Maria + Alice

Same Walk, Different Shoes

Esteemed Readers ~
May you have a wonderful and safe New Years celebration! 🎉🎊✨🎊🎉

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“Same Walk, Different Shoes” is a community writing project that Ben Wakeman organized as a practical exercise in empathy. The premise is simple. A group of writers anonymously contribute a personal story of an experience that changed their life. Each participating writer is randomly assigned one of these story prompts to turn into a short story. The story you are about to read is one from this collection. You can find all the stories from the participating writers at Catch & Release. Enjoy the walk with us.

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Maria + Alice

by Troy ford

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“Is that really what you’re wearing?”

Maria stopped to consider the fedora, the sweater, the comfy brown pants with elastic waist—she hadn’t reached her feet yet before her wife continued.

“Birkenstocks?” Jane laughed. “At the Symphony? It’s a bit casual even for you—it ain’t your Audre Lorde Womyn’s Book Club, ya know.”

Big sigh. “Honestly. She won’t care—she’s twelve for cryin’ out loud—I don’t think she’s ever seen me in anything BUT Birkenstocks.”

Jane held her steaming mug of tea in both hands, gently blowing as she peered through curling puffs at Maria’s version of “dressy.” Goddess help her, she tried.

It was a good thing she was doing, Jane had said so herself: “You’re doing a good thing, wife,” and she meant it, whatever the yokels might say to their backs as they went about their business. The Vermont Symphony Orchestra would have a classier clientele, surely. By the same token, no need to draw attention to oneself, no need to be obvious: a lesbian and a young girl. That’s how rumors got started.

Jane attempted her best impression of a sphinx. “OK.”

Maria threw her keys on the floor. “OK? Not OK! What? What do YOU think I should wear, lady?”

“Since you asked…” Jane set her tea on the dining table and walked to the bedroom. There was a long pause, but eventually an exasperated rustle of corduroy stomped after her. Closet thrown open, Jane pondered an ensemble whispering “teacher” rather than screaming “predator lesbian.” 

The thing was, her wife was pretty, nothing wrong with it, but Maria didn’t bother about that sort of thing and certainly didn’t invite comment on the subject, if it could be helped.

“Lose the hat,” Jane started. 

Maria sighed and threw the hat on the dresser. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous times,” Jane intoned, and set the only pair of black slacks Maria owned on the bed, a belted affair purchased for Jane’s society mother’s funeral, dripped with coffee (perhaps on purpose) and subsequently abandoned as though poison. Luckily, polyester never wrinkled if hung freshly pressed in the dry cleaner's plastic, as Mother had taught.

Resigned to her fate, Maria shed the comfort of elastic for the overly-precious cinch of heterosexual camouflage. “I’m going to be late. Honestly, she’s sweet, ya know, not fussy—I’m not sure her parents really get her—and I get that, for entirely different reasons, obviously.”

As Maria mused about how ecstatic Alice had been at the mere mention of the Symphony’s performance in nearby Burlington, Jane gave up flipping through the lumpish swath of sweaters for a slim selection of colorful blouses she had tried to introduce under cover of Christmases past.

“Not the yellow, Jesus CHRIST!” Maria nearly screamed as Jane held it up.

“No?” Jane suppressed a smile. “But does she know?”

“I don’t know! We’ve never talked about it—I teach her how to play the flute—the rest is none of my business, or hers for that matter!” Maria tore at the sweater and flipped it up over her head. “Fine. I’ll wear that melba blouse, goddamnit.” It was the one Jane had been angling for by cautiously avoiding, a long-sleeved linen with pearl buttons that even Maria had been surprised looked so nice on her, off-pink though it was. They finished with the once-worn black pumps from the same funeral as the pants.

“Ta da!” Jane flipped the closet door wide and stood clear of the full-length mirror. “A perfect Mrs. So-and-So if I never did see one.” 

Maria glowered at her reflection, then turned sideways. Her face softened. She affected a blithe smile. “Not hideous.”

Jane snapped her fingers. “I have just the thing!”

“I AM NOT WEARING LIPSTICK!” But she did wear Jane’s navy blazer, the one she had admired so often.

* * *

“Sorry I’m late!” Alice cried, leaping into Maria’s Subaru, the poor girl so flustered she tried to buckle her belt into the box of tissues between the seats. “Were you waiting long?”

“No, no—it’s fine, we’re fine, everything’s fine.” If there were no traffic, they would just make it as the house lights went down. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s good—there’s cake for after, if you want to come in. My dad’s not happy about having to wait for dessert. And he couldn’t wrap his head around Mahler.”

