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The Second Boot

A Boot Story

By Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago 4 min read
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The Second Boot
Photo by Barthelemy de Mazenod on Unsplash

Reading a short anecdote by Terry Mansfield about a missing other shoe, I remembered a funny story that I’d heard when I was a teen, over forty years ago. My memory is pristine. I even remember things that never happened to me, as far as I know. I think that the old story you’re about to read is still funny but you’ll be the judge of that. It seems that Terry has been giving me some ideas since December. I guess that he’s like a secondary muse. But wait! A muse can’t be male. So, forget what I said! I have my muse, and this story, she approved. I ask for her approval since I like her taste. I don’t have to ask her, but I do with all my love and I think that she knows it. Do you, Crissey? She’s a timid muse, except with me, sometimes. But wait again! This story is supposed to be about a second boot. I must have digressed. When I think of her, I digress. And I think about her when I’m awake. I did it again. I digressed. I need a short break. You won’t notice it.

It was night and Mr. Whocares got ready for bed. He had just finished watching another episode of his favourite show, Star Trek Discovery. He could easily reminisce about all the episodes of all the different Star Treks with pleasure, even shed another tear for Mr. Spock, his favourite character of all time, beating Charlie Chaplin’s, The Tramp, which was shocking in the mind of Mr. Whocares who adored Charlie Chaplin the most.

Into bed he got ready to rest for the rest of the night. It was already 2 a.m. He also thought about his love, asking his unconscious to lend a hand with a good dream with her all naked. He fell asleep after a short while and was surely dreaming when an abominable noise hit his ceiling coming from his neighbour above and woke him up. What the fuck was that? he asked his cat. The cat had been hiding under the bed. He actually had no cat. He only imagined it.

He hadn’t slept much that night and was hoping for a better night. To bed he went at midnight, which was early for him, and quickly fell asleep. At about 2:30 a.m., the same terrible noise occurred again. He woke up and cursed the Moon. He later told her that he was sorry and that she was the one he’d seen when he looked at the sky for some blue and only saw her. Not again! What is he up to? I should leave him a note. Let’s wait another night. He might stop, after all. Mr. Whocares thought and thought.

It happened again on the third night and the fourth, after which, Mr. Whocares left his neighbour a note.

Please stop making terrible noise in the middle of the night!

Thank you!

Your neighbour from below

By now, he decided to wait for the noise and then go to sleep. It was always a set of two noises. One as loud as the other separated by a few seconds. He could never imagine what it could be. This night, he was especially happy because he had met his neighbour when he was getting his mail and who had apologized, explaining that the noise came from his heavy boots, which he removed one by one and threw on the floor with disgust at having to work so hard for not so much.

The usual time arrived, around 2:30 a.m., and the noise occurred once again but only once, not the usual two separated by a few seconds. That was strange but still unfortunate for Mr. Whocares.

His neighbour came downstairs and knocked on his door in late morning, wanting to apologize for the noise from last night. How did you sleep? he asked.

Almost crying, Mr. Whocares intimated that he couldn’t sleep all night as he waited for the second boot to hit the floor.

So, you guessed that I forgot the first boot, his neighbour said.

I only thought about the second boot, Mr. Whocares replied. The first one was only the warning, Mr. Whocares added.

It didn’t happen often after that last night, but those nights were something else. The second boot; he wondered how it looked, this little monster.

humor
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About the Creator

Patrick M. Ohana

A medical writer who reads and writes fiction and some nonfiction, although the latter may appear at times like the former. All my stories (over 2,200 pieces) are/will be available on/via Shakespeare's Shoes.

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