The New Shoes

The New Shoes

Sometime around 2018, when Nadia had been living on the streets on and off for two years, we developed an odd, irregular communication. From time to time, I would message her on Facebook. Some messages were later marked as “seen.” Most of the time, there were no replies and I could only guess what might be happening with her at that moment. The green circle on her Messenger profile showing she was online became my beacon. It meant life.

Usually, the circle was grey.

Regardless, I continued to send my texts. They looked overly positive. I avoided difficult topics and kept my texts short; I sent her bright animated GIFS on all holidays and happy updates of our family:

“The cat is getting old, she hardly ever goes out now, mostly sleeping on the bed” (photo of Misty attached).

“Grandma had her birthday last week, she is 70 now, she sends her love to you.”

“We went skiing on Sunday, Dad and Anna did all the black runs, I only did the green ones” (I attached a photo of us skiing).

In our chat, there would be a long vertical line of my messages on the right side of the screen, and nothing on the left side.

One day, I was lucky.

It was a lovely early spring morning. Monday. I was just having my breakfast before leaving for work and decided to check my Facebook. The green circle was on. Quickly, I typed: “Hi, how are you? Miss you. It’s so warm today. Let’s go for coffee?”

The message was seen.

Then I saw the typing dots. “How about today?” showed the left side.

I sent a heart to this text and replied immediately: “Yes! I am free today! Where?”

We agreed to meet at McDonald’s on 10th Avenue downtown at 12:00.

I checked the time: My shift started in 45 minutes. I sent a short text to the manager that I unfortunately could not come to work—my migraine was killing me. I did not wait for her answer; I had to head out of the house. It was a 25-minute drive to reach downtown. I checked my bag—the gift bag with hand cream and lip balm was there.

I drove to the ATM on the nearest plaza to withdraw some cash and then turned onto a city highway.

I had not seen my daughter for seven months. She was 21, addicted and homeless. In and out of jail. Had survived two overdoses. What does she look like now? I thought. Is she going to be alone? In what mood? How much time will I have? I must not cry. She is alive, she replied to my message. She wants to meet. That is all that matters. All these thoughts were passing through my head as I drove to meet Nadia.

The McDonald’s on 10th Avenue was one of those places most people tried to avoid. There was always some shady activity going on, with frequent police visits. I parked my car and hurried in, taking a table by the window—and surprisingly, she arrived a minute later. I didn't notice where she had appeared from. She looked rough and skinny, but I could still recognize my beautiful girl. I gave her a hug.

She was in a very good mood, not in withdrawals. Her green eyes were somewhat hazed. She smiled and then said:

⁃ “Привет! Как дела? (Hi! How are you?)”

She still remembered that we spoke Russian between ourselves at home. We had immigrated from the Eastern Ukraine 15 years ago and kept the language and most of the traditions.

⁃ “Привет! Хорошо! Рада тебя видеть! (Hi! I am good! Glad to see you!) Are you hungry?”

- “Not really, but I will take something.”

I got her a cheeseburger.

- “How’s dad and how’s Anna?”

- “She’s doing exams. Dad is okay, working, hiking every weekend.”

- “That’s great.”

We talked about how warm it was now, which was really unusual for early April. Then, we spoke about my work. I had wonderful coworkers, but the management was terrible.

⁃ “I know, mom.” she said. “They should give you the Employee of the Year Award, considering all that you do for them!”

⁃ “Yes, they should, definitely, shouldn’t they?”

I smiled at her and she smiled back. I said:

- “I love your bracelet!”

- “My friend gave it to me.”

I sipped my coffee, then glanced down and saw her shoes. They were old, worn out, dirty Nike sneakers. In their previous life, they had been white. They were men’s shoes, obviously too big for her. One shoe had no shoelace.

- “You need some new shoes.”

- “Yeah.”

She looked down and swung her foot.

- “These are not your size.”

- “Yeah. They are comfortable, though. I walk a lot.”

Suddenly I felt brave.

- “You know, there is this new treatment center for women, and they’re taking applications right now. They’re new, just opened, and they have very good reviews. It was all over the news.”

- “Oh, was it?”

She was still swinging her foot.

Then feeling even more brave, I made the next move.

- “I just don’t remember the name of it. Let me just Google it.”

- “Yeah, Google it,” she said, taking a sip of her cola.

I opened the notes on my iPhone where I had saved all the information about this new treatment center a few months ago.

- “Oh my gosh, it’s actually just around the corner on the same street, you know, just next to the Walmart right here! Two-minute walk.”

I could have given myself an Oscar

- “Oh, is it?” She took another sip.

I went all in.

- “Let’s go and check it out? And after that, we can go to Walmart and get you some new shoes.”

I made a funny face.

She hesitated for a second and then said:

- “Yeah, maybe.”

I stood up somewhat too fast at that.

- “I am done with my coffee. We can go now.”

- “Okay.”

She stood up too, picking up her backpack.

We left McDonald’s and started walking around the corner. True to our conversation inside, the day was unusually warm.

Nadia was wearing a thick hoodie on top of another sweater. Her hair was unkempt, tucked under a dirty NYC cap. Her walk was a bit unstable, her head bent down. However, she walked pretty fast and I had to hurry to keep up with her.

- “You know, I’ve heard about this new treatment center, it’s government funded, for women only, they specialize in addiction and trauma and have helped a lot of young women.”

⁃ “Oh, have they?”

