The Devil Wears Sneakers

Heads turned in a quick search for the source of the bang and in a fraction of a second zoned in on me and my once-proud-and-afloat balloon hanging limply from my hand. Half-empty, lip-stained glasses of flat beer and grape juice stood in odd clusters on the center table that divided the office kitchen into two. The bottle of wine that I had saved up for and brought remained unopened. A Christmas card filled with nearly incomprehensible scrawlings about being 'happy for me' lay next to it. Christmas was six months ago.

“You almost scared Michelle right out of me!” Denice’s shrill voice cut through the silence. She rubbed the top of her swollen belly and cooed in a soft voice, “Everything is fine, my little gumdrop. Mommy’s got you all safe and sound.”

“This is exactly why I said balloons are a horrible idea,” Janice said. Gold-painted bangles and loose skin jingled and waved as she pumped her short arms up and down to emphasize her point. “If it were *my* farewell - ”

“We can only wish,” Tyler guffawed at his joke. Some chuckles rose from the fidgeting crowd, chuckles belonging to those grateful for even the slimmest chance of feeling included. Tyler tugged on the collar of his white golf shirt to straighten out the crease that only he could see. He turned to me and smiled, “Tell us again about this new opportunity, Liz? This,” he twirled one hand nonchalantly in the air, “leap of faith.”

I opened my mouth, but only heard Janice’s voice. “It’s some fashion sweatshop up North.”  I shrank deeper into myself. The plants at my back beckoned me to disappear into their dense foliage.

“Like ‘The Devil Wears Prada’? Except obviously not in New York!” Denice said. 

“*Prada*? Who would even want to wear something that uncomfortable?” Janice’s upper lip curled in disgust.

“I know!” Denice exclaimed, “Ever since my first, I learned to love sneakers. They are *the* perfect shoe for shopping and work.” She leaned forward and cupped her hand around her mouth as if to whisper. “I’ve even worn them at restaurants. Liz, can’t you get us a pair of Nikes?”

A debate arose between Tyler and Janice as to whether or not I would be *lucky* enough to be a data enterer at Nike or whether I would even be allowed near such valuable merchandise. I rubbed the twine of the balloon’s string between my fingers. The fibres rough against my fingerprints.

My phone buzzed. I drank up the last of my beer and placed my empty glass on the table. My resolve to leap into the future and this new life, this new me, was strengthened by my ex-colleagues. As quiet as a shadow, I strode away, offering brief nods of farewell to anyone who happened to notice. A glance at my watch confirmed it. It was time for my flight.