Maria chuckled as she changed lanes and sped through a yellow light. “Oh well, he’s not in the Top Ten, maybe—but I’m really looking forward to this performance.” She zipped on to the freeway and started to relax a little. “Have you been practicing?”

“I have! I got through the Chaminade Concertino—it’s a mess, but I got through it.”

Maria crooned. “Oh good! We’ll work on that some more next week. And how’s school?”

Alice sighed. “School is school.”

“Ah yes, I remember school-is-school.” She didn’t press for more, instead punching the button on the stereo. “Here’s some Mahler, not the one they’re performing.”

She was a good kid, Alice, she reminded Maria of Jane, actually, that same somewhat formal manner, but she restrained herself from pointing out the similarity, or any of the familiarity she felt—the alienation of school, the unspoken otherness. Chances were, Alice liked boys. Chances were, most twelve-year-old girls would be mortified to have their shyness mistaken for—

Alice’s phone pinged, and she tittered slightly as she read the text aloud. “My dad hopes you can settle an argument—will you be offended if he has a small piece of cake now, and another small one later when we get back, rather than wait for a single big one with us? Mom says he has to ask permission.”

Maria chuckled as they swooped down the off-ramp—a sense of humor went a long way between parents and their children. “As long as he saves some for us, have at it!” She scanned for a parking space as they approached the venue, Flynn Center on Main, but saw nothing and stopped in front. “There’s a parking lot two blocks over—here, take your ticket and go in, I don’t want you to miss the start…” Alice was flustered but obeyed and got out of the car.

Maria sped off, hung a right, and managed to grab a spot as someone else was leaving at the end of the block. She huffed her way back to The Flynn hoping she didn’t sweat through her blouse, but Alice was still standing out in front, big-eyed and pouting. The girl had never seen her in such fancy threads. Ruffled, cinched and constricted, Maria waved it all away as she approached.

“I know,” she said, straightening her cuffs and collar, “not my usual wash and wear.”

“Oh! No,” Alice said, “you look very nice—”

“You didn’t go in…” Maria said, ushering them into the lobby.

“There were still a few people filing in—” They rushed through and took their seats near the back. 

“Sorry about the cheap seats,” Maria whispered, “but I have a surprise for you afterward—I know the second flute playing tonight, she said she’d come out to meet us.” Alice actually shivered with delight.

* * *

It didn’t help that the belt was just a little too tight, last available notch—perhaps she had gained a couple pounds since the funeral. But then there was the look on Dot’s face when she came out after the performance. Of course, butch as you please and no apologies Dot, it hadn’t occurred to Maria that her “get-up”would draw a remark from her friend. (She would later denounce Jane for coercing her into dressing up.)

“Who are you and what have you done with Maria?” Dot had joked as she lumbered up the aisle in a panoply of tweed.

And so the silence that enveloped them on the drive back seemed to Maria almost unbearable. What must Alice be thinking? Good Goddess, what was wrong with her? It wasn’t like she and Jane were in the closet, their friends and coworkers all knew, but children, now—there was still a fine line sometimes, and she was none too comfortable with kids to begin with. But she liked Alice very much, and she was fairly precocious—after two years, they had a good working relationship—perhaps it was time to formalize the elephant in the room.

Maria turned down the volume on the stereo.

“So what’d you think?”

Alice didn’t speak for a moment, and Maria felt a pang. Too much? Too far? 

“It was absolutely wonderful!” Alice cried. Maria glanced over and saw the girl’s eyes tear up. “Thank you! Your friend is so…funny.” Funny? “So, Maria, I have to ask you something, it’s been on my mind for a little while—”

“I’m gay!” Maria burst out. “It seems almost silly to say it, I know, I mean I’m not in the closet, but…I try to keep things professional and all that…”

Alice looked at her as though she were daft. “I know that—I’ve met Jane, she’s very nice—it wasn’t a secret, I thought…?”

“Oh. Well, no, it wasn’t, but I didn’t want you to think this was some weird kind of…”

Alice giggled. “Well it wasn’t weird until now!” She pursed her lips to suppress a bigger laugh. “But thanks, I guess, for clearing that up? No, what I wanted to ask you was, I mean, if you think I’m good enough, to pursue music more seriously—(“OH! Yes!”)—and if you knew of any youth symphonies, or something…because I’ve decided! Tonight! That’s what I want to do: study music. And to thank, really—not just the symphony, everything—it’s made all the difference…” 

Maria pulled the Subaru in front of Alice’s house.

“Wonderful—let’s look into it.” She laughed now, at herself—“Well!”—she really could get worked up over nothing. “There better still be some cake waiting for us!”