- “We can just drop in and have a short conversation with them. No obligation, right? And after that we will go to Walmart and get you some new shoes! Something lighter, Keds I am thinking—maybe? It is getting warmer, it will be plus 20 next week.”

- “Yeah. We are just going to ask, right?”

- “Yes, let’s just see what it looks like inside. I heard it cost several million dollars.” [LW1]

Upon arriving at the center, I opened the big glass door and let her go in first. Inside, the lobby was nice, air conditioned, with two dark blue sofas and a matching armchair. There were blue and green contemporary art paintings on the walls and a thick, blue rectangle rug on the floor. The place was super clean.

The receptionist looked up, saw Nadia, and for a second I thought she was going to press that “911” button under her desk, but then she saw me and flashed a smile:

- “How can I help you?” she asked.

I gave my bubbliest reply ever:

- “Hello! We don’t have an appointment, but we would like to talk to someone about the treatment options. My daughter needs help.”

- “Oh yes, of course.”

She looked at my daughter again, hesitated for a second, then led us to the sofa area.

- “Would you like tea or coffee?”

- “No, we are good. Just had our coffee.” I winked at Nadia.

It was the first time in four years that she had agreed to talk about treatment, and the first time ever that she had actually gotten inside the treatment center building.

- “It’s nice here! So beautiful. I like the artwork here. Remember my friend Louisa? The artist? She sold two of her paintings to an art gallery in Canmore last week.”

I was chatting nonstop.

Nadia sat down on the sofa opposite me and put her backpack on the floor. She pulled her hoodie down to cover a big stain on her dark red leggings.

A few minutes later, a young lady came to greet us. She had long, wavy hair and big hoop earrings, and was about my daughter’s age; there was a wedding ring on her finger. Her tag said her name was Jennifer and that she had a master’s degree in social work.

She was wearing a white blouse, dark blue jeans, and tall, black knee-high boots.

I smiled at her. She shook hands with me and then waved to my daughter. Nadia waved back.

Jennifer told us about the center briefly.

Then she set some papers on the coffee table in front of my daughter.

- “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions? We need to fill out the intake forms.”

Nadia hesitated and looked at me, uncertain. I smiled and nodded slightly.

- “Sure.”

- “What is your name again?”

⁃ “Nadia.”

- “Her name is Ukrainian,” I explained. “It means ‘Hope’ in English,”

⁃ “That is nice,” said Jennifer.

- “How old are you?”

- “21.”

Jennifer was writing notes on the forms.

- “Address?”

There was a pause. Nadia shifted on the sofa.

I suddenly smelled that distinct heavy odor of a homeless person. To cover it, hoping Jennifer did not feel it, I took sanitizer out of my bag and used a generous pump in my hands.

- “Do you need?” I asked Nadia.

- “I am okay,” she replied.

I used two more big pumps and started to rub my hands vigorously. The smell of “Ocean Breeze” spread around us.

I provided Jennifer with our home address.

- “Nadia, is there any phone number that we can use to contact you?” Jennifer asked.

- “I don’t think so.”

Jennifer’s pen marked a cross somewhere in the middle of the form.

- “What is your highest level of education?”

- “I dropped out in grade 10.”

- “Have you done any education after that?”

- “No.”

- “Have you had any jobs in the past two years?”

- “No.”

- “What is your drug of choice?”

- “I have more than one.”

The pen put several ticks across the paper.

In the gap between the coffee table and the sofa, I could see the tall, fancy boots next to the dirty Nike shoes. Those boots were probably at least $200, I thought. Next to them, Nadia’s Nike shoes looked wrinkled and misshapen. Almost destroyed, and huge in size.

- “Years of active addiction?” Jennifer continued.

- “Seven.” Nadia answered.

The pen moved to the next page.

- “What program are you applying for? We have one-month, three-month, and six-month inpatient programs.”

- “One month.”

The pen froze in the air. Jennifer’s eyebrows raised.

- “I would recommend at least three months of treatment, based on the research and your situation.”

Jennifer looked at Nadia. Nadia was looking down at her backpack. There was a beat of silence.

- “Do you really think that after seven years of multiple drug addiction, a 30-day program will help you?”

- “I don’t know,” Nadia said without looking up.

I could not take my eyes off Nadia’s sneakers next to Jennifer’s boots. I tried not to think about what the missing shoelace had been used for.

The rest of the conversation was mostly Jennifer talking about the admission requirements: at least 72 hours clean, no contagious diseases, bring your prescriptions with you, no outstanding warrants. She would let us know when the bed became available, but it would be at least two to three months.

We said our goodbyes. Jennifer shook my hand and waved again to Nadia, who was already on her way to the door.

As we exited the building, the sun was starting to set. For some time after, we walked in silence. It seemed like Nadia was walking even faster now, as if she suddenly remembered that she was late.

- “Walmart now?” I asked her.

- “I’ve got to go,” she said.

- “We’ll just check the shoes department?”

- “I will keep my Nikes.”

Her tone was suddenly cold, busy.

⁃ “Can I get $20 for smokes?” she asked.

We stopped. I gave her $20 and the gift bag.

- “Oh, thanks, and thanks for the burger.”

She put on her hood and walked away.

[LW1](Editor’s note: it looks like this highlighted part of the conversation introducing the idea of going to the center and getting new shoes was also on the previous page just above, during the conversation in McDonald’s. With that in mind, you may be able to delete this part and still keep the story’s momentum. I’ve added some extra opening text to the next paragraph to help enhance that flow too!)