more wrapping tissue than was necessary, but he just wanted so badly to make sure everything looked perfect and remained perfect inside the box through its journey. He then carefully- oh so carefully arranged everything inside, then stacked more wrapping tissue on top of it, once again much more than he realistically needed.
That should hold everything well enough, he thought as he looked down on it with a satisfied look. His gaze lingered on it just a little while longer before he could bring himself to bring the lid down onto it, then busied himself wrapping the outside of the box. A job he normally hated and passed on to anyone else willing to do it, but for this one time, it was a job he couldn’t imagine anyone other than him doing. He had even gone so far as to agonize over what color tissue and wrapping paper to use. It would have to be something that did justice to this treasure. It would have to send the signal that this treasure came from someone who treasured it, who would not part from it lightly, yet was choosing to do so only under such a special occasion. The idea of what to give had never come easy for him, except for this one time, even if it was one of the hardest decisions he had ever made.
He hoisted the now neatly wrapped package under his arm and headed out to the car, once there, making very carefully sure to place it securely on the seat next to him. He walked around the car and sat down in the driver’s seat while taking one last deep breath to solidify his decision.
***************************************
Juliet parked on the street in front of the home, looking around and somewhat disappointed to not see her partner’s car there. They had agreed to meet here this morning- Saturday morning being what it is, and Christmas Eve on top of it. Both had thought twice, maybe three or four times about it before agreeing, but in the end, both knew this was the right thing to do. She glanced over at the pink gift bag sitting atop the passenger seat next to her, adorned with glittery pink tissue and a few pink ribbons. She had found the process of wrapping her gift much more time consuming than usual, perhaps because of her feelings surrounding the thought of giving up such close and trusted “friends.”
Within a few minutes, her partner appeared and parked behind her. She stepped out of her car and went to meet him as he went to pull his own gift out through the passenger side window. They made eye contact as they stepped up onto the sidewalk- each wondering what the other got, each wondering if they should have maybe gotten something “more” rather than what they chose, and each wondering if their offerings would be appreciated or even liked.
“Ready, partner?” She asked. He nodded and led the way to the porch, where there appeared a middle- aged looking woman who had been awaiting them eagerly. She seemed surprised, and very pleased that they had come bearing gifts, as she had been caught woefully unprepared for what she would have to face this season. She was thankful when these two cops called her the previous day, asking if they could stop by this morning. It wasn’t often that she received follow up calls from officers just to ask if the kids were ok. Perhaps it had something to do with the spirit of the season? Either way, she was happy for the follow up and promptly accepted their request for a visit.
She had received a call in the early morning hours the previous day- and by ‘early morning’- that was more like just past midnight. Her foster care licensing agency was on the other end of the line, asking her if she could accept an emergency placement of two children who had been rescued from an abusive and drug-infested environment but were now in need of a place to stay. She, of course, couldn’t decline. She had willingly signed on the dotted line when asked if she could be available for just these types of middle-of-the night emergency calls, and was more than willing to follow through with her end of the agreement. The children would have warm, soft beds to sleep in and a safe home environment to settle into for the time being, but her heart broke at the knowledge that she was absolutely and completely unprepared to provide them with the kind of Christmas they deserved.
She had seen the glimmer in the eye of the female Detective upon seeing the tight spot that she had found herself in, and could only hope that perhaps the Police Department might have a means of offering some sort of assistance. Any sort of assistance would be great, actually, so it was a very welcome sight to see them arrive at her home bearing gifts- one appearing very ‘girly,’ and one that was clearly meant for a little boy. As she led them inside and asked them to take a seat while she went to fetch the children, she could only hope that their presence would work to dry the tears on those little faces, even if only for a few minutes.
***************************************
Many people would call it a rescue. Most people would, if you asked them, and would even argue against you if you tried to convince them that it was anything otherwise. Perhaps it truly was, but in the heat of the moment, it wasn’t. Not to Juliet.
Kids love their parents unconditionally. The state of their living conditions means little to them because even if it is a miserable state, at least it’s what they know, and what they know is safer than what they don’t know.
