The Cobbler

~4~

"You do not look well, dear," she says, but she is not looking at me. She has one of my sneakers in her hand and she keeps turning it over, leaning and tilting her face closer each time.

I assume she is speaking to my sneakers (another red alert!) and shrug my shoulders. Showing fear may prove more fatal for my safety. So, instead, I divert my nervous energy, which has rendered my palms sweaty, towards checking out the place and perhaps map out an escape route if possible.

I rub my palms across my denim as I try to locate the ending for the trellises of leaves and flowers that covered every inch of the walls, the roof. The branches hidden underneath, as I lean in to my left to examine closely, are green as well, complimenting the whole setting. The flowers are all of the same variety, not that I recognize which variety that would be, and maroon in colour.

The cobbler – er, the cordwainer has me sitting on a normal wooden chair, thankfully. Even the table, where her tools are resting openly and where now my poly-bag with one sneaker on top it are also present, is of a normal wooden kind. Again, thankfully.

However, the floor is grass. Yes, actual grass, that crunches under the feet if not tread lightly upon.

I can only sigh and shake my head.

There is no trace of any extra shoes around, except for the sandals I have on. Even the cobbler lady is barefoot. I almost feel as a trespasser with the sandals on. If I had not dropped unconscious, I surely would have opened my sandals before entering. No, wait, I would have continued to run away. I would never enter a house with an in-built forest (or garden) willingly. I would need to be equipped with a –

A snap of fingers right by my ears startles me and I squeal, jumping in my perch.

The cobbler looks at me and smiles. "You seemed lost, so I figured I should wake you up."

She returns to her position behind the table and I let out a long breath. "Th– thank you," I mutter, a palm pressed against my chest. Good lord, my heart is racing like crazy!

"Anyway," she begins as she picks up the second sneaker, "what's wrong, dear? You look very pale."

Um, I don't know! Maybe it's the fact that I'm in a weird place with an even weirder resident, so I'm completely freaked out, but trying my best to stay calm in the hopes that my possible demise slash murder can take its time in coming!

My mind continues to scream some more, while I reply in a level tone, "Nothing. Everything's fine."

"Is it now?"

Something is definitely there in her voice. It is very compelling. I massage my forehead with my fingers and slowly shake my head. "It's just that I had a fitful sleep last night, that's all. And my sneakers tore, so."

I can hear in my head how rude I sound, but does it really matter? I do not know her, she does not know me. We probably will not meet ever again (yes, I will find another cobbler for my shoe issues in the future!), so it does not matter, right?

"I see."

"So, can my sneakers be repaired right away?" I ask quickly, not willing to dive into unnecessary questions about my expressions anymore.

"They can be, but they'll take a little time. You can wait."

I nearly scoff at the word 'wait', and barely manage to brush the reaction away. I bite my lower lip and lean forward in my chair, my hands clasping the sides of the seat. "So, have you been doing this for a while now?"

Yes, I breached the question. I had no patience for waiting, and I could not bring myself to waste the battery on my phone by playing games on it. I could need it later to call the Emergency Services, who knew? That left me with only one choice, which was to engage in conversation.

"Yes, you can say that," she replies with a shrug of her right shoulder. "I can tell from your tone I was not quite what you expected."

"Well," I begin sheepishly, "can you blame me? I don't like stereotyping, but 'cobbler' brings to mind a grey-haired old man. I don't even know why." I chuckle to hide my embarrassment.

"Do you want someone like that? I can be that," she suddenly declares, putting down the sneaker and grinning at me. She drums her fingers on the table and –

I choke on my unfinished chuckle as an old, bespectacled man dressed in the same kind of attire morphs over her figure and stands grinning at me in the exact same manner.

"Okay! I'm out of here!" I yell out as soon as my voice returns and I spring to my feet. "You can keep the sneakers, whatever! It's torn anyway! Do whatever you –!"

My frantic words are cut short by his soft words of: "But these are special to you, no?"

My hand stops turning the knob and I slowly look over my shoulder.

She – sorry, he has not moved from behind the table, and so have not the sneakers. The gap between the sole and the cloth seem to beg for me to reconsider. The personalized markings and stitches on it are still visible, even if faded out by time.

Just like that, tears spring into my eyes.

~

A/N : Just three more chapters to go!

So, did you freak out too when the cobbler changed forms? Probably not, but I'll console myself that you did! :P

Anywho~ let me know your thoughts and opinions through the comments, and don't forget to vote and share too!!

Have a great day!! <3 <3