The discovery.

Seventh grade science class.

I faced forward at my desk but reached for the floor to retrieve a book from my bag. In using my hand to find the bag, I felt the floor.

Then I felt the left rear leg of my chair.

Then I felt a tire.

A tire?

“Couldn’t be,” I thought. So I squeezed what I felt — something thick and tough, made of rubber. I rubbed it, built a frame around it using my fingers and thumb, pushed on it and pulled, and squeezed it again. “What is this?” I thought. I had to see.

So, I looked.

Which is when I made the discovery.

What I held in my hand was a shoe.

A shoe propped up against one of my chair legs.

A shoe with a foot in it.

“Ohmygosh!”

I let it go and flailed my arms in the air (like anyone would upon finding a foot).

Which is when it dawned on me that the foot was attached to the body in the seat at the desk directly behind mine. I looked up.

“Hi,” he smiled.

It was Drew.

We lost it. And when the laughter waned, I spoke.

“I’m sorry I squeezed your shoe.”

This post is part of a series of true stories, called “True Story.”

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