I woke up from a nightmare a little while ago. I’ll go back to bed in a bit (unless I don’t), but before I do I thought I would repost something I wrote over two years ago. Stupid time and its flying.
You know how it is: you start collaging giantesses and shrunken men, and it gets so that you can’t surf without keeping an eye peeled for good backgrounds, subject matter and the such. Still, it was rather unexpected to look for sandals and stumble upon the male component of the above collage.
While working on the image I thought of Amelie, the movie. The color processing of it, which now is imitated in some TV shows that present even a single scene of France, was inspired by the works of Juarez Machado in that the film was saturated in color, and there was usually one or more contrasting elements within frame. I remembered that and decided to make the sandals red. As I did that I recalled that fairy tale I read so often as a child, The Red Shoes, and started writing a couple of versions of it. The following is neither.
I look at her hand; see the way it rests over her knee to support her upper body weight. A couple of minutes ago, that weight depended more on her other hand when she reached for him and closed her fingers around his waist, lifting him off the floor. Why? because he was making fun of her, of course! I imagine his life as her little man, always depending on her for food, clothing, shelter, sometimes the very air in his lungs… so it isn’t often that he turns down the opportunity to turn the tables a bit, and playfully belittle her some. A good chance is when she’s wearing heels and loses her balance. Maybe she steps on something wet (like a puddle on the floor he “accidentally” left after showering and not toweling off), slips and falls on her ass in an ungainly manner that cause him to erupt in tinkling laughter.
“What’s the matter, little woman? Forgot how to walk? Got so tall you can’t keep your feet straight?”
Surely you realize this means war.
“What did you just say to me, little man? Do you have any idea how unnatural this position is for my feet?”
“If yer boots are too hot for ya, get out of ’em.” He smirks, looks her up and down (that takes him a while) and turns around, taking one step toward the doll house. A very tiny, but barefooted, graceful, masculine step is all he has the chance to take, because she has an idea.
“Not so fast, you runt!” That’s when her hand scoops him up, wrapping like a vise around his waist. His little arms, once strong and powerful, pound on her skin, his little hands hook around her index finger, trying to unfold it as he protests.
“Hey! What are you doing? Put me down! I have to get dressed!” His gaze moves upward as he searches her eyes for clues to her disposition. Oh, no. Her eyes are I’ll-show-you bright. The corner of her lip is turned in that I’m-taller-than-you way.
“Yes, darling. You will be dressed in the manner I decide. Have a taste of your medicine, and see how you like it!” She strides off to her closet as he dangles from her hand. She spots what she needs, and with a penetrating look, shrinks a pair of her favorite sandals. She kneels to fetch the now toy-sized bits of fiery red leather, and sits on the edge of her bed. When she lays him down on her lap, he rolls over to his right and tries to run for it. As he lands on the side of her thigh, he cries out to see how close he is to the edge of her bed. No matter, since her hand is clutching him again.
“Stay!” she says, in a tone of voice reserved for puppies.
“‘Stay’? Who do you think you are talking to? Hey! What are you–? No. Nonono. Stop it!” She turns him on his back, and he kicks and bends his lovely little feet when he sees what she’s pinching between trunk-sized finger and thumb. Resistance is futile, and soon he’s wearing her sandals. He knows that every attempt to remove them will be met with an escalating display of temper and disciplining, and decides to do something different as she set hit down on the floor again, and smiles.
“Let’s see you try to keep your gait now!”
At first he stands there, unmoving. Then he tries one step. His ankles feel funny, and it seems his body is being thrown forward, but this is no rocket science. He takes a couple more steps, keeping his balance. His head whips up, and he gives her a look of loving contempt. He keeps walking. Unfortunately, he’s no longer looking where he’s going.
“Is this all there is to it? Ha! Woman, this is not hard at all. All it requires is control, body awareness, equilibrium. Things that we men are very good at, because of our superior brain. Now, you just watch and lea–oumphh!”
She laughs heartily as he slips and falls, victim of the very same puddle he had left for her earlier.
“What’s the matter, little man? Did you forget how to walk?”
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