"There’s no place like home.” -Dorothy Gale, The Wizard of Oz
I think it all started with a pair of red, glittery slippers.
When I had them on my feet, I would tap them together just to watch the glitter fall off as I walked to wherever I was going. I would tell myself this wasn’t a good idea because I was ruining them.
But I didn’t really care.
I’m going to leave a trail of glitter in someone’s wake, I’d think.
I was around four or five years old, and I had been obsessed with The Wizard of Oz as a kid so much so that I wanted to be like Dorothy (minus Toto, unfortunately).
I’d watch the movie on an old-style television while sitting on my grandparents’ bed, and I’d continuously rewind the VCR when the movie was over so I could rewatch it for the 10th time in a single day.
My grandmother knew this, so she decided to buy me a pair of shoes that looked like Dorothy’s.
I wore them for the longest time either up until I couldn’t fit them anymore, or until they had fallen apart from me wearing them so much.
It’s a vague, somewhat hazy memory, one that I barely remember but have a clear recollection of all at the same time.
I walked in them—with the biggest smile on my face—and showed them off as if they were the only pair of shoes I had ever owned.