“Same Walk, Different Shoes” is a Substack community writing project that Ben Wakeman organized as a practical exercise in empathy. The premise is simple. A group of writers anonymously contribute a personal story of an experience that changed their life. Each participating writer is randomly assigned one of these story prompts to turn into a short story. The story you are about to read is one from this collection. You can find all the stories from the participating writers at Catch & Release. Enjoy the walk with us.
A romantic short story in the form of two letters. TW: contains strong language, sexual references and domestic violence descriptions.
“Shut up!”
“Andy please, could you just…?”
“Just shut up!” I yelled in your face when you had finally caught up with me. I left everything lying on the riverbank. It took you a while to gather my stuff and run to me, while I marched away without looking back. Do you remember? That last attempt to salvage us. Our boating trip. Those two days were us in a nutshell.
“Andy, please, stop!” You grabbed my hand and wrapped your fingers in-between mine. I stopped, cursing myself for it. It was always like this - I wanted to move on, walk away from my past. You clinged on to me, to our unfortunate childhoods, pulling me back along with you.
We fought, I yelled, I wanted to walk away, but I couldn’t. It didn’t really matter what we were fighting about. Or what we were fighting for. Now I know I was fighting for my freedom, but back then I didn’t have a name for it. I just felt as if we were tangled in a substance nameless to our nineteen-year-old minds. Tied together by invisible threads, by faceless ghosts of cruel voices in our heads. We didn’t know our worth, growing up in unhappy households. It seemed we gave each other meaning. Now I understand that your partner cannot give you worth, you have to see it yourself.
But back then we would kiss and make up, then make out in our cheap, rented apartment, spent the night tangled in each other’s arms and pretend we’re okay for a day or two. Until the next time, until that boating trip.
“Andy, come here! Please… you know I can’t live without you! I won’t…” your voice broke down in sobbing as you hid your face in my long, blond hair. I felt guilty. Just like the time when I smashed a plate accidentally. Look what you did, bitch! Father would yell, before he punched my face. Funny, he punched my face, but I still felt guilty about that damn plate.
I felt guilty for hurting you. How could I not love you? You had helped me so much.
It was always the two of us, Andy and Robbie, best friends forever, living next door to each other. We bonded over our broken childhoods; we got tangled in our pain intertwining. We were close. Maybe too close.
Your mother worked three jobs; she made you feel invisible.
I wish my drunk father would never see me. I wish I was invisible to his scolding and yelling, to his fists and my mother’s cries deep in the night.
When we were fifteen you wrote “Robbie” on my naked shoulder with a ballpoint pen and drew a dandelion flower. I said it was cute. You said, I was cute, and you kissed my shoulder. At that moment I decided, you were the one for me. You and no one else. In my head I swore to love you forever. Teens are prone to such pathos!
We ran away from home that day. I hoped I left my childhood behind; I hoped I had escaped. I was just a stupid kid. We could run, but we couldn’t hide from ourselves. Our past was a big part of us back then.
“Come on, Andy! Let’s talk this through! Don’t shut me out! Please, talk to me!” You whispered low, still hiding your face in my hair, growling like a lost bear-cub, calling his Moma.
“I’m not your mother!” I snapped at you.
“Why do you say it, huh?! Why do you say it?” You kept repeating. Your mumbling broke my heart, and you knew it.
“Fuck… shut up,” I said softly and held you tight. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew me too well. We were tangled and you pulled the thread even tighter every time you made me feel guilty for my emotions. You made me the villain of your story.
“Come on, let’s set camp, huh, Andy?”
“Okay.” I let you lead me back. As we walked, something you did, a tiny quirk of yours was the last straw. You loved my long, blond hair. You wrapped your fingers in it and gave a tiny pull. I don’t know what happened - did it remind me of my father or was it just a possessive gesture, but that tiny bit of pain was the spark igniting a raging wildfire.
“Let me go! It’s over!” I pushed you away with all my physical and mental strength. You fell.
“Shit, I’m sorry, what did I do?!”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“I… no! Please, talk to me, Andy!”
Here we go again! I thought. You always wanted to talk. You were a rock, deep diving, sinking down to the bottom of things and pulling me with you, when I wished to be dandelion’s fluff and fly away from all that trauma. We hit rock bottom at that exact minute.
I marched away, not looking back. You hesitated, because we couldn’t leave the rented boat and our stuff behind. After a while, I heard you following me. You were running, your nearly soundless footsteps startled me. There was something menacing about your silence. I didn’t look back; I ran for my life.
I raced into a yellow meadow of blooming dandelions when you caught up with me. Were you desperate or just gone nuts, but you grabbed me on the run, and we fell to the ground, into the soft, yellow mush of dandelion flowers. I squealed and shook.
“Andy, snap out of this! It’s not you! Come on! We love each other! We can’t just be over!”
“Let me go, you creep!” I yelled. You let go. I rolled away and laid on my back, breathing heavily, staring at the evening sky. You did the same. We were just two lost kids, without a clue how to build a healthy relationship and it wasn’t even our fault.
“It’s all screwed up, Andy! We’re screwed up! I know…” you talked, and you cried. I couldn’t stand your crying. Never could.
