A Walk In My Shoes

Kira Hanson was a woman in a hurry. At thirty-four, she was on the fast track to success. The only female executive in the advertising firm of Kaleel, Watts, and Jayson, she was responsible for the top ten money-making accounts in the firm and the three eager-to-please assistants under her. Kira ran a tight ship. No one was going to slack off on her watch, which, incidentally, was why she was on the phone and driving at the same time. One of her major clients wasn't satisfied with the ad campaign and wanted them to drop it and pitch a new approach, which would cost thousands to do over again. She didn't see the old man cross in front of her until it was too late to stop. So, she decided not to stop or slow down. He crashed into the windshield. The shoes on his feet and the green blanket covering his scrawny shoulders flew off on impact. The old man rolled off and landed in front of the car again. Without a second thought, she drove right over him and sped away.

Kira parked in an empty slot in the firm's underground garage. She couldn't take the chance of someone seeing the damage if she parked in her usual place. When she reached her office, she swept past everyone with a curt good morning and closed her door for privacy. She shrugged out of her coat and dialed a number from memory.

“Hey, Rex. How's it goin'? That's great. I need a favor. I was in a little fender-bender this morning. I don't want my insurance to get wind of it; my rates will shoot up. It's in the office garage, next to the level I sign. Yes, the black-on-black Lexus. How soon can you pick it up? That's great. I'll leave the keys at the front desk. Thanks, Rex. I'll owe you one.”

Kira hung up the phone, went to the door, and opened it.

“Jeannie, Christian, and Marcus, inside, now,” Kira said curtly. She snapped her fingers for emphasis. The three junior assistants looked at each other, wondering who was in hot water now. Kira Hanson was not easy to work with; she had fanatically high standards, which was why the turnover rate was so high. Whenever she called them into her inner office, it always meant trouble. They'd barely sat down before she laced into them.

“What is this?” Kira demanded as she held up a picture of a homeless man wrapped in a green blanket. “Who put this picture on my desk?” After a moment, Jeannie replied: “We don't know how it got on your desk. We weren't inside here today before now.”

“Stop lying! Why do you lie? Don't you think I know someone put you up to this? Now, who was it?”

Christian, a dark-haired import from Guatemala, decided to be the group's spokesman. He admired Kira, but he wasn't as intimidated by her as the others.

“Kira, we're not lying. Why would we? What's the big deal anyway? It's just some homeless guy. So what?”

Kira was not about to explain the significance of the photo to them. She barely understood how a picture of an old man she'd left lying in the road this morning could have ended up on her desk. It must not be the same man. But the same green army blanket had also been on the old man this morning. It had to be the same one. There couldn't be two of those hideous things in the world. Thinking about the blanket reminded her she needed to leave the car keys for Rex at the front desk. The sooner all traces of the accident were erased, the sooner she could concentrate on the million and a half things she, positively, had to get done. And the faster she could get back to her precise and orderly world.

“I'm going out for a while; when I get back, you three better have an idea this client is going to love, or I'll find people who will.” Kira closed the door firmly behind her. Once she was out of earshot, everyone visibly relaxed.

“What the heck was that all about?” Christian asked the group. ”She's positively menopausal.”

Jeannie rolled her eyes. ”And you're a jerk. That photo seemed to upset her a lot. I wonder why? I think she's hiding something. I will find out what it is.”

Marcus, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up. “Christian, you are a jerk, and as for you, Jeannie, you'd find intrigue in a potted plant. Let's get to work on the campaign. I, for one, don't feel like losing my job today.”

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Kira was preoccupied as she took the outside stairs down to the front desk. Suddenly, she lost her footing and fell down the last flight. Kira moaned softly as searing pain shot through her head. She gingerly touched a wet spot near her temple and was startled to see blood on her hands.

“What the--?” she tried to stand but sank back down to the pavement as dizziness and nausea grabbed hold of her. In addition, the foulest odor she'd ever smelled battered her nostrils. Shock and disbelief took hold as she realized that stench was coming from her! She made it to a sitting position on the steps. “What the hell has happened to me?”

Kira reached for the cell phone in the pocket of her Halston suit, but she wasn't wearing her Halston suit. She was dressed in the most wretched rags she'd ever seen. Kira pulled out used tissues in the pocket of the filthy brown pants. She made it to the wrought iron bench. Scuffed, dusty, worn-out shoes slid on and off her feet. A flea-infested green army blanket covered her shoulders, and she found out it was the smell's source. But the most shocking thing she discovered stretched her sanity to its outermost point. How had a white woman of thirty-four years turned into an old, gray-haired, black man?

Her screaming began to attract a crowd. To them, she appeared to be demented, pacing up and down, pulling at her hair. She didn't care. All she wanted was a quiet place to sit and sort this out. She got to her feet, quickly ducked around a corner, and down another flight of stairs. She found a hiding place in one of the open storage rooms. Panting and breathless, she stood against the door and listened as footsteps hurried past. There was an old cracked mirror above a rusty sink. She stared at the face, looking back at her, and thought her heart would jump out of her chest. Rheumy gray eyes peered at her curiously. Her features were African. Milky white skin was now inky black. Her nostrils flared; Her blonde hair had turned dark and coarse, short and tightly curled. The most profound change, of course, was the penis and testicles between her legs. She tried to fight the hysteria, but it was useless; she went into full panic mode. Her mind seemed unable to hold on to a single thought. Memories of her old life flashed before her eyes but were quickly replaced by new ones. She looked up at what used to be her office window. A blonde woman was sitting at her desk talking to three other people. Kira curled up in the fetal position as the last traces of her world vanished.

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Word Count Approx. 1320