I always did love the smell of new shoes: the scent of clean leather, brisk and satisfying. Mama laughed that day, when I told her about the shoes. We entered the Foot Locker grinning until our cheeks hurt. Come to think of it, that was one of the last times I ever heard her laugh…

Well we walked in that day, the Kid’s Foot Locker, you know, even though I always wanted to see the big one. A salesman came up, looking like they always do. He had that clean, just shaven look, jet black hair slicked back and trim. His hands were still poking at it, the long, pale fingers drumming over his head. I didn’t know why he was making such a fuss; his hair was already hard as a rock from the gel. He took a few steps closer, arms held out in a wide embrace. I could see sweat marks flooding under his armpits. I looked up and saw Mama averting her eyes from his oceans, so I did the same. Still didn’t like him, though; his cologne or deodorant overpowered the smell of the shoes. I wondered why he bothered to wear it if it wasn’t even working.

“Well HEY there, little guy!” He said in a sugar coated voice, bending down to my level with his hands on his knees, “What can I help you with?”

The salesguy (his name tag said ‘Earl’), unleashed his best smile, no doubt practiced thousands of times in the bathroom of his mother’s apartment. His teeth were buttery and yellow, and his eyes an ice cold blue. My lip curled and my stomach churned uncomfortably, but of course Mama came to my rescue.

“We’re looking for some shoes,” she said a little loudly, with a forced smile. Earl took his hands off his knees and raised himself up to Mama.

“Yeah, no kidding. Lookit those pieces of trash,” he said, all the sugar dissolved from his voice. All at once the three of us dropped our heads to my once cherry red shoes. They were caked with dried mud and fresh dirt, with slashes of white marks from when I threw them off at home. The tops of each shoe were cut off for room, and the tips of my toes were sticking out. I held in a giggle and wiggled my biggest toe; salesguy Earl shivered in distaste. But Mama kept smiling.

“Thank you, Ahmed, for reminding us why we are here.” I looked up at Mommy’s pretty olive skin, and the silk hood she wore a lot; I loved it when she said my name. “Now. Earl, is it? If you’d please direct us to the sneakers.”

Earl bowed his head obediently and led us to the back of the store. I walked slowly, trying to stay away from Earl and his cologne so I could smell the shoes; I fell really far behind.

“What the FUCK!”

I whipped around, kind of surprised. Mama always said that was a bad word. There was a boy, a bigger boy, sitting on one of those benches they had, his mommy tying some shoes on for him. He was close, maybe a few feet away, so that I could hear his mama sigh-

“Hayden, please.” But it wasn’t like the way my mama said it. It was like she didn’t care. I heard some footsteps rush behind me, and a hand clamped tight on my shoulder. I didn’t even have to think about it; I could recognize her touch from anywhere. I looked up at mom, because I didn’t really know what to do. She held on to me a little tighter. The boy swore again and watched his mama with antagonizing eyes as she tied his shoes.

“What, did you see that retarded hat that lady was wearing? Jesus, it’s like fashion suicide,” he said loudly, laughing at the end. I wrinkled my eyebrows in confusion. Why was he talking about Mama like that? I said:

“I think it’s called a hijab.” The boy froze, and his mama closed her eyes.

“Are you shitting me?” Hayden turned around in his seat, and our eyes met for the first time. He had small, beady eyes, blue as day, but pulsing with heat like the sun. His eyebrows and eyelashes were very fair, seeming to blend completely with his pallor complexion. Although his hair was golden and looked sun tanned, he looked as if he’d never once stepped outside. He wasn’t fat, nor was he skinny. A thin belly bulge was visible beneath his plan white shirt and black basketball shorts, but his legs and arms looked athletic and toned. He was minacious. Not just in the way he looked at you, or the way his eyes drilled into you, the way they sneaked down through my body and ripped open everything inside of me. No, the real terror was in his lips. Lips thin thin thin, transparent like tracing paper, but sharp as a samurai’s sword. The way they moved when he spoke, always contorted in a snarl as if he had never seen something so deplorable in his life. They were the lips a teenage girl would rather die than kiss, a creation any mother would simply weep over. And when they opened they revealed an empty dark cave, and when they smiled, a solid white wall, with the occasional black brick of a cavity or two. He smiled then, probably at my trepidation, and I almost preferred the smile over anything. At least that cold white wall held back the one monster that sent needles down my spine- his voice and his words.

“Are you shitting me?” He repeated; I felt my lungs collapse. “Did you just talk to me, you piece of crap?”