“I know. We just can’t function. We can’t be whole. We’re two broken pieces. We can’t fix each other,” I said, looking at you. I don’t know what happened, we just pulled each other close, we kissed desperately, trying to hold back the inevitable, kissing away each other’s tears, comforting each other’s grief. We made love that night for the last time. It was the most beautiful and the most tragic night of my life. Like a dying man’s last, sweet breath. Our bodies were so used to each other. It’s funny, how our bodies knew the way to harmonize, while our souls couldn’t. Our bodies tangled together, while our souls were already letting go. It might sound selfish and stupid, but I loved how we made love. Maybe that was one of the reasons we dragged this on for so long. Our bodies were well tuned to the other’s needs. But I knew it’s not enough.
I woke up shivering in the cool morning fog. You had covered me with all our clothes and held me in your embrace. I knew you were probably awake; you must’ve been freezing on the damp ground. You pretended to be asleep. For that I am still grateful. You had let me go. I got up, got dressed, took my stuff, and walked back to the highway. Only then did I notice - all the yellow dandelion flowers in the meadow had turned into frail balls of fluff. When the morning wind blew - the fluff ascended with it, away into the blue sky. I walked without looking back. I was untangled and freed.
We never got in touch. I hitch-hiked home, took my things and moved to my sister’s place. Every year when the dandelions turn to fluff, I remember you. I know the answers I didn’t have back then.
Now I understand what we were - a precious, exhausting mess. Tangled threads of insecurities, friendship, lust, traumas, longing, unrealistic expectations, and love. Love was there. It still is. I couldn’t un-love you. I guess that’s why I’m writing you this email. It’s a bit long, I know. Every year I write to you but I never…
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***
That stupid song was ringing is my ears again. The fucking ear worm, Phil Collins and Mariah Carey, “Against all odds”. About walking away. I hate that song. Cringy as fuck. And… it hurts. It’s the soundtrack to my pain. I hate it. I heard it in my head every time you walked away without looking back at me. Like you didn’t want to see me. Just like my Mom. I think she wished I was never born at all.
“Andy, come on! Please!” I called you back for the millionth time.
You walked away again. I never knew why. I tried to do everything right. Unlike my Dad who just left me and Mom. He walked away. He ignored her crying, calling him back. I was only three, but I remember. Your family moved into the house next to ours on that day.
Shit, we were best friends! Robbie and Andy, always together, no matter what. Against all odds.
Do you remember? On the day we ran away from home, we drew fake tattoos on each other’s shoulder, because we couldn’t afford the real ones. You wrote your name and drew a cracked heart. You thought it looked edgy, but now I know that it was like a prophecy you’d break my heart. I’m glad I memorized how it looked. Guess what - I have a real tattoo there, “Andy” with a broken heart. I know, I’m creepy.
Two dumb fifteen-year-olds, head over heels in love. I tried hard to do everything right. Shit, I even took library books about building healthy relationships, about women, about sex. You know how embarrassing it was for a fifteen-year-old boy to withstand the librarian’s stupid smirk?!
Those four years we lived together were the best and the worst of my life. I loved you, but I knew we were dying day by day. We were fucked up by our shitty childhoods, and we couldn’t fix each other. We tried hard, even did the “adult” thing and went on that boat trip to sort things out.
I was living in denial, hoping you’d understand how wrong it would be to walk away from us. I wanted to be tangled with you forever. Shit, I even brought a ring to that boating trip. I was hoping I’ll find the right moment. But that moment never came. We began another pointless fight. I wanted to talk, to clear things. It’s like all the books say - you have to talk things through with your partner. But you never wanted it. Walking away was easier, I guess. Yes, I’m bitter. I’m still fucking mad at you. You know how I’ve been? Nah, you probably don’t care. Just like my Mom. She didn’t even come looking for me when we ran off.
I can’t build a normal long-term relationship because I compare every girl to you. It’s like you were the perfect match for me, and if it wasn’t for our screwed-up childhoods... You with your long, blond hair, blue eyes, even your breasts fit my palms perfectly. Did I sound creepy again? I loved when my fingers got tangled in your hair. Sex with you was the best I ever had. I never knew how much it meant to me until I tried to date other women.
Do you remember our last night together? In the dandelion meadow? I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I was scared to let you go. So, I held you tight. I knew you had already moved on. Thank you for making love to me that night. It was magic.
I was fucking freezing at dawn. I kept you warm. I gave you all the warmth I had. Maybe I was too much. I’m sorry. I used your guilt to keep you close as long as I could. It was wrong.
You know what? I’m glad you moved on. It still hurts. You’ re the only one who really knew me (oh there’s that fucking song again!). I wanted the best for you. That’s why I let you go. After you went away, I sat by the river for three hours, just throwing pebbles into the black stream. I wished I could drown with them. I’m glad you were not home when I got there. I couldn’t have said goodbye. I still can’t. I know you’re with somebody. I saw your photos on social media. You looked so happy. You have moved on completely. I haven’t. My time seems to be moving backwards. I keep coming back to the remains of us. I’m tangled permanently.
My last girlfriend suggested I should go to therapy. She said my attachment to you isn’t normal. It’s been ten years. Maybe I don’t want it to be normal. I want to be tangled with you, and if keeping the thread connecting us means living in pain every day, I’ll do it! I’ll write another email like this one, which I know I’ll never send. I love you. I…
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I love the email drafts! Excellent story!
Clever framing and a very moving story. I can’t tell which character your prompt came from, which is great! Talk about empathy!