By Ted Chiles
Jim couldn’t tie his shoes. He bent over, took a faded lace in each hand, and lost the way. He pictured a tied shoe, but the directions escaped him. He recalled that the laces should be there, belonged there. But the next step was gone. The word ‘aglet’ came to him—the small plastic sheath at the end of each shoelace. His were splintered. He heard footsteps in the hallway and hurriedly kicked the shoes under the bed before running to the closet looking for an answer. And that is where his wife found him—trying to work out his options.
Nicely written… at first I imagined he was blind… but running to the closet gave me other ideas of dementia or…? … Well done…
Nice job. We see him as a young child, perhaps on the spectrum, until we realize he has a wife.
“Aglet” is such a useful word. I enjoyed reading this. It is very well written.
I have had friends and relations who have suffered dementia and that was the conclusion I leapt to in this case.
so visual and the ending is wonderful. thank you.
Nice
Well written. I didn’t know about aglets!
Sometimes life is just too much
very evocative
Wow! I left feeling sad.
Tying shoes can be so complicated. I remember the frustration!