So that’s what she dealt with when she had to force his 7-year-old hands away from his mother that night. Those little hands, and those little arms were all that was holding him to her, but he was not going to go without a fight. He screamed and wriggled and held on as if his life depended on it. The words “Mommy!” and “Don’t take my mommy!” echoing through the small apartment while she worked to get and maintain a hold on him, trying not to grab onto any of the many bruised areas of his little body.
She had struggled against him the entire way down the hall, his screams echoing in her ears the entire time, her heart breaking with each step she took. She felt evil. She felt so wrong to rip a child from his mother’s arms right before Christmas. Sure the circumstances demanded it, and sure she was angry she had to drag him out into the cold night air wearing only shorts and a t-shirt because he had nothing more substantial to wear, but the guilty feeling in her heart remained. Her partner had followed her with the older child, a 10 year old girl in tow. The girl was much more compliant, even if equally as distressed as the little boy.
Juliet fidgeted with the ribbons and tissue of the gift she brought as she and her partner waited for the children to appear. Would they even want to see the two officers who had led the investigation that ended in the arrest of their parents? Was this even a good idea to begin with? Juliet hoped the fact that the foster mother didn’t appear to have reservations about it was a good sign. Juliet hadn’t meant for her and Lassiter to stay long anyway. It was the only way she even convinced him to do this. She had just wanted to make sure that the kids would have something to call their own on Christmas. She had spoken with the young girl briefly in the station before Child Protective Services had arrived to pick them up, and it had turned out that the girl was an aspiring dancer. She had taken an interest to the activity from a class at her after school program, but naturally, her circumstances forbade her from thinking she could do much with it.
The children finally appeared, nervous and bashful, only cautiously approaching the Detectives after being encouraged to do so by the foster mother. Both gifts were clearly visible as well, and they could have had something to do with also providing some encouragement. Juliet was the first to act. She knew her partner, well-meaning though he might be, was most likely as frightened and unsure of himself as these children were. So, she allowed her experiences with her nieces and nephews to take over and called the little girl over to her.
“This is for you.” She said with a warm smile, handing the gift bag over. The young girl accepted it and brightened immediately once the gift was in her hands. She looked to the foster mother and asked if it was ok to open it right now. Having been through so much in such a short period of time, she was granted this permission, and soon enough she was ripping through the tissue to get at whatever might be inside this gift bag.
Juliet wasn’t exactly expecting to have the gifts opened right here and now, but she was glad it was happening this way. The look on the girl’s eyes as she brought out these almost new pointe shoes let her know that this decision had been the right one after all. Even better, the fact that the shoes had been opened right now gave Juliet the opportunity to help the girl try them on- after giving her an opportunity to simply look at and feel the soft pink satin. Soon enough, the two girls found themselves talking like old friends as Juliet pulled the shoes onto those little feet. The shoes were a bit big, but that was ok. It would give the girl time to grow and work on her skills, and perhaps be ready for beginning pointe work by the time the shoes fit. The look in those eyes told Juliet she was already making it a goal for herself. Juliet showed the girl how to break in the shoes for her own feet once she could wear them, told her the story of how special these shoes were, and gave pointers on how to properly care for them- and her feet in the process. She had included several extra items in the gift bag that would help the young girl do just that. When they got to the brand new ribbons, Juliet sat down with the girl to teach her how to sew them onto the shoes properly. The old ribbons were, well, old, and the shoes deserved new ones. To see Juliet and the young girl chatting while sewing new pink ribbons on the shoes, one would think it was an old and favorite activity for the both of them. Juliet could only hope that at least for this girl, it would be a ritual she would get the opportunity to repeat numerous times.
***************************************
There was a certain amount of pain involved in seeing his precious boots now in the hands of someone else. Carlton had known it would happen, but that made it no easier when it finally hit. The fact that this little boy seemed to think they were the greatest things in the world helped a little. His boots deserved to be appreciated, and he could safely assume they were as the young boy took them out of their box and turned them over in his hands a few times. He seemed to be examining each nook and cranny, every stitch, every aspect of the boots themselves as he ran his little hand over the leather. Carlton could tell he had noticed the scuffs and scratches, so he decided this would be a good time to tell him their story.
“These aren’t new boots.” He confessed. “Actually, they used to be mine when I was a little kid. I used to wear them every weekend while hanging out with my friend Sherriff Hank, and we had lots of adventures with them. I helped him run his town with them.”