My brain was yelling, screeching, deafening my ears and telling me to RUN. But my feet remained rooted to the floor. I felt a strong jerk on my shoulder, and didn’t bother resisting. Mama dragged me away to the back of the store and plopped me down on a bench similar to the one Hayden had. Mama kneeled in front of me and lifted my chin until my eyes faced hers. Her calm, sea-green eyes, more beautiful now than ever before, washed over my fears.

“Honey, listen to me,” she said in a resilient tone, not a trace of the sugar coated words Earl had dipped me in, “I don’t want you to listen to that boy, okay? Not a word. Some people, Ahmed…some people are sick. But you have me, and you have daddy, and you have this.” She gently took hold of my hand and brought it to my heart. “And no body can ever take that from you. Okay?” I tried to turn away, but she took hold of my chin and kept it in place. I nodded, and she smiled.

“Good. Now, Mommy is going to use the bathroom, all right? I’ll be right back. Go pick out something you like.” She put her hand to my cheek. I savored its warmth, and the delicate touch of her fingers. It was gone all too soon. I watched her walk away to my left, and disappear behind the bathroom door. Following my mother’s wishes, I got up and started to examine each shoe with the proficiency of a neurosurgeon, assimilating every detail of every shoe I touched. I was so absorbed in my work, I scarcely noticed the clacking of footfalls behind me.

“Don’t touch my shoes, you kafir.”

I looked up from a pair of Reeboks I was holding and bit my lip. What did he want from me? I abruptly put them down and turned to face Hayden. I didn’t know what kafir meant, but I knew it couldn’t be something nice.

“I’m sor-” I started, but he cut in-

“If you were sorry, you would get out of my sight.” I heard the click and whirr of a cash register up ahead; his mom must have been paying for his shoes. I prayed they would leave soon.

“HEY!” My head snapped up at attention. I wondered where Mama was…

“Hey, I took a shit this morning, and you know what’s funny? It looked just like YOU!” I swallowed and closed my eyes, still waiting for Mama. Hayden continued to cackle. I prayed hard and tightened up enough until my hands shook. I didn’t hear it, but his mad cachinnation was steadily approaching, appearing closer and closer. My eyelids shut even tighter, and a tear managed to squeeze through them. And all of a sudden he was roaring, and my ears were popping, my eyes flashing open and there were his lips, open and gaping, and his fist, solid as iron. I tried to shut my eyes again, tried to hide, but that fist blasted open an entire waterfall of red, so much blood I didn’t know I even had. Cracks ripped from the bones in my neck as my head sprung back, bashing into the plastic shelf that held those Reeboks, turning everything red, red, so red. I fell to the floor on the canary yellow tiles, my blood blending into it like a strawberry banana smoothie. Everything was so quiet, so still around me, but inside my body was a whirlwind of confusion and surprise, my heart pounding against its rib cage, a prisoner desperate to escape.

“FUCK YOU!” He was screaming again, waving his arms frantically, running into the shelves behind me, just picking up shoes. “I know YOUR kind.”

And he threw a shoe, a heavy Nike, at my face, but my nose was already broken. I couldn’t hide, couldn’t close my eyes, everything was puffing up around me.

“Killed my fucking dad. Fucking kafirs killed my DAD!” He picked up another shoe, New Balance, and slammed it in my stomach like a football player does after a touchdown. I didn’t know if the stomach could break, but it felt like mine was. I tried to fold myself together, and then I tried covering my ears, because of the screaming, and the gushing, and then I tried to touch my nose, to see if it was still there, until my hands were just flying everywhere.

“You killed MILLIONS of people!”

He was crying. I wanted to tell him I never killed anybody, wanted to tell him he was all wrong, it was all a mistake. And then he was kicking, and he was punching, but I only saw his lips, only felt his eyes, felt myself being stabbed by his swearing and his hate, swallowed by that empty cave in his mouth. Everything hurt, inside and out, but Mama said he couldn’t get to me inside, Mama said…

“My fucking DAD!”

I wished he would stop, prayed to God he would stop, prayed for my Mama. And finally he did stop, finally it ended. I couldn’t feel it anymore, couldn’t hear my heart pounding anymore. Blood stopped rushing to my ears; blackness galloped in, and I could finally close my eyes, I could finally hide. I tried to smell the shoes again, the fresh new leather, but I was gone. I thought about his shoes, Hayden’s shoes, maybe they were Nikes? But no, no, I knew it didn’t matter, nothing mattered. Whatever kind it was, I knew the shoe would never fit.