The Shoelace Man

The Shoelace Man visits our branch of Run and Become occasionally. We don’t know his name, or where he comes from, or where he goes. He doesn’t stay long, and he never deviates from his script.

His eyes are most memorable: a rare transparent blue, looking out as if from a dream. A child’s smile sits in a bed of deep wrinkles, over a chin that was probably shaven a week ago. His clothes don’t fit or go together, but it seems that’s the last thing he would worry about in his serene abstraction.

“Can you tie my shoelaces, please?” he asks.

To one meeting him for the first time, the question may need repetition, but once he is understood there is no further hesitation. His chosen servant bends down on one knee or two, tying one shoelace or both as required.

He asks politely and seemingly without the concern of rejection, as if asking a family member. He smiles constantly, but the laces create a frown on the face of their fastener, as they are quite thin and short.

Then he simply says, “Thank you,” and turns to leave.

Three of us once had a discussion amongst ourselves, having each met him individually.

“Have you met The Shoelace Man?”

“Yes! Did you do a double bow?”

“No, I thought he might find it difficult to undo.”

“But it would come undone more quickly by itself.”

“What if he can’t undo them himself?”

“He could ask someone.”

“What if there isn’t anyone at home when he wants to take off his shoes?”

“Maybe he can untie them, but not tie them.”

“Maybe he can tie them even, but he just likes someone else to do it.”

“Why didn’t you ask him what sort of bow he wanted?”

“I didn’t think of it at the time.”

“I asked.”

“What did he say? I’ll know for next time.”

“Nothing, he just smiled.”

We don’t know whether he only comes to us. Maybe he goes everywhere, or maybe he thinks as we sell shoes we will do the finest job of tying his laces. We all peep out smiling when he comes, wondering who will be chosen for the task, and watching the sweet exchange.

Sumangali Morhall
February 2005