The young boy was clearly listening, but said not a word as he continued his inspection of the boots. As he ran his fingers over every scratch and scuff, Carlton took the opportunity to tell him the story of each scratch to the best of his ability. He wanted so badly to show the kid that these weren’t just ‘used boots,’ but something so much more. The boy took off his slippers, and Carlton took that as an invitation to help him pull the boots on. He helped the kid with the right boot first, then the left, and offered a hand to help him stand up to take a good first run at them. He seemed to really like them, Carlton noted with relief as the young boy finally turned his attention to the accessories.
“Whoa, whoa hold on there, partner.” Carlton corrected when the boy pulled out the gun. “Let me show you how to hold it. Here, hold out your hand. . .”
Juliet had to suppress a giggle at the sight of her partner giving the boy very detailed instruction on how to properly handle a weapon. It was kind of a shock how quickly he had gone from stiff and uncomfortable to giving his kid pointers on everything from how to put on the boots to tying on his hip holster, to handling his cap gun. The two of them chatted as if they had known each other for years. She didn’t think that watching him talking to a kid like this would ever seem so natural, but it was refreshing. Perhaps, in this moment, her partner wasn’t Santa Barbara’s big, tough, Head Detective, but instead a young boy once again. Likewise, the kid wasn’t an abused child recently thrown into the government run foster care system, but just a little boy enjoying an early Christmas present. She could tell the look in Carlton’s eyes was the same look she knew she had felt in her own- the sadness of saying goodbye to something that he had treasured, balanced by the good feeling of knowing that the treasure had done its job for him, and was now ready to make a difference in the life of someone else.
***************************************
The boots rested in the young boy’s bed that night as he slept. He had never before dreamt of Santa Claus making his world-wide flight and stopping by his home- because Santa had never done so before. Tonight, the boy knew that Santa was once again highly unlikely to make a stop. But somehow, for once, that was ok for the boy. He had received something that he could call his very own, and even better, he had been allowed to open his Christmas present early! There was still so much pain to endure from what he had gone through over the course of his short life, and a part of him knew that there would be more pain to come. But as he held onto these boots, he took comfort in knowing that at least while he had these, he could pull them on and escape to a different place. A place where he could be a sheriff in charge, where he could imagine the reality that the previous owner had been a young boy like himself, and was now a full grown policeman making a difference in the world. This thought gave him hope that the imaginary world he could escape to actually had a chance to become reality. . .someday.
The boots spread their soft leather scent onto his sheets and pillow as he slept. This was treatment they had never experienced, but finally freed from the box they had been in for decades, they welcomed the feeling. The little hands that held onto them now were not the ones they had known, and the little green eyes that looked upon them were most definitely not the ones of the little boy they had known. This was a different boy, but they sensed a very similar loneliness and pain coming through him. Their previous boy had grown and found his own way in the world now, but they had been honored to provide him with a place that he could escape to when he needed a break from his reality. If that’s what this new boy needed as well, then, the boots vowed to provide the same for him for as long as he needed them.
As his mind filled with these dreams and hopes, his bedroom door opened. Not to Santa Claus, but to his sister, who out of habit had come to check on his well-being. In her arm she held on tight to her own new shoes, wrapping her finger in the satin ribbons just to keep the softness in contact with as much of her hand as possible. She smiled as she saw that her little brother had taken the boots to bed with him. A part of her thought about taking them and putting them onto his bedside dresser so they wouldn’t bother his sleep, but she decided against it. He was peaceful, and happy, and in her mind, that was worth a boot tip in the back if that’s what it took. Satisfied in what she saw, she quietly closed the door and headed back to her own bedroom, where she gave serious thought to going to bed with the shoes as well. But these were so much softer, so much more delicate. She couldn’t bring herself to do so, but still wanted to keep them close. Instead, she tied a secure knot in the ribbons to tie the shoes together, then hung them on her dresser mirror, where she could gaze upon them while waiting for sleep to overtake her. Someday, she would get to wear them, and she would do great things with them. But until then, they would hang and watch their new charge as she grew and matured. When she was ready, they would be ready to support and sustain her as they had done for their previous owner- and they couldn’t wait for the chance.